#bob floyd au

[waklman]

Chatterbox

prompt: bob helps his teacher assistant girlfriend get her mind off work.

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni. fingering, oral (f receiving), slight size kink and dumbification if you squint.

a/n: dont ask me why im releasing one-shots before i even finish chapter one, because i dont know either okay. but anyway, here is a peak at bob and honeybee :).

word count: 2.3k

college au, frat boy au

the after party masterlist.

Bob never had a problem with how chatty you could get. 

If there was one thing Bob was grateful for, it was his girlfriend's ability to fill in an awkward silence when needed. The blond was certain he could listen to you talk all day, running that pretty mouth of yours while he sat there nodding attentively. And it was just a plus that you looked so enamoring, eyes glittering in excitement and hands animatedly gesturing as you spoke. 

However, Bob did have a problem with how chatty you got about your TA tasks—especially when you were supposed to be forgetting about them for now. The end of the semester always came with a bigger pile of work, but today was a Saturday. Yet, you're still thinking about school.

For once, the rowdy frat house was empty with everyone visiting home for spring break. It was a perfect opportunity for Bob to finally get you out of the grayed out dorm room you trapped yourself in, day in and day out. So, when he made the move to invite you over, he had every intention to ease your stress, hence the dress code of comfy attire only. 

But this afternoon, it looks like Bob has to do more than just lay stomach down between the plush of your thighs, glasses set off to the side, letting you mindlessly braid his hair, and mindlessly run your mouth.

“Does he think I have no life?” Your pointed complaints are still ongoing, leaving you ignorant to the subtle movement below you. 

While your brewing anger is very much directed at Professor Simpson, it’s currently being spewed towards Bob’s ceiling fan—which can do nothing to argue back—just how you like it. If looks could kill, the mean glare you’re giving the motionless object suspended over his bed would be on living its last day. 

The remembrance of your professor’s threatening email to you about getting grades out, completely distracts you from the braid of blond hair in your hands, slowly losing its structure as your boyfriend shifts his weight under you. 

Again, you let out an annoyed breath. “Five days of my spring break to grade some last minute assignment he just—conveniently forgot to mention to me?!” 

You’re so lost in your story telling that you’re not even registering the hot breath dusting over your exposed tummy, and the gradual rise of your shirt as Bob uses his nose to drag the fabric upwards, ghosting his lips over your navel. 

Bob shakes his head against you, mildly entertained by your cluelessness. 

“Remind me to never work with the english department again,” you huff, hands now curling into fist at your sides, regretting your decision to assist with that course over the others available to you this semester. 

“‘Cause now I have over eighty research papers to check ove–” With a light pull of his teeth, Bob loosens the drawstring of your sweatpants.

The sound of the thick cord coming undone from the knot is muted compared to your tangent, but your ears catch the noise, your stomach feels it, and your mouth clamps shut immediately.

Blinking at the ceiling dumbly, you open your mouth to say his name, but it just snaps shut again. 

After a beat of silence, there’s two sets of fingers hooked into the loose band of your sweats next, giving your pants a suggestive tug. 

Bob makes sure to keep his patience at bay, wanting to soak in your flustered state, just a bit more. Because, honestly, he would’ve ripped these sweats off you long ago if you weren’t so cute—already so meek and tiny under him. 

With your eyes still refusing to meet his very own, you miss him running an intending gaze over the underside of your jaw, and making note of the bead of sweat running down your cheek. While you were the one mostly making him nervous in your relationship, it was a nice change of pace to inflict it back onto you once in a while. You were so obliging too. 

Bob lowly hums, eyes dropping to the strappy pink lace sitting on your hip bone, revealed by his slight yank of your sweats. “Honeybee..” he commands your attention. “You gonna let me see these cute little panties you got on for me?”

Bashfully, you lift your butt off the mattress, letting him pull it off your waist. Because, yes, you will let him. Though, you’re sure they’re thoroughly soaked through at this point. 

“There’s my good girl,” he sings, deep voice vibrating through his chest, pleased by your obedience.

If you weren’t very aware that his head was currently stationed between your legs, you would’ve clenched your thighs together at his raspy tone.

Finally, you suck in a nervous breath, redirecting your attention down to your boyfriend who’s starting to make his way down your legs—dragging down the thick fabric, leaving wet open mouthed kisses to the flesh of your thighs, to the side of your calves, and finally to your ankle. 

Near the foot of the bed, he sits up momentarily to tear your pants off your feet. They go flying into his open closet. “B-Bobby,” your breath shallows at his sudden forwardness. 

“What? Nothin’ to complain about anymore?” He quietly teases, a faint smirk playing on his lips, laying back between your ankles. 

“Well…I—not really. No it’s just–,” you stammer, rubbing the wet pads of your fingers together.

“That’s what I thought,” he cuts you off. 

Keeping his eyes locked onto yours, Bob makes his way back up your naked legs. All you can do is blink at him, arousal sitting heavy at your pulsating core. He almost looks unrecognizable. The baby blue eyes you’re so used to seeing are casted over in a thick, dark, cloud of lust. 

With him settled between your thighs, Bob’s eyes snap down to your slick, leaking through the flowery lace pattern in front of him. “So fuckin’ wet for me honey,” he marvels, licking a slow, flat stripe to your covered folds, with a slight pressure against you, coating his tastebuds in your arousal. The tip of his tongue flicks your bud, teasingly, as he moves off. 

“Please,” you thoughtlessly whine, heat blooming through your chest. 

Without so much of a warning, Bob roughly tears off your panties with one hand, pocketing it for himself. 

You raise your voice. “No! That was—” Again, he cuts you off.

In an instant, his front is pressed to yours, pushing you into the mattress, meeting you in a desperate, sloppy kiss. Eyes fluttering close, you return the eagerness, letting him swallow every small noise that sears through your throat. Then, a fuzz takes over your brain, eyes scrunching in pleasure as his knee nudges your exposed clit. The scratchy fabric of his plaid pants drives you on, more than you expected it to. 

You can’t help but to buck your hips, chasing the feeling. But the moment you start a steady grind against him, Bob stills you, pressing a firm hand on your hip, ripping his mouth from you at the realization that you’re starting to get yourself off.

At the loss of his knee, a small whine escapes your lips, and your glossy eyes blink open again. 

There’s a light threat resting on his tongue, but it immediately dies at the sight of you, pupils shot, underneath him.

Even with the steady hold of your lower half, you’re shaking as you struggle to remain still for him. The pinch of his eyebrows loosen, eyes dropping down to the heave of your chest under his t-shirt. But what finally does it, is the way his hand fully swallows the side of your hip. Experimentally, he stretches his fingers against you, scanning the amount of skin he covers with the move. 

Biting your lip nervously, you start to pathetically plead with him again. “I’m sorry. I–I’ll be good. I–Please. Will be so good for you.”

He knows he should’ve held out longer, but for some reason—he’s spurred on to get his hands on you again.

In a matter of seconds, he dips back down, placing bites on your sweaty neck. You’re so sure it’s punishment for trying to ride his knee, because he’s leaving them in spots he knew would be hard to hide.

The hand that was previously keeping you steady, extends down to your swollen folds, forcing a pitched whine from your throat as he toys your clit. “Oh–Ah–F-Fuck,” you moan, clamping one hand around the back of his neck, as the other scrunches the sheet below you.

Dipping his thumb down to your dripping entrance, he collects your slick, before coating your bundle of nerves with it. Then, Bob bites down harshly on your collarbone, continuing to draw tight, uniformed circles as you mewl from the precision. 

It’s almost heartless, the way his pointer and middle finger curl into you next, roughly working against your walls that instinctively tighten around him. You're glad no one's home, because you couldn’t be bothered to stifle the shaky moans and mindless string of pleas that falls from your lips, begging him for more. Because it just feels too good. But, even if some of his house-mates were present, you're not too sure if you could stay quiet.

"That good, huh?" He licks over one of the marks he's been littering across your skin.

Bob’s mouth pulls into a pleased smirk against the side of your neck, letting you chase his hand, hips snapping off the mattress as you soak him down to his wrist. With his other hand, Bob’s palm travels up your bunched up shirt, giving your left breast a quick squeeze before rolling the hardened bud between two fingers. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs in your ear, putting more pressure on your swollen clit, working in unison with the unrelenting drag of his fingers inside you. All you can do is blabber, brows knitted in pleasure—too caught up in the building knot in your stomach. “I—I want—” You careen off the mattress again, rolling against his drenched hand.

“What is it?” He clicks his tongue at your incoherent response, fucking his fingers into you harder.

In response, another jumble of unintelligible sentences is pushed out of you. “Want my mouth on that pretty pussy? Is that it?” 

The palm under your shirt slips downward, as he removes himself from the crook of your neck, trailing down to your sopping core—all while keeping the bruising pace of his hand against you, eyes glued to the glossy sheen coating his entire forearm. It’s quick, the way he swaps from his thumb to his tongue, suctioning it around your clit, giving it all of his attention.

You’re not even sure you’re breathing anymore. There’s a burn rippling through your lungs as your jaw hangs open in a silent moan, unable to grapple the feeling of him groaning loudly against you. 

With your orgasm growing in the pit of your stomach Bob pushes you closer to it, adding a third finger, splitting you open and hitting you at the exact spot that gets your thighs to clench around his head, muffling his ears. With the confirmation that you’re close, his eyes snap shut—lapping at you with such vigor that the intensity finally sends you over the edge. 

The orgasm hits like a strong wave, washing over your trembling body as it racks every part of you. You're so sure, you felt your bones shake inside you. Underneath you, Bob slowly removes himself from your sensitive core, sweetly pressing his lips to your inner thigh, murmuring praise with each soft kiss. 

You suck in a much-needed breath of air, trying to focus your vision. At the moment, Bob has two ceiling fans overlapping over each other. 

“I–I don’t even care about the essays anymore,” you confess. How could you when your boyfriend ate you out like his life depended on it?

Tucking your chin, you curiously look down at him. With your wetness completely coating half his face, leading down to his bobbing Adam’s apple—he lightly laughs. He looks that good, and he has the audacity to laugh, causing your cheeks to heat up—as if you aren’t half naked in front of him.

You’ve always had trouble hiding your fluster when he smiled at you like that—So you’re certain, he can see how it’s affecting you. 

“That was my intention, Honeybee,” he rises to sit his knees, gently scooping you into a sitting position.

The oversized tee drops down your upper body as you sit up in front of him. You shouldn’t be—but you’re embarrassed to feel his sticky hand on the small of your back as he holds you up. “I love you, but you gotta give yourself a break. I can listen to you all day, swear it. I just—don’t like seeing you stress yourself out for no reason.”

He kisses your forehead, almost as if he's implanting the reminder there. Bob then gives your back an affectionate rub, prompting your lips to twitch, a tell-tale sign they’re about to wobble next. 

Biting down on your bottom lip to stop yourself, you lean forward, wrapping your weak arms around his neck. “I love you so much. Don’t deserve you,” you profess, brows knitted together—hit with the random urge to cry.

The only response you ever got from your incessant ranting were snappy remarks, telling you to shut up or go into another room if you were gonna talk to yourself.  But here you are, in the arms of the first person to ever admit that they don’t mind it. On top of that, he even loves you—caring enough to voice his concerns about your habit of rambling, which only resulted in a build up of unwanted anxiety.

Bob softens, pulling you closer to him, petting the top of your head. “You deserve me,” he assures you. “And you deserve a bath too, with me,” he adds on.

You quietly sniffle. “And cuddles.”

“How could I forget,” he scolds himself jokingly, drawing a giggle from you. At that, his mouth breaks out in a smile. “Then you can catch me up on the stuff you were tellin’ me about last week. You haven’t told me what happened after Professor Benjamin was caught with Bradley’s uncle.”

