#Bob floyd
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It's That Simple
Day 16: Praise Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)
(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)
CW: Light angst, kinda (Bob gets deflated); talk of panic attacks and self-doubt; smut (handjob); 18+ only.
Word Count: 5656
AN: This was requested by an anon!
AN2: If you've been around a bit, you know the drill: this isn't edited or re-read or beta'ed.
It’s another terrible first date.
Bob struggles to even snag a first date. He’s unassuming; he lacks the swagger and extroversion to stroll up to a woman and talk her up. Most of his dates are obtained from other members of the Daggers—double dates, set-ups, stuff like that.
The latest one was set up by Fanboy, a friend of his sister. Within moments of meeting his date, Bob knows it’ll be a mess: she makes a face when she greets him at the door, and it goes downhill from there.
It ends when she gets a text. An emergency, she tells him, and Bob is too smart and perceptive to buy the lie. But he’s a gentleman, so he nods seriously and offers to drive her home or wherever she’s needed, which she declines. He pays the bill of their abortive dinner, and he pretends not to notice how his date practically skips out of the restaurant and into the waiting car of a friend.
He should go home to lick his wounds. Another failed date, another night alone. He sees the stretch of his life in front of him and despairs that he’ll ever meet someone, and he should go home to sulk, but he goes to the Hard Deck instead.
He might as well break the news to Fanboy, at least, and maybe Nat can cheer him up with her usual sarcastic humor.
-----
The Hard Deck is as packed as always, and Bob—in his date clothes of dress pants and a button down shirt—stands out among the uniformed pilots and fellow wizzos. He finds the Dagger Squad, confesses his failure to Fanboy, then settles into a stool near Nat and Rooster.
Nat puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, Bob,” she says.
“Her loss,” Rooster offers.
Bob shrugs. It’s not anyone’s loss but his, but he offers them a weak smile that fools neither of them.
It’s Hangman who sidles up to Bob, and in an uncharacteristic moment of thoughtfulness, the cocky pilot offers to be his wingman—which makes Bob laugh, and it comes out laced with some bitterness.
“No offense, Bagman, but you’d be a terrible wingman,” Bob says.
“What? Why?”
Bob lifts his hands in a helpless shrug. “Because you’re….you. And I’m not like you at all.”
“So?”
He scoffs in frustration at Bagman being so obtuse. As if any woman would look at Bob if he walked up to them with Jake at his side. It’d be like an Aston Martin rolling up alongside an old Honda Civic, and that’s the analogy he uses to make Jake understand. But Jake shakes his head, clasps him on his shoulders and gives him a friendly shake.
“Nah, Baby on Board. You got it all wrong. You just need some confidence.” Another teeth-rattling shake. “Trust me, there’s a girl out there for you. C’mon.”
Bob finds himself powerless to resist as Jake pushes him off of his stool, then shoves him gently in the direction of the crowded bar.
-----
The first pair that Jake sidles up to is a bust, but it’s not Bob’s fault: Jake had hooked up with the one woman before, forgotten about it completely. He’s moments from getting a drink tossed in his face when Bob tugs him away from the danger and they pull back, reevaluate.
The second pair is a bust too. The first woman doesn’t even let Jake get the full sentence out before she’s wagging her ring finger in his face.
“Married,” she says, her words clipped. “Move along, sailor.”
The third pair? The third pair works out. Jake hones in on one immediately, a blonde with big doe eyes, but the second one—you—rolls her eyes at him.
But when you turn to study Bob, you don’t roll your eyes. You hold out a hand, introduce yourself, ask for his rank, then pat the empty chair beside you.
“Settle in, Lieutenant,” and your smile is easy. “Let’s chat while we watch your friend strike out, huh?”
-----
It turns out you’re drunk, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
For one, you’ve fallen in with Bob Floyd, the most gentlemanly man a drunk, single girl could come across. He’d never take advantage, and in fact, he’ll end up driving you home at the end of the night, getting you into your apartment. He will take your shoes off of you, tuck you into your bed, and press a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen on you before he sees himself out.
For another thing, Bob Floyd has fallen in with you, the most fiercely sweet drunk that a down-on-himself man could come across. You’re one of those loud cheerleader types when you drink; the kind of woman who chats up other women in the bathroom, who tells them they’re beautiful, that you love them. With your friend and Jake otherwise engaged, Bob finds himself caught in the tractor beam of your charm.
“You look sad,” you tell him around the rim of your glass. “Are you sad?”
You’re drunk and Bob is sad, and you’re staring at him with wide eyes that glitter in the low light of the bar, so he tells you. He tells you about his terrible date, the latest in a string of terrible dates, that he’s been single for so long and he’s not entirely convinced he’ll ever meet someone, that he’s too scrawny, that his glasses are terrible (one date called them serial killer glasses), that he’s too reserved to ever catch the eye of a woman, too unremarkable looking, let alone—
“No!” You cut him off by exclaiming it, a near-shout, and your hand finds his forearm and grips him there. “You’re gorgeous, Bill! Don’t even say you aren’t!”
He grins despite himself. “It’s Bob. But thanks. I mean, it’s nice of you to say—”
“Bob. Yes. Sorry. Bob, not Bill. I say it because it’s true.” You release your hold on his arm and sit back in your chair, your eyes narrowed now as you study him closer. You’re quiet for a long beat, and Bob squirms under your attention, but then you tell him more and he swears he breaks out in a full-body blush.
“You’re gorgeous, really,” you tell him. “It’s just that you have a sneakier handsomeness, you know? Like, that one there—” You gesture broadly at Jake. “—He’s, like, Ken-doll handsome. Like, he catches your eye because it’s all symmetrical and stuff, and he’s fine, but symmetry can be boring and someone like you, it’s sneaky. You have a nice face, and these nice blue eyes, and nice hair, and I bet people think about you after the fact like, ‘oh, that Bob guy, he’s not bad at all,’ and then even later it’s like, ‘oh, Bob, he’s pretty handsome.’ Because you’re that sneaky sort of handsome and that’s the worst damned kind.”
Bob isn’t entirely tracking what you mean, but he shakes his head at the unearned praise, and he can’t stop the smile that’s plastered on his face. He probably looks like a dope.
“Why’s that the worst kind?” he asks.
“Because it’s deadly!” You lean forward again, put your hand on his arm again. “Sneaky-handsome guys are like a virus because by the time you realize they’ve infected you, it’s too late.”
Bob chuckles. “I’m a virus? Suddenly my night has gotten worse, somehow.”
“No, not at all. It’s just…” You trail off, polish off your drink. You wave down Penny for another. “It’s just that you sneaky-handsome types never understand the power you have. Ken-doll over there knows he’s hot, and by the mere fact of him knowing he’s hot, he loses a considerable amount of hotness. But you have no idea you’re handsome, and that makes you even hotter.”
“I think there’s a string of women in the San Diego area that would disagree with your assessment,” Bob replies. “But I appreciate the compliment, nonetheless.”
“Oh, them.” You flap a hand, a dismissive wave. “There’s a lot of idiots in the world, Bob. You can’t let a string of women in the San Diego area make you feel bad.”
“I guess I just need to find someone who isn’t an idiot.”
“Ah, well!” You set your drink down and wave your hands in front of yourself in a ta-da sort of flourish. “Cal Tech graduate, Bobby. I work for NASA.”
He feels a warm flush at you calling him Bobby. “You’re a rocket scientist? Definitely not an idiot, then.”
“Astrobiologist, actually. And only an idiot sometimes, but never when it comes to the sneaky-handsome men here at the Hard Deck.”
Bob shakes his head, a little embarrassed at how much he likes you, a drunk stranger, talking him up. He tries to dial it back, afraid he’s going to fall in love before last call.
“You’re way too smart for me, then,” he tells you.
That makes you arch an eyebrow at him. “You afraid of smart women, Bobby?”
“Not at all. It’s just that smart, beautiful, and sweet? Do you understand the power you have?” He keeps his tone light, teasing, but he’s in over his head with this: he’s definitely going to fall in love before last call.
Of course he is. His question makes you laugh, a warm sound that knocks free the lump in his chest from his earlier failed date. Your laughter makes him feel drunk even though he hasn’t touched a drop; he feels warm and light and big-headed at how kind you’ve been to him, how sweet, but your laughter is the sound that makes him fall in love with you.
-----
The two of you stay until last call. Bagman and your friend disappear hours before then, and you shrug at Bob, say you called it all wrong, that you didn’t think Jake was your friend’s type.
Bob drives you home. You’re unsteady on your feet, so he hovers near you, but you manage reasonably well until it’s time to unlock your door. He watches you try it, then he reaches out and takes the keys from your hand.
It’s the first time he touches you.
He gets you inside. He gets you to your bedroom, and you flop gracelessly across the mattress, and Bob immediately goes into caretaker mode. He slides your shoes off of you, sets them in a neat row by your closet. He makes his way to your kitchen, gets you a glass of water, then stops in the bathroom. He rummages through your medicine cabinet—you use the same brand of toothpaste as he does, the same type of toothbrush, and Bob marvels at the strange intimacy of learning these things, the everyday things that not everyone is privy to about you. He finds some ibuprofen and shakes two out, then takes them and the water back to you.