“Oh! Right. So when I walked in on them…” Bob listens intently, coaxing you off his mattress, laughing at your—maybe too detailed—description of what you saw. Once you’re both inside the bathroom, you move onto your opinions and theories next. Bob leans in close to your seated figure on the bathtub ledge, letting you talk into his ear, tuning out the loud bath water shooting out the faucet. 

His eyes widen, pulling back in surprise at your theory. “No way!”

“Yes, way!” You burst out in laughter, grabbing onto his shirt as he joins you. He makes sure to cradle your head so it doesn’t hit the sink by the tub. The sound of the running water can barely be heard over the obnoxious cries of laughter that come next.

After the bath, the rest of the day is spent with you playing with his hair as you stream through your gossip, updating your attentive boyfriend on what he missed out on. And he enjoys every second of it.

So, it just stamps it down further, that Bob never had a problem with how chatty you got.

note: thank you for reading, seeing that i'm struggling a bit to put something out for this series, i decided to put this out for now! :) as always, thank you for reading and reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @blueoorchid @queen-of-elves @cherrylipgloss-baby @purplevortexx @goosterroose @floralfloyd @doggo-and-goosey @chicomonks @maplesyurp07 @grxcisxhy-wp @anna1523 @laylaskywalker

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fic #bob x reader #tgm smut #tgm fic #bob floyd au

[jupitercomet]

20 Questions: In Three Parts

summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life—but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he’s already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, Bob is 6′5″ because I said so, no use of y/n, I added outfit links but you can imagine whatever you would like

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 4.5k

sweeter than sugar masterlist

“Okay, 20 questions.”

Bob raises his brows slightly. “20 questions?”

“Yeah,” you grin at him from over the counter. “20 questions.”

You didn’t exactly know what your relationship with Bob was. After your impromptu lunch, he started stopping by Sugar Plum more regularly. Then that turned to him staying until closing. Then after closing—Eloise was there too at first, but when you both deemed Bob to be an, at least, normal guy, she started giving you privacy. She certainly doesn’t mind going home an hour early either. Now he chats with you until everything is cleaned and put away—he offered to help, but you have a system—and then walks you to your car.

Bob looks at you before he lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Yeah, alright. Are you starting or am I?”

“I can start.” You tell him over your shoulder. “And that counts as one of your questions, by the way.” You add. 

“I don’t think that’s entirely fair,” Bob chuckles. 

You ignore him coyly. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

“Probably New York, just to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.” Bob says after a moment. 

“You like art?” You pause from wiping down the countertop.

Bob’s lip twitches into a small smile. “I do. And that counts as one of your questions. What made you know you wanted to be a baker?”

“I don’t know, it was something I did for fun growing up. I used to sit my family down and force them to eat whatever crime against chemistry I concocted. But when I got good at it, and realized I could make a career out of it, I just kinda did,” you shrug, a bashful smile playing on your lips. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

“Would you still like me if I told you I was unemployed?” 

You laugh. “I know you’re not unemployed, Bob.”

“How do you know that?” Bob makes a slight face.

“Men who are unemployed don’t usually leave repeated 20% tips.”

The tips of Bob’s ears pinken. “Right well, I don’t know, I don’t really have a job. I… work at a gym, but I pick up odd jobs all over the place too.” 

“That’s cool,” and you mean it, but you can also tell Bob is slightly embarrassed and he definitely shouldn’t be. “What do you do at the gym?”

He looks down and you think it’s rather sweet how shy he seems. “I’m a boxing instructor. Give lessons and all that.”

“Do you get a lot of boxers?” Your eyebrows raise. You’d heard rumors from Eloise when you first moved to San Diego. How there’s some elaborate underground boxing ring that connects all throughout the city. You’re not sure you believe it—it seems a little far fetched—but maybe there’s some validity to the fact that, at the very least, the sport is popular.

Bob lets out a hollow sounding chuckle. “You’d be surprised.”

“I’m sure I would be. The only thing I punch is, like, stubborn dough,” you wrinkle your nose after a moment, freezing behind the counter. “That was a terrible joke actually, I’m sorry.”

Bob lets out a genuine chuckle this time, his head dropping as he bites back a smile, looking up at you through his lashes. “You ever tried standup, sweet pea?”

“No,” you stick your tongue out at him. “And that’s question number three.”

Bob holds his hands up in mock surrender, and though it hardly graces his lips, there’s a smile in his eyes as he watches you finish up the last of your cleaning. You seem somewhat deep in thought as you reach behind yourself to tug on the ties of your apron. The canvas strings catch and Bob stands as you fiddle with them.

“Want help?”

You nod gratefully, moving out from behind the counter so he can reach you. It’s quiet as he untangles the ties and you keep your gaze trained on your shoes because you really don’t want Bob to see how the feeling of his breath on the back of your neck is affecting you.

“There.” His hands drop and the untied apron now opens around your body. “Think it’s your turn to ask a question, sweet pea.”

You take off your apron with a shaky breath, gathering all your courage before you turn to face Bob again. You like hanging out with him and the way he just goes along with whatever antics you put him through. What other grown man entertains the idea of playing 20 questions? You like hanging out with him and you want to do it more. “Do you think you could, um, teach me… boxing? That’s— That’s my question.”

“I don’t know if—”

“I was planning on starting it anyway!” That’s definitely a lie but there’s no way you’d ever tell Bob that. “It seemed like good exercise and one of my friends has been raving about it. But I’d feel better if I knew the instructor.” 

Bob swallows, looking at you with an unreadable expression before he finally nods slowly. “I guess I could— Yeah sure, I’ll, um, I’ll teach you. Does Wednesday afternoon work?”

“Yeah, that works,” you nod excitedly, turning away to turn off the kitchen lights—as well as hide your giddy expression. “That was another question, by the way. Now we’re even.”

“Well, someone’s home late,” Mickey lets out a low whistle as Bob closes the door to his apartment, his legs kicked up on the coffee table as he lounges on the couch.

“You know you don’t live here, right?”

Mickey looks up in mock offense, powdered sugar sticking to the corner of his lips. “Is that anyway to treat your best friend? Since childhood?”

“How is reminding you that you have your own apartment—” Bob stops, looking at the open—and very empty—purple box with white cursive font on it. “Did you eat my donuts?”

Mickey’s eyes flick flatly down to the identical box in Bob’s hands before going back up to his face. Sheepishly, Bob looks away, not wanting his best friend to catch on to the pink blush that is dusting his cheeks.

“Clearly, I did you a favor. Don’t think your trainer’s gonna be too happy that you’re stuffing yourself full of sugar,” Mickey licks some of the powdered sugar off his lips, before making himself comfortable again. 

Bob’s blush deepens. “It’s not that much.”

“Sure. Is she cute at least?” Mickey wipes his index finger on the sugar covered parchment paper in the box, popping it in his mouth with a satisfied hum.

“Who?”

“The girl you’re trying to impress by buying all this shit.” Bob opens his mouth to protest, but Mickey scoffs, “Don’t even try to act like you’re not. You did the same thing in middle school when you had a crush on Mindy Carverse.”

“No, I didn’t,” Bob calls over his shoulder, moving to the kitchen to put down the box of treats from Sugar Plum you insisted he take home with him—and to escape Mickey’s pestering.

“You forced me to join the mathletes with you because she was the captain. We were both in the lowest level math class, Bob!”

“Okay, well that— These are entirely different situations,” Bob argues back, peering through the wall cutout of his kitchen at the back of Mickey’s head. “She just makes really good desserts.”

Mickey jumps up, whirling around and pointing an accusing, powdered sugar covered finger at him. “Aha! So there is a girl, I knew it! Has Bobby boy found himself a girlfriend?” 

“Would you stop it? You’re worse than my mom,” Bob groans, tossing an oven mitt at Mickey in retaliation.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with Sarah wanting her baby Bo to find a nice girl and settle down,” Mickey dodges the oven mitt easily and Bob huffs out a low scoff as it flops and then skids off the coffee table. “But you, sir, are avoiding the question. Who is she? When’d ya meet her? Does she like you? Have you kiss—”

This time he doesn’t dodge the second oven mitt that hits him in the face.

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just— She’s just nice, alright?” Bob looks down at the swirly font of “Sugar Plum Bakery”, stark white against lilac purple, with a small smile. “She’s sweet.”

Mickey’s smile grows and he hurries around the couch to join Bob in the kitchen. “Oh, so you like like her then? You gonna ask her out?”

“No,” Bob deflates at the reminder, walking out of the kitchen to toss the empty box of treats Mickey finished before it starts attracting ants.

“What?” Mickey follows after him, brows furrowed. “Why?”

Bob sighs.

Guilt had been bubbling in his stomach since he’d agreed to see you again Wednesday, eating away at his stomach lining with every bitter reminder. He lied. He lied. He lied. Good people don’t lie, Bob knows that. He doesn’t need some children's book to tell him that, some rabbits or otters, he knows he shouldn’t lie. 

But if Bob doesn’t lie, he admits he’s a bad person. If he doesn’t lie, he has to look you in the eyes—those same eyes that light up when you ramble about something you like, that hide behind your cheeks when you smile, that look at him so softly—and tell you that he beats the ever living shit out of people for a living. And good people don’t do that.

So he didn’t tell you that. He lied. He lied. He lied. And Bob told himself that he should leave you alone, that you don’t deserve to be with someone like him. That you don’t deserve to be with someone who covers his every mistake with reusable shopping bags and recycling bins—like cheap band-aids on a bullet hole. 

Bob tells himself to leave you alone. But he can never seem to follow it. Instead he comes back, and keeps coming back, and asks you to share cupcakes with him, and agrees to teach you how to box. Because, even though he tells himself he doesn’t deserve you, it does nothing to outweigh the fact that he wants you anyway.

So Bob can’t ask you out—he can’t ask you to stay. Because, if he does, Bob knows he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you never leave. And you deserve more than reusable shopping bags and recycling bins. You deserve more than a liar.

Mickey’s lips suddenly part in understanding. “She doesn’t know.”

Bob swallows, looking down at the empty purple box with white cursive font in his hands.

“She doesn’t know,” he repeats.

You’re already waiting outside when Bob finally makes it to Maverick’s on Wednesday afternoon. The two of you had been texting back and forth in anticipation—which resulted in you sending him a very cute photo of you pretending to box pastry dough that he has since made your contact picture. But even with all of that, he feels slightly sick seeing you standing in front of white painted bricks of Maverick’s Gym and Boxing.

“Hi!” You wave excitedly as Bob gets closer, waiting until he’s standing in front of you to speak again. “You ready, coach?”

That puts a small smile on his face and he shakes his head as he opens the door for you both. “Coach?” He questions simply. 

“Yeah, you’re coaching me, aren’t you? Like Rocky.”

Bob gives the girl at the front desk a small nod of acknowledgement. She knows him—most people at Maverick’s do—and only seems mildly surprised to see you walking in next to him. Bob doesn’t usually bring people here, even Mickey’s only seen the inside of Maverick’s a couple times.

“Is that the only boxing movie you know?” Bob teases lightly, your excitement making it marginally harder for him to feel uneasy about bringing you here.

“For your information, I saw the trailer for the new Creed movie, I just never got around to watching it. But there’s another franchise,” you put your hands on your hips as Bob turns around to grab some clean wraps and gloves for you. “And that definitely counts as another question for you.”

His eyebrows raise slightly and he cranes his neck over his shoulder to look at you. “We’re still playin’?”

“We haven’t gotten to 20 questions yet. We both only got to five— Well, now I’m at five. You’re at six.”

“Alright then, we’ll keep playing. Give me your hands please.” You hold your hands out for Bob to wrap them, watching with bated breath as his calloused fingers brush against your skin. “Gotta keep your hands protected, sweet pea. They got work to do decorating pretty cakes.”

You grin as Bob slides a glove onto one of your hands, before deciding it’s not the right size and taking it off. “They’re also very sick of decorating pretty cakes. I had to make, like, three wedding cakes in the past seven days.”