You’re already drifting off to sleep, and Bob has to cajole you into sitting up. He gets you perched on the side of the bed and gives you the pills and water, which you take without complaints. He takes the empty glass back from you, and then there’s a moment—
—you sit on the edge of your bed and Bob stands over you, and you look up at him with your bleary eyes and he sees fear. You’re understanding what you’ve done, maybe: you’ve invited a strange man back to your place and you’re drunk, and he could do anything, and Bob sees the flicker of uncertainty, the beginning of fear in your eyes. It makes him feel sick because he’d never take advantage. It makes him sick that the world, being what the world is, makes this fear lance through the whiskey fumes in your head.
He reaches down to the foot of your bed where there’s a blanket neatly folded. He shakes it out, urges you to lie down, and when you do, he covers you up.
“Be sure to drink more water when you wake up,” he tells you softly.
The nascent fear fades out of your expression, and it’s replaced by a loose, goofy grin. You free a hand from under the blanket and give him a sloppy salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”
Bob sees himself out but not before he’s struck with a bit of brave optimism. He sees the little whiteboard by your refrigerator, and he writes out his name and his number. He drives home and sends up a silent prayer that his sneaky-handsome virus has already infected you, charmed as he is by your earnestly drunken (albeit clunky) analogy from earlier in the evening.
He wakes up the next morning and feels less hopeful. He queues up a playlist and sets out on his morning run, but his morning pessimism is misplaced: you call him a mile into his run, and Bob stutters in his steps to hear your voice—a little rough, but sunny nonetheless.
“I’m looking for a guy named Bobby,” you tell him over the phone, and he can hear the smile in your voice. “Lieutenant Blue Eyes.”
-----
The two of you make plans to meet up at the Hard Deck, but you don’t call it a date so Bob doesn’t either. He’s in unfamiliar territory: things have always been a date or not a date in the past, but he’s noticed that many of his Dagger teammates speak in looser terms—meeting up, hanging out—with potential partners. He’s unsure how to handle it; if he seems too casual, you might miss his interest. If he comes on too strong, he might scare you off.
He decides to just turn up in his uniform, as he usually does, and when he arrives at the Hard Deck, you are already there. You’re perched in a bar stool and chatting to Penny, but when he strolls in, you see him.
You smile at him as he walks over to you, but then you shake your head in a mock-rueful way.
“Oh, no,” you say as you hop off of your stool. You open your arms and Bob steps into them, and you hug him warmly like you’re old friends. “I thought maybe it was just whiskey-goggles that night, but you really are cute.”
Bob chuckles. He releases you, then takes the stool beside yours. “Well, I’ve been downgraded. You called me handsome that night,” he points out.
“Sneaky-handsome, actually.”
“There seems to be a whole spectrum here that I was never privy to.”
You wave down Penny who comes and takes your orders. Once your drinks are in front of you—a hard cider for you, a shandy for Bob—you click your glass against his.
“Here’s to the sneaky-handsome men of the world,” you say.
Bob ducks his head and grins “And to the rocket scientists,” he adds.
A date or not a date…the evening passes in a blink, and you leave Bob that night entirely sober after long conversations and a lot of easy laughter. You pull him in for another hug before you part, and this hug lingers longer than the hug you gave him as a greeting. When you pull away, though, you gaze at him with a somber expression.
“I wanted to thank you for the other night,” you tell him. “For being a gentleman when you took me home.”
“Of course.”
“No, I mean it.” Your hands on his upper arms squeeze him a little firmer. “You could have taken advantage, and you didn’t. You’re a good one, Bob.”
He shakes his head, tries to wave you off, but you squeeze him again. You don’t let him shrug off your thanks. You don’t let him downplay his goodness.
“You are a good man, Bob,” you repeat, and you stare at him, like you’re daring him to disagree.
Bob, who finds that you’re something of a force to be reckoned with, wouldn’t dare to disagree.
-----
He’s still not entirely clear if this is dating or not. Neither of you actually says the word. You text each other steadily, and you meet up sometimes at the Hard Deck, but your schedule isn’t great and Bob’s is even worse. He worries that he’s missed his chance. When he talks about it to the other Daggers, Hangman rolls his eyes and tells Bob he should have taken his shot earlier, that Bob is pretty much friend-zoned now, but Nat rolls her eyes at that and says he’s overthinking it.
Of course Bob overthinks it. Bob overthinks everything.