Bob finally finds a pair of gloves he’s happy with, sliding them on your hands and securing them with the velcro strap carefully.

“Decorating pretty cupcakes, then.” He gives you a small smile.

He pulls away once the gloves are secure, putting a step of space between you as he straightens to his full size. He’s not wearing his ball cap today and he runs a hand through his hair to keep it out of his face, soft looking strands peeking out under his ears. Bob crosses his arms, his biceps bulging enough to test the resilience of his t-shirt sleeves. You swallow thickly. Maybe Eloise had been on to something when she called him God’s gift to women.

“Alright then, let’s see your stance, sweet pea.”

You blink, pulling yourself from the trance of Bob’s biceps and meeting his eye. “My— My what?”

“Your stance,” Bob repeats. “Let’s say you’re trying to punch me, how would you start?”

“Like this?…” You trail off unsurely, attempting to keep your feet in line with your hips because that’s what most workout YouTube videos always said and you were hoping it would also be applicable here. 

You feel a little silly, you realize, and not the least bit intimidating. Part of you wishes you’d just asked Bob out like you wanted to, instead of using his job as a pretense to hangout with him. When another tall, large man starts approaching from behind Bob, you drop the stance in mild embarrassment, like you’ve been caught trying something you shouldn’t, and Bob’s brows furrow.

“Hey Reaper, you lookin’ to—” When the man’s focus lands on you, having not been able to see you behind Bob’s towering frame, his eyes widen slightly. “Oh shit, my bad. Didn’t know you had a girl with ya, Reaper.”

Bob freezes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, um, maybe another time, Brigham.”

The man nods in understanding, throwing you a polite wave as he leaves. “For sure, man. Sorry for interrupting.”

You wait for him to walk away, nose scrunched in confusion. Bob seems to be acting like the whole event never happened, moving through his routine like it was never interrupted. It throws you a bit because, to you, that man seemed perfectly normal. But Bob’s almost putting up an act of normalcy. “Why does he call you that?”

“Why does he call me what?” Bob returns the question, not facing you as he grabs two strike pads. 

“Reaper.”

He stills, a pad halfway on his hand and he keeps his gaze stubbornly trained on it. You almost feel like you’ve ventured into territory that you shouldn’t until he finally speaks.“I… I love spicy food. It’s Reaper like a Carolina Reaper.”

“Oh,” you nod and Bob finishes putting on the strike pads. “That’s cool! I guess that probably counts as my question too, huh?”

Bob swallows, not quite meeting your eye as he nods. “Yeah, um, you ready to start?” You grin at his question and it seems like Bob can’t help the small smile that fights its way onto his lips. “I’m never gonna learn anything about you if you keep counting these as questions, sweet pea.”

“That’s a shame. You’ll just have to get better at asking questions then,” you shrug and then look down in baffled surprise when the weight of your hands snapped your arms straight back to your sides. Boxing gloves are heavy.

Bob lets out a loud, honest laugh at your expression. It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh, you realize. Maybe the first time anyone has heard him laugh if the startled reactions of people around you are anything to go by. But you look up and Bob’s eyes are squeezed shut, his face all crows feet and smile lines, and he laughs. 

You want to make him laugh all the time.

“Sorry,” he quiets down to soft chuckles, looking at you endearingly as his mouth returns to its usual small smile. “Sorry, that was just— I’ve never seen anyone make that face before.”

“It’s okay. I like when you laugh.”

Like some kind of fucked up Freudian slip, your mouth doesn’t stop when it’s supposed to, instead choosing to spill out the thought that’s been orbiting your mind for the past minute or so. The words hang in the air—your mouth choosing now to finally close, your teeth hitting each other audibly—and you almost wish you could punch them instead of Bob’s strike pads. 

Bob’s bright pink from cheeks, to ears, to neck and he looks down. “Thank you… I, um, I also like when you laugh.”

“Oh.” Most of your mortification washes away as Bob smiles at you bashfully and you can’t stop the butterflies that are fluttering in your stomach. “Thanks.”

It’s quiet and you look down at your boxing gloves as you try to beg the butterflies inside you to go back to their caterpillar state so that you can calm down. Bob doesn’t seem to be faring much better, turning his neck to peer out one of the many windows in Maverick’s—a blush still very evident on his face.

“What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” You blurt.

Bob turns back to look at you quickly. “Sorry?”

“For 20 questions.” You elaborate. “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Oh, right,” Bob looks up for a moment to think. “Probably cookie dough, I think.” He holds the strike pads up suddenly and you cringe internally at the reminder of what you’ve agreed to do just to spend time with this man. “Sorry, you came here for a lesson. We can—”

Your eyes widen slightly and you try to prolong the inevitable. “It’s your turn to ask a question,” you interrupt hastily. 

Bob drops his hands, looking at you thoughtfully and not saying a word. You wonder if he’s finally caught on to how desperate you’re acting. You’d hyped yourself up this morning and everything! And yet you are still acting like an idiot.

Bob swallows, lets out a breath, and then meets your eye. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

What Bob Floyd wants to do and what he knows he should do are two very different things, and it was in meeting you that Bob realized he is far more inclined to do what he wants. Because he told Mickey that he wouldn’t ask you out, that you’re too good for him, that he would leave you alone. And here he is waiting outside a restaurant you suggested, wearing a nice button up and slacks like he’s some sort of Mav clone after having spent a little over half an hour slicking back his hair and gathering his nerves.

Which is entirely the opposite of leaving you alone.

Briefly, he wonders if he should go. Act like a dick in that regard and make it so you don’t want him around you anymore. Leave you waiting for him at a restaurant wondering if Bob Floyd is really the good person you thought he was. But he can’t stomach the thought for more than a second. Because he doesn’t deserve you, he knows that, but you're both well past that now so there’s not much he can do about it. The least he could do is try.

“Oh gosh, sorry! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

Bob turns around at the sound of your voice, mouth opening to assure you that he really hasn’t been waiting that long. But his eyes land on you and suddenly words escape him. You’re so pretty.

“Fuck, I should have brought flowers.” He takes in your dress, and then his words, and then cringes. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t curse on a date.”

You laugh, looking up at him with a smile Bob thinks is far too large for him to be on the receiving end of. “It’s okay. And, um, next time we can both get each other flowers.”

Bob moves to open the door for you, which he knows he should do, so he can distract himself from the sudden urge he has to kiss you, which he really wants to do. You follow after him, sliding off your jacket as you enter the dimly lit restaurant. Bob hasn’t been here before and it seems you haven’t either, as you look a little disoriented searching for the hostess. 

“Sorry, I’ve never actually eaten here,” you explain after the hostess makes her way to the both of you and seats you at a table. “I’ve just always wanted to check it out and their reviews say they have really good spicy food, so I thought you might like it.”

Bob has never been more grateful that growing up with Mickey Garcia meant being force fed every pepper in existence under the pretense of double-dog dares and weekly allowances. Because of that, he’s built up a fairly high spice tolerance to match the lie he told you at Maverick’s. Again, Bob’s stomach twists at the reminder.

“But anyway,” you wave off, pulling Bob’s attention away from his inner turmoil and onto you. “I’ve been thinking about what questions to ask you and I think I got the most important ones.”

“Alright, hit me.” Bob nods, rubbing the tips of his fingers together nervously under the table. 

You make a sour face suddenly. “Don’t even use that as an expression around me, my arms are still sore from Wednesday.” 

Bob chuckles, ducking his head down to hide his smile as you rub out your arms with a slight pout. “I’ll let you borrow a massage gun.”

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.” You narrow your eyes teasingly. “But you should know that I box now and my trainer is really good, so I know how to kick your ass.”

Bob smiles and he realizes he likes the sound of being your trainer—well, he likes the sound of being your anything. And he knows that isn’t a thought he should be having, not with how much he’s lied to you, but as the waitress takes your order and you tease him for the fact he ordered a soda, Bob doesn’t want to throw that thought away. He wants to keep doing this with you and listen to you laugh, and ask him questions, and tell him how you’ll kick his ass. He knows he shouldn’t, but he wants to.

“Okay,” you look at him seriously. “What’s the movie that means the most to you?”

Bob hums, tapping his fingers against the wooden table. “Probably The Notebook. It’s my mom’s favorite movie and we’d watch it all the time - movie nights, if I was home sick, it was just kind of our thing. So, yeah, The Notebook.”

When Bob looks up, you’re smiling at him, eyes twinkling under the orangey-yellow bulb that hangs from the long ceiling light above your table. Normally he would have picked a cooler movie, he doesn’t entirely know why he’s being so honest with you. Maybe it’s his brain’s way of combating the guilt that comes from when he’s lied to you. Maybe, if he’s honest enough, it’ll balance out.

“What about you though?” He asks. “Do you have a movie that means the most to you?”

Your mouth falls open. “Hey! You can’t just repeat my question, that’s cheating!”

Bob chuckles at your outcry—and the way you nudge his leg with your own under the table. “I don’t think you can cheat at 20 questions, sweet pea. Besides, maybe I really wanna know what movie means the most to you.”

“Fine, I’ll allow it. But you can cheat at 20 questions and you just did.” You nudge his knee again before thinking. “I’d say Ratatouille as mine.” Smiling softly, you recall a memory. “It’s what inspired me to care so much about food, I think. I’d watch it and dream of working in Paris just like Remy.”

“Do you still want to work in Paris?”

You purse your lips pensively. “No, I don’t think so. I love San Diego, I don’t think I could leave. Even for Paris. What about you? Do you see yourself staying a boxing instructor?”

“Yeah,” Bob swallows down a sip of his Coke, but it does nothing to push down the honesty erupting from his mouth. “It’s just one of those jobs that makes you feel like you couldn’t do anything else, I guess. But there are worse jobs to have.”

The waitress comes back with your food before you can respond—Bob’s somewhat grateful for that as he’s not entirely sure if he wants to hear what you’ll say to his answer. Your game of 20 questions is paused, conversation flowing easily between the two of you, and Bob finds himself smiling, and chuckling—and laughing—between mouthfuls. He likes you, he knew that already. But he wants you too. And he knows he shouldn’t, but right now, under orangey-yellow lights and with the taste of Coca-Cola on his tongue, he can’t bring himself to care.

It isn’t until you’re saying goodbye, as he helps you put your coat on and opens the door for you, that he even remembers you had yet to finish your game.

“Wait!” You stop at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him as you stand on the sidewalk and Bob takes a few strides to meet you. “It’s— It’s your turn. You have the last question.”

You bite back a smile and Bob’s glad it’s somewhat dark out so you can’t catch how pink you’ve made him—again. But you’re looking up at him so intently, he’s sure you’ve noticed anyway.

“I’m gonna save it,” you say.

“Save it?”

“Yeah.” And as you stand there, under the warm light of the restaurant's frosted windows grinning at him, Bob swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful. “So I guess we’ll just have to go on another date.”

join my Bob Floyd taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold

#bob floyd imagine #bob floyd imagines #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd angst #bob floyd au #bob imagine #bob imagines #bob x reader #bob fluff #bob angst #bob au #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #sweeter than sugar #under the hard deck #buggy's got a pen

[bobfloydsbabe]

italian holiday | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush blurb

SUMMARY: Professor Bob has big plans for his three-week holiday with Imogen.

WORD COUNT: 277

masterlist | taglist

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

Bob and Imogen are walking along the beach, lights bouncing off the water from the villas built into the rocky landscape that surrounds the quiet seaside village.

Bob has his arm draped over her shoulders and keeps her pressed gently against his body as they walk. They’re carrying their shoes, allowing bare feet to leave footprints in the soft sand that the calm waves wash away before you can blink.

“Nothing,” he says and kisses the side of her head. 

Imogen stops and looks up at him. He’s wearing a blue linen shirt that makes his eyes look crystal blue, even in the warm light of the setting sun. He looks more at ease here than at home, and she decides Italy suits him.

“Robert Floyd,” she warns with a teasing lilt to her tone. “Don’t lie to me.”

His breathy chuckle makes her smile, and she knows when he leans down and presses his lips against hers that he’s planning something. She knows his contemplative face like the back of her hand.

“Fine,” she says, shoving gently at his chest. “Don’t tell me, but you’re up to something and I will figure it out.”

He drops his shoes in the sand and pulls her in by the waist. He kisses her again, deep and languid, making her toes curl in the sand and desire shoots through her every nerve ending. 

When they part, they’re breathless, and Bob slides a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“You don’t have to guess. I’ll tell you.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “When?”

“Soon,” he promises and pecks her lips.

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are golden

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @kmc1989, @attapullman, @bobgasm, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @sio-ina-bottle, @millieb-3199, @solo-pitstop-vibes, @cremebruleequeen, @hangmandruigandmav, @seitmai, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @auroraseddie, @roosterforme, @xoxabs88xox, @cherrycola27, @keyrani, @bradshawsbaby, @bluezraven, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @bcarolinablr

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fluff #robert floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #eccentric professor bob #professor bob #otp: bob x imogen #fic: gold rush #oc: imogen van doren #helena writes #writtenbyme #mywriting #madebyme #helenawrites #bob floyd au #lewis pullman

[ereardon]

Bob Floyd masterlist

*All of my fics are 18+. Please do not repost my work without consent or steal my work. Reblogs and comments give me life so please do interact if you'd like!

✤: Fluff

❂: Angst

❀: Smut

Series

❀❂✤ Friends Don't — Bob x OC [Reid Coleman] – Complete

Bob has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly volunteered to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

❀❂✤ Golden Hour — Bob x Bradley x OC [Dr. Olive James]

Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

❀❂✤ The Back Seater and the Baker — Bob x OC [Haley Nichols]

Bob hasn't seen Haley Nichols since he was fifteen. But when Haley shows up out of the blue with one sentence that throws Bob for a loop – "I'm turning thirty in two weeks, are we still on?" – all of the feelings from their childhood return. Bob never thought that Haley would remember the marriage pact the two made when they were just kids, even if he never forgot. So what happens when Bob falls all over again for his childhood crush? And what will Bob do when he discovers the real reason she came back to capitalize on the pact is to secure her inheritance and save her bakery from bankruptcy? Will he believe Haley when she confesses that she loves him, too?

One shots

✤ One Night — Bob x Reader – Complete

You have your eyes on Bob at the Hard Deck, but have to shoot down Jake Seresin first.

✤ Gas Station Tears — Bob x Reader – Complete

After your boyfriend dumps you, your car stalls out in a gas station parking lot. Luckily, Bob Floyd happens to be there to fix your car. Can he fix your heart, too?

❂✤ It Was Never Him — Bob x Reader – Complete

You catch your boyfriend Rooster making out with a girl at the Hard Deck and only one person can comfort you in the aftermath: Bob Floyd. 

❂ What Are You Thinking? — Bob x Reader – Complete

Bob Floyd is a quiet man. Sometimes you have to ask him what he’s thinking just to know what wheels are turning inside of his head. He always gives you a response, until one day, years into your marriage, he turns the question on you. 

❀ When I'm Done With You — Bob x Reader – Complete

At a fraternity mixer, you lose your (admittedly shitty) boyfriend in the crowd. That’s when Bob Floyd, president of Alpha Tau and your boyfriend’s personal nemesis, finds you and decides to make you his. 

❀ She Calls Him Daddy – Bob x Reader – Complete

Coming home from college for winter break, the last thing you expected was to run into your best friend’s father while out shopping for new lingerie to surprise your fuck buddy with. You had always tried to hide your attraction for Mr. Floyd because he was Anna’s father. But all rules are thrown out when Bob invites you over on Christmas Eve while Anna is at her mother’s house. You’ll never be able to look at your friend’s dad the same way ever again.

✤ More Than Enough — Bob x Reader – Complete

The first two times Bob Floyd ends up in your emergency room he’s a mess. You never expected him to return a third time. But when he does, it changes everything.

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob+floyd+x+reader #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd au #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x y/n

[bradshawssugarbaby]

#top gun maverick au fic #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin au #jake hangman seresin au #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #robert bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd au #robert bob floyd au #sports au #football au #hockey au

[sunlightmurdock]

I want a whole lot more than the boy next door, I want hell on wheels

dagger squad 80s au’s

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #lewis pullman #bob Floyd au #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun #dagger squad 80s au

[notroosterbradshaw]

Kisses #11 with Bob and maybe a pilot!reader?

PROMPT: 11. a kiss that says ''we're late for work, but let's be later''

thank you for this, nonny. Let's go!

A/N - I have another 10 or so kiss prompts. I'm going to close the requests. Thank you for your submissions, I'm enjoying writing them. Def overwhelmed but will continue with what I’ve already received xx

“You need to go that way, I need to go that way,” you mumbled against Bob’s lips, reaching for the collar of his flight suit to pull him closer. He huffed a quiet hum, your actions not mirroring your words in the slightest. 

You were about two minutes away from hearing the riot act from Cyclone, Bob was about to hear the same from Phoenix for the 200 push-ups she had coming because he was surely going to be late and well, you know, partners. Your lips had been glued together for the better part of five - 

“Uh huh,” Bob said, pulling his grip against you tighter, his big hands pressing into your hips and curving your spine to him. 

It all started innocently enough. You grinned at each other as you crossed pathways in the hallway. You have just left a morning meeting and Bob had just gone through his morning seminar, heading to pre-flight. “Just,” he lifted his wrist from your side, spying his watch over your shoulder. “90 more seconds and we can make a break for it, okay?”

“On the clock, so sexy,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. He caught your lips again. Sweet Bob, how this was turning into a daily occurrence was baffling to you. You’d met him in his graduate year, and as deceptive as his shyness projected, Bob wasn’t overly timid around those that he knew. You’d got to talking one night over a few drinks at The Hard Deck and you couldn’t get enough of his stories of growing up on the farm but also needing to break the chain of his family’s expectations for what he truly wanted in life.

He thought that was to fly but his fate brought him to the backseat, a role he relished and knew he was damn good at too. 

A few beers that night and he had you a quivering mess as he pressed his body against yours outside the bar. It never really eventuated further that. But this time was different. You had both found yourselves in the right places at the right time. Funny that.

His strong palm would wrap around your wrist, drag you into the closest classroom and kiss you ferociously until the very last second when you’d both escape before being caught. To this point... there were way too many near misses for your luck not to run out. And soon. 

Your phone started to buzz and Bob only fought harder for your kiss, his slick tongue sweet against your own. You’d learned so much from him. Like... how not to underestimate the quiet ones.

“Bob, I gotta go. It’s Cyclone, I have another meeting - ” 

He groaned against your lips. He knew he was in for it too. “Okay, okay,” he said, reluctantly and stepped away. He took his BCGs off (good lord, they weren’t meant to be attractive by any stretch... but Bob definitely found a way to make them work) and he rubbed the slightly foggy marks away against his flight suit before adjusting them back on his eyes properly, a goofy smile on his lips. Proud, pleased. Both.

Collecting yourself, you were scared the open the classroom door in case there was a gaggle of new students on the other side. You straightened your clothes and breathed evenly. “Have a good day, Lieutenant.”

“Yep,” was all he could reply as you ducked out and left him to his devices. Reading his wat, he knew: Natasha Trace was going to kill him. He was late. 

“Think this is funny?” Phoenix asked as Bob scurried across the tarmac as she inspected their aircraft a few moments later. “You wanna go on this mission, we gotta be on our A-game.”

“Of course,” Bob said, his skin flushing. 

She frowned at him, glad they weren’t spotted by any of their seniors. “I dunno who she is, Bob, but this is the second day in a row your mouth is covered in lipstick. I think yesterday’s suited you better though,” she smirked to herself, using her thumb to rid away the last of the evidence.

He nodded. “She’s everything,” he told his partner. 

“She works here?” 

He gave a single nod. 

“Say no more - tell me everything tonight over a beer,” she instructed as Bob’s face brightened slightly.

“Well, ok.” 

#bob x reader #bob x female reader #bob sweet bob #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #bob fluff #bob floyd au #bob floyd x reader #top gun fanfiction #ficlet

[topguncortez]

Ghosts | Chapter 2

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♰ synopsis: The O'Phalens land in the US ahead of the Mafia Ball. Y/N and Cillian decide to visit from old stomping grounds. And Bob gets the wake up call he's been needing. ♰ word count: 4.1k ♰ warnings: mentions of character death, mentions of suicide, mentions of murder, unhealthy coping mechanisms, federal tampering, mentions of gun sales, mentions of drug usage, cursing, mentions of unprotected sex

It was raining when the plane touched down on the tarmac in the small private airport. The last time you were at this airport you were leaving everything behind you and going back home to essentially start a new life. Green eyes took in the surroundings, the black SUVs, and the nicely dressed men with guns tucked in their waistbands. You sighed and looked over at your parents who were in a conversation as the plane settled on the ground. 

“How long are we here for?” Your older brother, Cillian, asked. 

“A couple of days,” Maeve said, the matriarch of the family. Her beautiful brown hair made her stand out from the rest of them. All three of the O’Phalen children had deep coppery colored hair that glistened in the light, “Clover will stay behind, start digging into those files.” 

You sucked in a breath, “Is there a reason I have to be the one specifically to do it? Cillian can do it too?” 

“You know that what they have is more sensitive to you,” The leader of the family, Galen, said. His cold blue eyes made you shiver. You knew that you were the only one who could fast enough to get in and tamper with the evidence and information without being caught. Cillian was smart, but not nearly as smart as you. 

You stood up first, making your way toward the door of the plane. One of the guards helped you down the stairs of the plane as your family followed behind. You watched as your father helped your mother down the stairs, keeping an arm around her. You had always admired your parents' love, knowing that finding love in their line of work was few and far between. It usually ended in heartbreak and misery, but Galen and Maeve have been lucky. 

“We’ll be in and out, you’ll be back home with your baby before you know it,” Maeve said, reading the look on your face. It was the first time in almost six years that you had been so far away from home, and it was an eternal battle to not run away and have the plane turn back home. 

“Y/N,” Cillian called out to you. You turned and walked over to him, “Aidan just rang.” 

Your heart stopped and your mind went to the worst-case scenario, “What’s wrong?” 

“Cian is sick. He’s running a fever.” 

“I need to go,” You said and pushed past Cillian only to be stopped by Galen, “Da,” 

“No. He’s okay, he’s home with Aidan and the maids. He will be okay,” Galen explained and you looked over at your mother, trying to reason with her. 

“Listen to your father,” Maeve said, “You’re here for business.” 

“It’s also my job to be a mother,” You argued, but your mom gave you a pointed look. You huffed, knowing that neither one was going to budge and let you go back, “If he gets worse, I am on the first plane back home. Fuck all the -” 

“Remember why you are here, what you are here trying to protect,” Galen said. You nodded and looked down at your heels. You still didn’t understand why your father insisted on everyone flying in their business best. Expensive suits and dresses tailored to perfection. Only the best leather dress shoes and heels are on everyone’s feet. He always said that a well-dressed person is more likely to get an invite to the table. Your father gently guided you towards one of the awaiting SUVs waiting to take them to one of the Seresin hideaway houses. 

— — —♰♰♰ — — — 

Between Javy, Bob, and a little bit of help from Mickey, it only took about a week to gather addresses and send them out. Rooster made a list of mafia families that were arriving and placed them at various stock houses and hotels around the Seresin compound. Rooster let Bob do most of the work finding the families, knowing that he could work quicker. Besides, Rooster tasked himself with trying to figure out why the Irish Kings had been invited. The name and picture had been on Rooster’s mind for the past week, the recurrent dream that he hadn’t had for years coming back, making him wake up in a cold sweat at night. 

“Javy,” Rooster said, stopping the man in the hallway. He grabbed his arm and pulled him into the office, “Do you know why the Irish Kings would be invited?” 

“Why?” Javy asked, “Why wouldn’t they? They are Mr. Seresin’s oldest friends. Their history goes back decades.” 

“But do we to invite them?” Rooster pointed between the two of them

“Look, we had no choice,” Javy sighed, “The Seresins have been business partners with the O’Phalens since the early 1920s. They got cold feet when Jake ate lead and Bob stepped up. We have to prove that we are still worthy of being a business partner.” 

“You know what they did. You know what she means! He has no idea about any of it!” Rooster yelled in a hushed whisper and took a step toward Javy. 

“Whatever happened six years ago is in the past. You need to get over whatever personal vendetta you have against them. Remember, the fucker that killed your parents is dead. Galen wasn’t the one who ordered the hit.” 

“I don’t give a -” 

“Hey,” Bob said, standing in the doorway of the office. Rooster stepped away from Javy, and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. Rooster looked down at his dress shoes, not bothering to look up at his friend as Bob stepped into the office and gave Javy the list of addresses, “Finished up the list. Took a little longer than I thought, guess I’m kinda rusty.” 

“I don’t think it’s rust,” Javy said looking at the printed ink, “These old fucks have been in hiding for God knows how long, I’m amazed that you found all of them.” 

Bob smirked to himself, “It’s easy when you’re me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, now go get your dick sucked,” Javy said and walked out of the office leaving the two friends there. Rooster shuffled awkwardly, looking up at his friend. Their relationship had been strained in the past three years with Bob’s new habits. Rooster had his fair share of club nights and girls in his bed but it all changed when he fell in love with her. 

“I’m going out tonight,” Bob said, “Javy probably wants me to have a babysitter, so you’re more than welcome to come with me.” 

Rooster nodded and looked around the office. He really didn’t have an excuse to say no to him, usually, he was busy training guards or working on things for the family, and could just brush Bob off. But Bob hadn’t asked Rooster to go out to the club. Most of the time, Bob was yelling that he was leaving as he walked out the door. Rooster fiddled with the ring on his middle finger and let out a sigh. 

“Sure,” He agreed, “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

— — — ♰♰♰ — — — 

Six years ago,

Cambridge, MA

Bradley was bored. He had been in Cambridge, following Bob around for about two weeks now. Currently, he was laying on his back, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, as Bob typed away on his laptop. Rooster let out a sigh, locking his phone and setting it on his stomach. The only reason why he was even here was that the Seresins sent him as Bob’s personal bodyguard. The only person that Bob trusted more than Rooster, was Jake, and he was busy learning how to run the family. Rooster had agreed, and moved in as Bob’s roommate, following him to classes and pretending like he understood what was going on. 

“Alright,” Rooster said, pushing himself up from the twin-XL. Bob looked up from his desk, “Shut that shit off, we’re going out.”

“I’m in the middle of homework, Bradley,” Bob gestured to the laptop and notebooks in front of him. 

“I don’t care. We have been summoned to a party,” Rooster jumped off his bunk, “Come on, there will be hot chicks and alcohol, I’ll even let you complain about the music for at least ten minutes.”Bob thought about it for a moment, sitting back in his chair, “Don’t make me beg.” 

Bob tilted his head and squinted his eyes at him. Rooster huffed, getting down on his knees, and that’s when Bob draped his facade, laughing at the man. 

“Get the fuck up, you look pathetic,” Bob said, pushing back from his desk. 

By the time the two were walking up the steps of the house, the party was in full swing. Rooster and Bob made their way inside, passing by the drunk couples making out by the door. Rooster led them to the kitchen, grabbing red solo cups and mixing up a quick drink for the both of them. Bob sniffed the cup as Bradley handed it to him, groaning at the scent of alcohol. 

True to his word, Bradley set a timer for ten minutes and let Bob complain about the pop music that was blasting through the speakers. Bob had spent most of his first two years of college avoiding Fraternity Row, and parties altogether. He didn’t like drinking, loud music made his head hurt, and he wasn’t the type to just sleep with someone random. Bob was a quiet person, and would much rather sit on a bench and watch the party from afar. But, he did feel bad for Bradley, knowing that this wasn’t the ideal situation he wanted to be in, so Bob agreed to give a little for his sake. 

When the ten-minute timer was up, Bob shooed Bradley to go do his own thing. Bradley didn’t go too far, making sure to still have Bob within his sight. Bob stayed on the wall, occasionally greeting a classmate who recognized him from the year before. He noticed the rotation of girls that Bradley had around him. It seemed as with every new song, there was a new girl with her backside pressed against Bradley’s crotch. Bob sometimes wished he had the same swagger and confidence as Jake and Bradley. 

Sighing, Bob tilted his head back, downing the rest of the vodka mix that Bradley gave him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of that vibrant red hair that caught his attention weeks ago. He had been wondering if he would see her again. Bob didn’t even know her name, but he was already so enthralled with her. The only reason why he hadn’t hacked into the school database to look for her was Bradley telling him that it was “borderline stalker shit.” 

But here she was, standing in the open doorway of the living room, looking out at the sea of people dancing, then locking in on him. Bob straightened up, pushing himself off the wall. He took a step forward, planning out what path he was gonna take when her eyes moved and locked onto someone else. Bob’s shoulders sagged as she pushed through the crowd and tapped Rooster on the shoulder. The moment Rooster turned to her, she was hidden from Bob’s line of sight. 

“You know, I never did believe it when I heard the phrase ‘it’s a small world’, but I guess I was wrong.” You said, your eyes tracing over Rooster’s frame. The man clenched his jaw, straightening his spine as he looked down at you, “Don’t make a scene, Bradley.” Rooster rolled his eyes as he grabbed your body, pulling your back against his chest to blend in with the rest of the college students. He swayed their bodies to the music for a couple of seconds, before speaking to you. 

“What are you doing here?” Bradley asked, his tone sharp as he glared down at you.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You said, raising a brow at him.

“I’m not telling you shit-” Rooster said, being interrupted halfway through his sentence as you turned in his arms to face him. You ran your hand up his chest, and he gripped your hips harder, pulling you in closer, “You gonna answer or am I gonna have to -” You cut him off again, placing your hand over his mouth. 

“Hold up, they’re playing my request. Figured this could be your song, seeing as you’ve found yourself quite the roster of girls here.” You could see over Rooster’s shoulders those ocean-blue eyes from a couple of days ago. You sent the boy a wink, flashing a smug grin as ‘Womanizer’ by Britney Spears began to play. “I’ll see you around.” 

You pushed away from Rooster’s body, and Bob watched as you disappeared into the crowd. Rooster was breathing heavily as he watched you walk away, and then turned to go find Bob. His good mood was officially ruined because of you. 

“Can we go?” Bradley grumbled, “I’m done with this.”

Bob chuckled, raising his brows at his best friend, “What? Don’t like Britney, Rooster?”

— — —♰♰♰ — — — 

Since that very first night at MIT, Bradley always allowed Bob ten minutes to complain about the music whenever they go out. But as they strolled through one of the many clubs that they owned, Bob was silent. He kept his blue eyes trained on the bar in front of them, slipping past Rooster and going to order drinks. Rooster sighed, and settled at the balcony, looking down at the open dancefloor below them. It was only 10 PM and the place was packed. Barely legal club-goers grinding on one another, a haze of sweat in the air. 

Bob returned to Bradley’s side, handing him a rocks glass with dark liquor in it. Bradley sniffed it, his eyebrows scrunching at the smell of whiskey. He watched wide-eyed as Bob threw his back as if it was water. 

“Gonna analyze it or drink it?” Bob mumbled, licking the remaining liquid off his lips. 

“I-” 

Bob didn’t stick around long enough to hear Rooster’s response, as he walked away from the balcony. Bradley watched him walk downstairs to the dancefloor, easily getting lost in the sea of people. Bob had to push his way through the floor. The crowd didn’t open and part for him as they would for Jake. It didn’t take long though, for Bob to have a girl press herself against him. He grabbed her hips and turned her so her back was against his chest, her ass grinding against his crotch. He leaned down, ghosting his lips against her neck, taking in the scent of cheap perfume and vodka. 

‘This one will do’, Bob thought as he ran his large hands up and down her sides. She practically purred in Bob’s arms. She couldn’t have been older than 18, not that he cared anymore. He stopped caring about the names and faces of those who he fucked a long time ago.

Bradley had found himself on one of the couches in the lounge, puffing on a cigar, a pretty blonde girl sitting on his lap. A couple of the guys from the fight ring were scattered around on other couches, either talking up the bottle service girls or sticking their tongues down their throats. Normally, Bradley would’ve taken one of the girls to his private lounge, getting his dick sucked while he drank expensive whiskey. But, since he met her, things had changed in Bradley. Maybe it was the grief of Jake’s death, but Bradley’s heart was feeling lighter. 

The girl on his lap, whose name was Violet, he had learned, was talking about how one of her professors was a “major, total dick”. Bradley could care less about knowing about Violet’s professor, but having the feeling of another body on him was keeping him from pushing her away. However, Bradley was pulled back into focus by the sound of a thick Irish accent. His head snapped over to the bar, where he saw a familiar head of red hair. 

“Excuse me,” Bradley said, picking up Violet and setting her down next to him, “Hey Max! Two Irish Car bombs,” He nodded toward the bartender as he approached, “Oh wait, is that too close to home?” 

The Irishman turned and looked at Bradley, “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t get my hands dirty with explosives.” He smirked and held his hand for Bradley to shake, but the brown-haired boy just glared at him, “Nice to see you, brother.” 

“Don’t ‘brother’ me, Cillian,” Bradley scoffed, “Why the fuck are you here?” 

“It’s a free country, Rooster,” Cillian shrugged, “And this is a free club in said free country.” 

Out of the three O’Phalen siblings, Cillian was the one that Rooster couldn’t stand the least. He was smart, calculated, and a major sarcastic asshole. Rooster could remember all the pranks that Cillian would pull on his younger siblings. Well, that was before his sister had found her knack for hacking and then Cillian was quickly put on the receiving end of many vicious pranks. Cillian was always a sharp-dressed man, standing in front of Rooster wearing an expensive all-black three-piece suit with a dark green pocket square. His red hair was cut perfectly, and not a single hair was out of place. Rooster also could remember growing up and envying how quickly Cillian could grow facial hair. 

“I didn’t mean the fucking club,” Rooster rolled his eyes, “I meant in the States. You fuckers couldn’t even come to Jake’s funeral, what makes you come to this?” 

Cillian didn’t answer at first, turning to order two glasses of scotch. The bartender complied, handing two high-ball glasses of the dark liquid. Cillian handed one to Rooster, clinking glasses with him before taking a sip. Rooster eyed the man as he pushed off of the bar and walked over to the balcony, looking down at the crowd. 

“We send our apologies for the funeral,” Cillian said, glancing over his shoulder, “It wasn’t ideal for us to travel at that time. We didn’t know if any threats lingered.” 

Rooster rolled his eyes, “You O’Phalens think you’re more important than the goddamn president.” 

“Who do you think funds his campaigns?” Cillian winked, “But, we have other business to attend to. Seems like some people just can’t stay dead.” 

“You know?” Rooster asked, shifting closer to him. Cillian just nodded, his green eyes quickly finding who he was looking for, “And? Any news?” 

“There’s case sensitive information that they know of… Private, family information.” 

“The kid?” Cillian again just nodded, taking a sip of his drink, “Well, you’re all stupid to think you could hide him forever.” 

“And we were stupid to think that you could actually kill Natasha,” Cillian shot back. Rooster swallowed thickly. Cillian laughed and tossed back his drink. He grimaced as the alcohol burned his throat, and shoved the empty glass into Rooster’s chest, “Tell me, Bird Boy. . . do you still like to dance?” 

Rooster’s eyebrows furrowed as the lights in the club turned from deep red to vibrant green in an instant. Bob, who was sucking face with some random brunette, pulled away the second the lights changed. Confusion settled in his bones, as he stood up from the couch, and glanced up at the balcony to see a red-headed man pat Rooster on the cheek and walk away. 

“Superstar, where you from? How's it going?” 

— — —♰♰♰ — — — 

Bob was up early the next day, which was surprising to everyone in the mansion. The maids and butlers were used to him waking up around two in the afternoon and sauntering out of his room in need of a drink. But Emile was surprised when he came down, dressed in a suit, his long hair slicked back, and asking for coffee and a bagel. She was happy to see the young boy look more like his old self and not the shell of the person he used to be. 

Bob couldn’t explain it, but he just knew that the lighting change and music were caused by her. ‘Womanizer’ wasn’t a usual song that was played at the club, and the DJ could not remember setting it to queue either. When Bob came home last night, he tried rushing right to his office, to search the security cameras for any sight of her, but Rooster made him go to bed. He claimed that Bob needed to sleep off the cocaine high before went digging through the cameras for hours. 

“C’mon,” Bob muttered as he logged into the security tapes on his computer, pulling up multiple views on his monitors. His blue eyes searched through the sped-up feed, “C’mon Clover, show yourself. I know it was you.” 

Bob clicked on one of the last cameras, seconds after the lights had changed and he watched the red-head man walk away from Rooster. He followed him as he walked through the dark hallway to the alley at the back of the club. A woman was waiting outside as the red-headed man opened the door and walked to her. Even in the black & white footage, Bob knew that the woman had red hair. The woman nodded as the man spoke to her, and quickly glanced over her shoulder, looking directly at the spot one of the cameras was. It was only for a moment before the camera went dark. 

“Clover?” Bob asked, pausing on the shot of her looking at the camera, “Fuck!” 

Bob pushed back in his hair, pulling on his locks of hair, trying to think of what he could do. He lifted his head up and looked at the image of her, her features so perfectly presented in front of him. He gently touched the screen almost as if he were to reach in and caress her soft face. Bob sat back in his chair, studying her face over and over, watching that three-second video of her looking over her shoulder at the camera. 

Javy was on the verge of a mental breakdown as he was trying to finish the checklist for the ball tonight. He had been working on this project for over a year, between trying to find a location, locating the mafia Kings, finding enough security, and everything else that came with hosting some of the world’s richest criminals under one roof. Javy was really feeling the sting of the pain of not having Jake around. He had always prided himself on being organized, but there was something about not having the presence of a strong leader like Jake. The closer and closer the ball got, the more and more Javy found himself turning to look at the sky and asking Jake for some sort of guidance. 

Javy was looking over some order of champagne on his Ipad when he walked by Bob’s office, seeing his stare at the monitors in front of him. Javy looked down at his watch and then back at Bob, confused as to why he wasn’t dressed in his tux to go to the venue for the ball. 

“Yo, what the fuck? We are leaving in 15 minutes!” Javy said, walking into Bob’s office, snapping him out of his daze. 

“Huh?” Bob said, jumping and turning to face his friend, “What, what time-” 

“Go get fucking dressed!” Javy yelled at him. 

“So-sorry,” Bob said, shutting down his system and standing from his chair. 

“Look, I’m not sure what the hell is going on with you lately, and frankly I don’t have the patience to really care,” Javy said, grabbing Bob’s arm and stopping him, “But you need to get your head screwed on tighter. You are supposed to be our leader. I can’t protect you, I can’t save you, I’m too busy trying to save myself right now. So figure your shit out, or I guess I’ll start planning your funeral next.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bob muttered and Javy let go of his arm, leaving the office, cursing about if he got enough champagne or not. 

Bob took in a deep breath as he looked back at the screen with his long-lost love’s face on it. Javy was right, they needed him to be a leader tonight. He was the head of the Seresin mafia now. They would look like utter fools if they walked in and Bob was MIA. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t give the mafia Kings any reason to question his authority or power to rule the family. It wasn’t what Jake would do. It wasn’t what Jake had given his life for to happen. It wasn’t what Athena had died for. 

Bob rolled his shoulders back and, without a second thought, deleted the image from his computer.

taglist: @cherrycola27 @bradleybeachbabe @dtownclown93 @itsmytimetodream @babybabygrogu @angelbabyange @endofdays56 @indynerdgirl @thedroneranger @happypopcornprincess @seitmai @damrlova @floralfloyd @ravenclawaddict5285 @bey0ndne0 @some-lovely-day @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @desert-fern @cosmic-psychickitty @high-speed-r @xoxabs88xox

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#top gun #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun imagine #top gun AU #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick AU #bob floyd #bob floyd fan fic #bob floyd fan fiction #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd AU #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #Robert bob floyd #Bradley rooster Bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster #javy machado #javy coyote machado #coyote machado #coyote #Jake seresin #Jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin #hangman

[et-homephone]

calvin getting sick in lessons in chemistry is giving bob after a night out drinking 😭😭

#lessons in chemistry #calvin evans #bob floyd au #bob floyd

[bradshawswife]

Mr. & Mrs. Floyd 💍

used my ideal of a wedding + southern bob vibes

pictures from pinterest! 🍂💍

#mr. & mrs. floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd au #this is my IDEAL life #cried while making this #lewis pullman #robert bob floyd #bob my beloved

[sailor-aviator]

I present to you….

The Three Musketeers

Masterlists and summaries to come soon…

#musketeers!au #Jake hangman seresin x reader #Jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader

[waklman]

Pool Rules

summary: you get yourself into trouble trying to surprise your boyfriend during swim practice.

pairing: bob floyd x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n. fluff, like one suggestive joke. 18+ blog in general.

olympic swimmer au

the last lap masterlist.

“Floyd, security detained your girl again,” Jake flatly announces, stalking into the locker-room with his very own girlfriend in tow, leading her inside with their hands entwined.

“Again?” Bob pivots on his damp feet, zipping up his arena jacket back up out of courtesy. 

Really, it should alarm him more that you’ve been snagged by pool staff, but this was the third time it’s happened, this week.

“It was so mean!” Jake’s girlfriend chimes in, microfiber towel thrown over her head. Not bothered enough to ask if Bob’s decent, she rips the cotton draped over her eyes and Jake grits, wrestling to get it back on. “They just—they grabbed her thinking she’s some random fan that snuck in! Isn’t that horrible?”

“Would you just—get out of here Floyd.” Jake redirects the scolding to his teammate, still fighting against his girlfriend as she erupts into a bout of giggles at Jake’s struggle to keep the towel in place. 

Understanding that Jake’s frustration isn’t fully targeted towards him, Bob nods and steers his body towards the exit, leaving his pile of dry clothes behind on the bench.

Assuming you’ve been stuck into that detainment room, Bob makes his way up there, swim tights still dripping wet.

Nearing you in his climb up the stairs, he sighs remorsefully, turning the corner. They probably stuck you in the grubby plastic chair that you swore flattened out your butt. And despite his tireless efforts to convince you otherwise, you were fully set on the fact that your rear quite literally sunk.

With a gentle knock to the door, the athlete cuts through his own stream of thoughts. And in getting no answer to the polite gesture, Bob pauses, waiting out a few more seconds before cautiously letting himself inside.

He’s not the least bit surprised to find you sitting in that very chair you hated so much, pouty face painted in streaky lines of red white and blue. As usual, you look like you’re ready to cheer on the U.S team at any given moment. 

Wordlessly coming to a stop in front of you, Bob lets you stain his white nylon jacket with your patriotic face paint as you slump forward, landing flat on his stomach. In all fairness, his bare legs do wet the front of your shirt in return, but it doesn’t seem like you care all that much when you whine and curl your hands behind his thighs to pull him closer.

“Hi there, pretty girl,” he looks down at you, his shriveled hand petting the back of your head. All it takes is the feeling of you leaning into his palm, for the tight wounds of Bob’s muscles to finally loosen, despite his wearied efforts to alleviate the strain post-practice. 

“They still didn’t recognize me from last time,” you dejectedly share, ignoring his greeting. “The guys that put me in here didn’t even believe Seresin when he tried telling them I was your girlfriend.”

Doing a quick scan of the dusty room, Bob notices that they’ve left you unsupervised this time. From a technical standpoint, the athlete can’t exactly blame them for not realizing who you actually were. Because everytime you did pay Bob a visit, you wore bizarre USA themed outfits to cheer him on—that altered your appearance each time. 

He hated to admit it but, Bob was impressed that Jake could even manage to tell you apart from one of the crazed fans camping outside the training center.

But, even if you were one of them, Bob knows there’s a partially pathetic side of him that would still forget how to expel a breath if he saw a girl as cute as you choosing to root for him, instead of one of his teammates. 

“You know why? It’s ‘cause you get prettier each time you show up looking for me. They can't believe how I got so lucky with you," he finally suggests with a small smile, coaxing you to stand up.

“Let me see what you got on today, Champ,” he reaches for your limp hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before lifting it above your head, to twirl you around.

A shy giggle bubbles out your chest when your boyfriend spins you, whispering about how pretty you looked as he runs his eyes over you. 

Not wanting to make you dizzy, Bob slows down the movement, his hands moving to your hips to steady your balance. “Where’d you get this from? It’s cute,” he leans back slightly, chuckling when you proudly puff your chest at him. 

Pulled up on each of your legs are knee high socks, one blue and one red with white stripes lined at the hem. And stretched across your t-shirt is a saturated Getty image of your boyfriend, gold medal between his teeth.

Lifting yourself on your tippy toes, you glide your fingers through his damp strands, pushing it out of his face. “Would you believe me if I said I had it made? I think it’s my favorite picture of you,” you confess.

A surge of butterflies suddenly flutters in your stomach, when your eyes slowly drift down to his flushed chest, that just barely peeks through the small gap of his unzipped jacket. You swallow, spotting a droplet of water still clung to his skin that runs down the line of his torso.

“Oh yeah?” He teases, pulling your attention back to his face. Though Bob’s trying to act coy, a rare side of him that had his coach choking on his sandwich the first time he witnessed it—there’s a matching tint of pink on his cheeks that gives him away. 

Lightly tugging on the roots of his hair, a mischievous look washes over your features. 

“Mhm, I just love having you on me honey,” you playfully bite back. And there goes the controlled breathing practice Bob spent half his life perfecting.

“Okay, that was—that really wasn’t fair,” he falters, feeling another wave of heat settling into his already flushed skin.

"Oh I'm sorry, didn't know we were playing fair now," you egg on, watching your giant boyfriend grow shy.

Bob only pokes his cheek with his tongue, until he takes in the fact that you’re wearing a shirt with his face on it. And he couldn’t see it any earlier because you’ve been trapped up here the whole time.

“I don’t know why they keep doing this to you, I’m sorry Champ,” he feels the need to apologize, drawing you in for a hug.

Bob considered himself a fairly polite guy, but when his girlfriend’s been given a hard time repeatedly—he feels less inclined to be so nice in his next run-in with security. 

But instead of showing his sudden wear in patience, he relaxes completely—finding it nearly impossible to retain any tension in his body when you gently scratch at his scalp.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, twirling a piece of hair around your finger. “You found me anyway.”

“They made you sit in that chair though.” 

“My butt is probably so flat,” you let out groan at the reminder, pressing your feet to the ground. 

Not a second later, Bob goes to squeeze your butt. “Not, really,” he decides, seriously. "Even if it was, I don't think I'd care."

“Don’t you lie to me,” you scold, brows pinched together.

“M’ not. Did you want me to check again?”

Before you can anything, a uniformed man stands under the door frame, lifting his eyes off his clipboard. Almost in sync with eachother, you both stiffen hearing the noise.

“Alright young lady, I cleared things up with—Oh..”

note: swimmer bob swimmer bob swimmer bob!! as always thank you for reading, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @Genius2050 @eli2447 @s-u-t @averyhotchner @et-homephone @olymosity @wkndwlff @cruelmissdior @eternallyvenus @queerqueenlynn @sushiwriterhere @ravenhood2792 @Natdrunk @goosterroose

#robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd au #bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd masterlist #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd masterlist #the last lap

[jupitercomet]

Alice Down the Rabbit Hole

summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life—but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he's already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, boxing inaccuracies probably, smut - (p in v, protected sex, brief finger sucking, fingering, spitting, like two spanks, implied aftercare), no use of y/n, I added outfit links but you can imagine whatever you would like

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 4.0k

sweeter than sugar masterlist

“Not quite, you gotta— Move your foot forward a bit—”

You let out a huff, dropping your stance as you turn to face Bob. “Can you please just show me?”

The tips of Bob’s ears turn pink at the request, but he nods and takes a step towards you, lining up behind you as you turn back to the punching bag. He moves his hands to your hips, angling them with a gentle knee pushing against the back of your own.

“Like this.” His breath is warm against your ear and his hands slide up your forearms, positioning them correctly. “Good.”

You’re thankful that Bob is holding you up because you’re pretty sure his raspy voice in your ear would have you melting into the floor if he wasn’t.

Even though you and Bob had been on three dates already—with your fourth in just a couple days—you are still too prideful to admit that your boxing inquiry was just an attempt to see him more and so he is still under the impression that you actually want to learn. Your arms are suffering because of it, but your heart doesn’t care. And Eloise can laugh at you all she wants, she’s not the one who has Bob breathing against the shell of her ear as he moves his hands all over her body.

“Always make sure your hands are blocking your face. If you’re not punching, you want them up as a defense,” Bob instructs, moving your arms to match his words.

You nod, swallowing as Bob’s fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding you through a slow punch. Once your glove has made contact with the bag he brings it back parallel with your ear. He repeats the cycle a few more times, alternating hands, before you feel his gaze on your temple.

“That make sense?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

Bob mirrors your smile and, unfortunately, he drops your arms and steps away from you. “Good. Why don’t we call it for today? Don’t want you so sore you can’t eat your popcorn,” he teases gently.

Just because you refuse to admit the real reason behind your sudden interest in boxing, doesn’t mean you haven’t been complaining about it.

“Why do you think you’re coming, muscle man?” You grin.

“Oh, I see,” Bob chuckles as he helps you out of your gloves. “You only takin’ me on dates so you have someone to feed you popcorn?”

At the second reminder of your upcoming movie date, you can’t help but stretch onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to Bob’s cheek. “And don’t you forget it.”

Again, Bob is pink in the face, but his mouth is a content, small smile anyway. You aren’t sure if Bob is your boyfriend—you think he’s pretty close to it, but you’ve only been on three dates. He kissed you on your second date, right when he walked you to your door. And he does thoughtful things like texting you random updates throughout the day—you always get good morning and goodnight texts—and dropping by the bakery with coffee whenever he can. Bob isn’t your boyfriend. But you wouldn’t hate it if he was.

“Alright, you’re gonna be late if I keep you any longer.” Bob glances at the clock behind you. “Let me grab your stuff and I’ll walk you to your car.”

His hand intertwines with yours—that’s another thing he’s started doing - holding your hand—and he slings your gym bag over his shoulder. You swing your interlocked hands as he leads you out of Mav’s, politely waving goodbye to the woman at the front desk.

Squeezing Bob’s hand lightly, you get his attention. “If you come by Sugar Plum’s later, I’ll save you a blondie.”

“You bribin’ me?” Bob looks down at you with a smile.

You bat your lashes at him innocently. “Only if it’s working.”

“You’re seeing me Friday, sweet pea, you sure you won’t get sick of me?” Bob jokes as you reach your car.

“Not possible.” You shake your head resolutely.

He looks at you for a moment, perhaps searching your face for something, and then he’s dropping down to give you a quick peck. “Yeah, I’ll come by.” He promises.

You give him another kiss before he’s putting your stuff in the backseat and you’re getting in the driver’s side. You pull out with a wave goodbye and Bob waits for you to exit the parking lot completely before he heads back inside Mav’s.

There’s still a gnawing of guilt in his stomach every time you leave, but it’s lessened significantly. Since he started seeing you, Bob has cut down on his fights—something he knows Maverick isn’t happy about—and it’s made him feel a bit better about everything. He hasn’t fought since your first date and you’ve lit a small hope in him that maybe one day his lies to you will finally turn into truths.

He just needs more time to figure it out.

“So, who’s the girl?” There’s a teasing lilt in Adler’s voice and Bob stiffens.

“What?”

Adler just chuckles. “Is that how you wanna play this? That’s cute.”

“I’m not playing anything,” Bob argues, probably a little harsher than he intended, and it gives away that he is, in fact, playing something.

“Alright, tough guy, I’ll drop it. Simmer down,” Adler holds his hands up in surrender with a chuckle. “Just think it’s nice to see you so sweet on someone.”

“I—” Bob can tell Adler is enjoying this far too much so he clears his throat. “Did you need something?” He changes the subject.

At that, Adler falters slightly, a small sigh leaving his lips. “Mav’s got a fight for you. It’s a big one too, I don’t think you’re getting out of it.”

Bob swallows. “When?”

“Friday.”

“But… I have a date…” Bob feels like a child again, always coming to the bitter realization that things don’t work out for guys like Bob Floyd. 

Adler purses his lips, closing his eyes for a second before opening them. “Look, I’ll get Mav to push the fight back until after midnight— Lord knows they hardly fight during daylight hours anyway and I know Hangman’s been itching to fight since he got back so we can probably get him in the undercard. But then you have to be there, Cinderella. Got it?”

Bob nods hastily.

“Alright,” Adler pulls a white card from his pocket. “Here’s the address. You’re there or I’ll kick your ass personally, Reaper.”

“Ya know, I distinctly remember you sayin’ you weren’t gonna ask her out and now you’re on date number, what is it?” Mickey pretends to run through his fingers. “Four.” He grins, taking a happy bite of his doughnut.

“I don’t know,” Bob looks down bashfully. “She just— I don’t know. She’s way too good for me—”

“Then let her be. She clearly likes you too, Bo. Don’t you think she should be the one to decide what kind of guy she deserves?” Mickey gives him a stern, knowing look, though it loses some of its effect with the powdered sugar covering his mouth.

Bob takes a breath. In a little under half an hour, he’ll be picking you up and taking you to a movie. Somehow, without him even realizing it, you wormed your way into Bob’s life as a constant and Bob doesn’t mind in the slightest. Clearly he doesn’t, because even though everything in him tells him he doesn’t deserve you, he keeps seeing you. The white address card Adler gave him feels heavy in his pocket.

“But,” Mickey grabs Bob’s attention and gives him sympathetic eyes. “You do have to tell her the truth at some point.”

Bob nods slowly. “I know. I— I know. I will. Not tonight, but— If it goes any further, I will.”

“If it— Holy shit, you’re gonna ask her to be your girlfriend! Are you gonna do it like you did with Samantha in 9th grade, when you got so nervous, you tripped over your shoelace and—”

“You know, this isn’t making me want to introduce you to her,” Bob interrupts his best friend with a halfhearted glare.

“Please, the second you slip up and tell me her name, I’ll be marching my ass to Sugar Plum so fast,” Mickey scoffs. “But you’re still going out with her tonight right? Adler pushed your fight back?”

“Yeah, he did.” Bob confirms

“Do you know who you’re fighting?”

Bob shrugs lightly. “Razor, I think. He’s good, but he’s always been predictable. I should be fine, I’ve beaten him before.”

“I guess they don’t call you the Grim Reaper for nothing,” Mickey tries to joke.

Bob frowns slightly. Though he knows some of the other guys envy it, Bob doesn’t have the same appreciation for the nickname. It’s almost mocking in a way. A reminder that the very thing that makes him a bad person is what he’s good at, that he’s synonymous with all the pain he claims to hate. The first time he heard the word “Reaper” slip past your lips, it made him sick.

“Yeah.” Bob just agrees simply.

In that moment, he thinks of you. Your kind eyes and cute nose, the way you’re so sure you’ll never get sick of him. And maybe that’s why Bob likes you so much, you’re one of the few people in his life that makes him feel like Bob. Not Reaper or weak, naive Bo. You make him forget about all of that. And maybe he’s selfish, because he knows that, as soon as he tells you who he really is, that will change, but he likes being just Bob. He likes being your Bob.

“I should go.” Everything else fades away at the thought of seeing you and he bids Mickey goodbye. “I’ll see you later tonight.” He pauses at the front door. “And stop eating all my food.”

“I didn’t— I have no idea what we just watched.”

You laugh as you and Bob walk out of the theater. The temperature has dropped with the sun and your outfit isn’t the warmest, so you move a bit closer to him. He lets you, throwing his arm over your shoulder to shield you from the wind.

“Me neither,” you giggle.

Bob’s car comes into view and he opens the door for you, hurrying to turn the heat on. His car kick starts to life, the digital numbers of 10:05 blink back from his dashboard. You watch Bob’s profile as he pulls out of the movie theater parking lot, your bottom lip tucking into your teeth.

Though you had a fun time with Bob, you somewhat regret suggesting a movie. Because, aside from sharing popcorn and maneuvering over the large movie theater armrests to have a cliche movie date cuddle, you didn’t get a chance to do anything with him. And you really like doing things with Bob.

The two of you joke about the absurd movie you just watched as he drives you home and you do your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. You don’t want this date to end. And, by date four, you’re sure of it - you really, really don’t want Bob to leave you alone tonight. 

All too soon, Bob is pulling up in front of your house and putting his car in park. He moves to say goodbye, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and your resoluteness weakens. Trying to hide your dejection, you get out of his car and start to head to your front door. Then you stop. Bob can’t even fully open his car door before you’re turning around.

“I’m ready to use my last question.”

Bob freezes.

You look somewhat nervous, but you’re putting on a brave face, fiddling with your skirt as you hold his gaze. Your feet stay planted on the sidewalk outside your small home, your porch light causing a glow to emanate from behind you. Bob swallows thickly.

“What’s your question?”

You take a breath, and then strengthen your resolve, meeting his eye with a small smile. “Do you want to come inside?”

Bob turns off his ignition. 

With every step he takes to follow you to your front door, Bob is at war with himself. He wants to be a gentleman—a good person—and he really doesn’t want to mess this up with you. He doesn’t deserve you, he knows that, but you’re intoxicating. A sugar high he never wants to end. Bob’s always had a sweet tooth and you’re sweeter than anything he’s ever known. He doesn’t want to mess up, but his need for you is only growing as the distance to your house shrinks.

He steps inside cautiously as you turn a light on. “This is a nice place—”

Bob has hardly closed your front door behind him before you’re pulling him down by his shoulders and smashing your lips onto his. It takes a second for his senses to catch up to him, but once they do, his hands find purchase on your hips, your legs hitting the arm of your couch as he responds to your kiss more feverishly. 

You pull away with a smirk, watching as Bob swallows thickly with his eyes trained on your lips. “I didn’t really invite you in to talk, Bob.”

Bob feels his grip tighten on your hips. Just from one kiss and that look in your eye, he’s straining in his jeans and it certainly doesn’t help that he can feel the outline of your panties through the fabric of your skirt. In the mere moments he’s been inside your place, Bob really hasn’t been able to stop himself from imagining you bent over every piece of furniture in the room.

“Sweet pea…” He almost doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, restraint heavy in his tone. He doesn’t want to hurt you or take anything too far. He wants it to feel good for you. His eyes snap up to you when you grab his hand suddenly and trail it up to your chest. Unable to stop himself, Bob squeezes your breast lightly. “Are you sure?”

You nod, catching your lip between your teeth. “Please,” you whimper. “Want you to be rough with me.”

It’s like your words unlock something new inside Bob as a gasp leaves your lips as he gives your tit another, harder, squeeze.

“Oh, is that what you like?” Bob’s voice is rough—low—like a switch has been flipped and his eyes are almost black, a deep, oceanic blue that makes you feel like you’ve just changed the tide when you look into them. “Ask me for it then. Like a good girl.”

This Bob is a Bob you haven’t met yet. You recognize him, he’s still the man who shyly teaches you boxing and waits with you at the bakery, that hasn’t changed. But a domineering aura has overtaken him as he looks down at you. His thumb traces your bottom lip and, wordlessly, he slides it into your mouth. You blink up at him, hollowing your cheeks around the digit as he presses down on your tongue lightly.

When all you let out is a quiet moan, he clucks his tongue. “You don’t wanna talk, sweet pea? That's fine. I’m sure you make lots of other pretty noises.”

You squirm, the sound of his voice, his gentle hands, and his dizzying scent all making arousal pool in your panties, and you clench your thighs for some relief. Bob pulls his thumb from your mouth, coating your bottom lip with saliva.

“You gonna show me to the bedroom, sweet girl? Or am I fucking you here on the floor?” You never thought someone’s smile could make you feel like you’re about to climax, but when he grins at you wolfishly, you have to suppress a whimper. “Oh that’s right, you want it rough.”

Bob’s head dips to your ear and he traces the shell of it with his tongue. “I’m gonna bend you over this couch and fuck you until you cry.”

You want to tell him that you’d let him, but all that comes out is a shaky moan.

“You really gotta start using your words, sweet pea.” Bob shakes his head condescendingly and in one quick motion he has your stomach bent over the arm of your couch, the fabric of your skirt lifting with the bend. His hands flip the hem of it over your back, giving him a clear view of your ass and he kneads each cheek between his fingers. 

One of his hands wraps around the back of your panties, pulling them tight against your folds. They drag against your clit and you gasp. You can’t see anything he’s doing, so the sound of tearing fabric catches you off guard, but Bob’s wetting his fingers with your slick before you can say anything, a low grumble coming from his chest.

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy.”

Your toes are only just touching the hardwood—most of your body slung over the couch—and they curl at his words. His index finger slides into you and he lazily drags it back and forth between your walls. His fingers are rough and calloused, textured from the amount of times he’s broken skin and it’s healed. 

You try to roll your hips against your couch for added stimulation, but Bob catches you almost immediately, swatting your ass with a growl. “Bad girl. You want something, you ask for it. And you use your fuckin’ manners.”

Though his words are gruff, his finger still stays at its tantalizingly slow pace. You whine into the couch cushions.

“More,” you beg. “Please, more.”

Another finger joins his index one and they’re so thick and they fill you up so good. Your thighs tremble.

It’s almost alarming how well Bob knows your body, how he finds a spot inside you and harps on it until you're wailing. As your orgasm approaches, your legs try to find purchase on the ground, kicking and squirming. The crack of Bob’s hand has you choking on a moan.

“Last warning, sweet pea.” His voice is low and it sends shock waves to your core. “Misbehave again and I’ll leave you here and get myself off with your panties, got it?”

Though the thought has you clenching around his fingers, you do your best to stay still, whining when he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the back of your thigh.

Bob’s weight falls against your back suddenly, his mouth mere centimeters from your ear as he rubs soothing motions up and down your sides. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.” His voice is warm and tender, reverting back to the way it always is with you. “Was that okay, sweet pea? Is this okay? We don’t have to—”

“Bob.” Given the circumstances, your voice isn’t that threatening but you’re able to muster up more than a breathless whimper. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.” 

Bob’s hands still against your hips, his weight lifting off of you. Your head is still buried in your couch cushion—even if you turn to one cheek, your vision is limited—so you hear Bob unzip his jeans more than you see him. And you hear him spit a wad of saliva onto your cunt. He rubs it into your folds lewdly with one hand, a groan escaping his lips as his spit glistens on your skin.

You cry out as he pushes into you, slowly dragging his cock along your walls. In your lustful haze, you must have missed him putting a condom on, but you feel the smooth latex as he inches into you. His hips press against your ass and he groans as he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you feel so good, sweet pea.” His hands explore the expanse of your back as he starts moving at a harder pace.

Though he’s fucking you—truly and thoroughly—against the arm of your couch, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s rough, but he’s still gentle. Every movement is meant to bring you closer to release. Bob fucks you like his only purpose is your pleasure.

“That’s a good girl,” he grunts when you clench around him and if this is what good girls get, you don’t want to be anything but. “Droolin’ all over yourself. But you just can’t help it, can you? Messy girl.”

There’s a wet spot darkening the couch from your opened mouth, drool covering your chin and cheeks, but you don’t even care. He’s too much and not enough all at the same time and tears prick your eyes as he pounds into you in repeated, well-timed thrusts.

“That’s right, cry those pretty tears, sweet pea. Who’s makin’ you feel this good?”

“You, Bob! Oh fuck!— You!” You’re crying into the couch now—fulfilling the final part of Bob’s promise—unable to do anything but moan his name and expletives. 

You climax with a strangled cry, chest heaving as Bob follows soon after. He runs soothing hands up and down your back to ground you, slowly pulling out as he whispers praises. You can hear his heavy feet against your floors as he moves to discard his condom and then slide on his boxers. You think for the briefest of moments that he might just leave, but then his hand is on your back again and he’s gently lifting you off the couch. 

His brows are cinched together with worry when you blink your eyes open. “Are you okay? Was that too much? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” you breathe.

Bob chuckles lightly, relaxing. “Yeah, okay, sweet pea. Where’s your bedroom, sweet girl?”

You’re not sure how long you’d been sleeping—it couldn’t have been more than a couple hours—before somewhat frantic rustling wakes you from your slumber. You groan, lifting your tired head from your pillow. Your movements alert Bob you're awake, the man currently pulling his jeans back on, and he rushes over to you apologetically. 

“I’m so sorry, sweet pea, this wasn’t how I wanted this to go at all. I swear I was gonna wake you up before I left.” He cups your cheeks with his hands as you blink at him blearily. “Something came up at work. I have to go.”

You rub at your eyes with a yawn, your voice small and tired. “You do?”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize—” He cuts himself off, eyes darting anywhere but your own before he finally looks back at you. “But I need you to know that I want to stay more than anything, I— I am so sorry, sweet pea.”

You hum sleepily as he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs and Bob suddenly pulls you in for a hard kiss. “I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers against your lips. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

You only nod, still confused as Bob throws his shirt over his head and gives you one last kiss before dashing out the door. If it were anyone else, you’d be hurt. A small part of you is. But it’s Bob. And he seemed so genuinely remorseful. And you’re still exhausted and half asleep, so this all feels somewhat like a dream. Maybe you can give the man who gave you the best orgasm of your life a bit of a pass.

Something white and rectangular catches your eye before you can go back to bed, laying on the floor close to where Bob had been kneeling minutes prior. You lean over your mattress to pick it up, looking at it in confusion. You have to read over the words a couple times and your brows furrow.

Spiderhead Boxing

783 Ragnarok Road

join my Bob Floyd taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold

Bob taglist: @cottagecori @bobgasm @kmc1989 @berryjuicyy

#bob floyd imagine #bob floyd imagines #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd angst #bob floyd smut #bob floyd au #bob imagine #bob imagines #bob x reader #bob fluff #bob angst #bob smut #bob au #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #sweeter than sugar #under the hard deck #buggy's got a pen

[bobfloydsbabe]

gold rush | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

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

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

WORD COUNT: ~0.5k

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

UPDATE: ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” she agrees.

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

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

“Work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

likes are nice, comments and reblogs are golden

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

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

[ereardon]

Golden Hour [Masterlist]

A Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC AU

Summary: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

A/N: This will be a Hart of Dixie-inspired AU!

Sneak peek here

Status: Series is ongoing

Overview:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Tag list (from my main TGM list but let me know if you want to be added/taken off): @livachri

@double-j @topguncultleader @hangmandruigandmav @blue-aconite @minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @seresinhangmanjake @babyminghao @crthurston @shanimallina87

@angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @mizzzpink @wkndwlff @mygyn @sadpetalsstuff @xoxabs88xox @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @teacupsandtopgun

@rosewritesitout @atarmychick007 @khaylin27 @wittywhispers @wildlyobserving @eyesthatroll @localhockeygirl @xomrsalliej4787xo @rosiahills22 @teacupsandtopgun @sexytholland @djs8891 @rxmtoon @cactajuice @purplevortexx @dempy @lemur46 @louie-bug @arson-tm @valkyrja-siren-blog @avengers-fixation @fudge13 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @not-two-shrimp @abaker74 @evans-dejong @3tabbiesandalab @xoxabs88xox

#bob floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster au #bob floyd au #bradley bradshaw au #bob floyd x bradley bradshaw #love triangle #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun au

[goldenseresinretriever]

The San Diego Dogfighters

(A TGM Hockey!AU)

Header by @bobgasm 💚🩶💛

The NHL just had an expansion to create a new ice hockey team which resulted in the brand new San Diego Dogfighters.

Team Name: San Diego Dogfighters

Team Colors: Kale, Ultimate Gold, Antique Gold

Owner: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky

General manager: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson

Head Coach: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell

Assistant Coach: Daredevil/Dare Mitchell

Players:

Centre/Captain: Jake Seresin #86

Left Defenseman/Alternate Captain: Bradley Bradshaw #84

Right Defenseman/Alternate Captain: Javy Machado #68

Left Winger: Reuben Fitch #45

Right Winger: Mickey Garcia #42

Goalie: Bob Floyd #35

Equipment Manager: Natasha Trace

Team Physician: Bugs/Bunny

Team Nutritionist: Penny Benjamin

Athletic Trainer: Bernie “Hondo” Coleman

Goalie Development Coach: Dragon/Dragonfly/Puff Simpson

Social Media Manager: TBA

PR Representative: Zamboni/Honey

~~~~~

Non-Staff Characters

Charlie

Tucker

Roadie/Meep

Josie “Jo” Fitch

Snitches Get Stitches (Jake Seresin x TeamPhysician!Reader) COMPLETED

You Catch More Bees With Honey (Bradley Bradshaw x PRRepresentative!Reader) COMPLETED

False Confidence (Javy Machado x KindergartenTeacher!Reader) ONGOING

The Long Game (Pete Mitchell x AssistantCoach!Reader) UPCOMING

Don’t Wake the Dragon (Bob Floyd x GoalieCoach!Simpson!Reader) UPCOMING

Muscle Memory (Mickey Garcia x SportsReporter!Reader) UPCOMING

Character’s Ages in the SDD Universe

The SDD Universe in Chronological Order

Important note: I’ve been made aware of the accidental similarities between this AU and “On the Ice” by @cassiemitchell and we’ve talked things out, please go check out her AU for more TGM hockey content! We’ll be working together from here on out to keep similarities from escalating

This AU was inspired by talented authors like Emily Rath and her series “Pucking Around” and Becka Mack and her “Consider Me” series just to name a few. They’re amazing authors and I would recommend their books for anyone wanting more hockey romance goodness

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Ruthie’s Ice Hockey 101

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My work cross-posted on AO3

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A/N: A first look at the Dogfighters team roster!! I’ll be revealing the players one by one and potentially also going into details for members of staff that I’ve already announced! As for a logo and/or mascot I’m gonna need more time to figure those out because I’m not an artist by any means but I’d love to design both of those.

#top gun maverick #san diego daggers hockey au #san diego daggers #tgm #tgm hockey au #top gun maverick hockey au #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #beau simpson #beau cyclone simpson #penny benjamin #bernie hondo coleman #bernie coleman #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace #natasha trace #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #javy machado #javy coyote machado #reuben fitch #reuben payback fitch #mickey garcia #mickey fanboy garcia