He doesn’t know yet that you overthink everything too. That you are going through your own pangs of regret, that you think you’ve missed your chance too, that your friends circle around you too and give you tough-love pep talks to build up your courage to take the lead on this burgeoning thing with Bob.
And ultimately, Bob’s hunch that you’re a force to be reckoned with is correct. In the end, you take charge.
-----
You end up inviting him over for dinner on a night when your schedules align, and Bob overthinks that too.
What if it’s a date-date, and he turns up too casual, with nothing in his hands—no wine, no flowers? Or the opposite—what if he dresses up a little, brings you a mixed bouquet, and it’s just a casual friends-type thing?
Bob has no idea how he can manage the systems on a sophisticated plane because his brain grinds to a painful halt the moment he starts to contemplate this dinner at your place. It’s Nat—it’s always Nat, with her no-nonsense lens into the mystique of her fellow women—who smacks some sense into him.
“Wear a nice shirt, shower beforehand, and take a bottle of wine,” she tells him.
“But what if—”
“It’s always polite to take a gift, Bob.” She rolls her eyes, heaves a sigh. “And it’s always polite to, you know. Shower. Show up fresh-smelling and neat. Jesus Christ. Just go.”
So Bob turns up at your apartment, a mid-tier bottle of wine in his sweaty hand. Freshly showered, a daub of cologne behind his ears, and a nice blue button-down that brings out his eyes.
And it’s a good thing he took Nat’s advice too, because you open the door in the sweetest sundress, and there’s music softly playing and the most heavenly smells wafting from your kitchen. Bob realizes all at once that it’s a date-date after all, and his heart does an alarming little stutter in his chest, enough to stun him until you take his hand and gently pull him inside.
-----
Part of Bob’s issue with women is his inability to pick up on subtle, sometimes invisible cues. He has always fallen in with the sort of women who play mind games, who play coy and say one thing while meaning another. He always feels back on his heels; it feels like women speak a language he’s only slightly fluent in, so he’s always playing catch-up to translate what they mean.
But it’s refreshing with you, in this moment, because as you both sit down to the feast you’ve prepared, you just talk with him. The two of you chat about your lives, you catch each other up since the last time you’ve talked, and Bob almost forgets to be nervous.
Almost. A pair of tapered candles flicker between you and cast your lovely face in a golden glow, and low, bluesy music sets the soundtrack as you eat. You sip at the wine he brought, and he eats your home-cooking, and Bob imagines an entire life like this…and he almost misses the way you keep swiping your palms along your thighs, like you’re nervous.
Almost. He leans into his WSO work, studies you closely like you’re a dashboard of lights and alarms and switches. He watches you a little closer, and he sees the way your throat bobs when you swallow a mouthful of wine, like you’re swallowing past a lump or going all dry-mouthed on him. He sees the deep breaths you take, the way you press the back of your hand to your neck, like you’re flushed and trying to calm yourself.
“You’re nervous,” he blurts out when he realizes it for sure, and you pause in where you’re lifting the wine glass to your mouth and stare at him.
“I am.” It’s that simple. No mind games, no coy pretending.
“It’s just me,” Bob says.
You smile at him, and it trembles a little at the corners. He can feel the nerves in you now, and he reaches out a hand across the table, palm up. He makes a grabby motion with it until your smile firms up and you lay your hand in his, and he grasps you lightly.
“It’s just me,” he repeats.
“And I like just-you,” you tell him. “Like-like, I mean. I wanted to tell you so tonight.”
His heart does that wicked little stutter in his chest, but he squeezes your hand. “Sounds like you just told me then.”
“Guess so.” You watch him, and your smile seems tremulous again, so Bob replies, “I like you too.”
It’s that simple. After you each put yourself through your own overthinking hell, each suffering through your own sleepless nights and needless worrying about dumb things like friend zones, it comes down to a moment so simple that it’s stupid: just the two of you holding hands as you confess your mutual feelings matter-of-factly.
-----
It feels too easy. After months (years) of struggling to even land the occasional first date, suddenly Bob’s dream girl turns up just like that. It feels too easy, and so Bob slips into his overthinking almost immediately.
It goes fine after dinner, when the two of you trade nervous kisses on your couch until the nerves burn off enough that your mouth slotted over his feels natural, that you move in concert with each other—your head tilting one way, his tilting the other, no longer bumping noses or knocking his glasses askew.
It goes fine as you climb into his lap, the solid weight of you a welcome sensation because Bob’s head feels like it’s filled with helium, drunk and fizzy from the feel of your lips against his, your tongue against his own.
It goes fine when you climb off of him, shaky-legged like a newborn foal. When you hold out your hand and take his to lead him back to your bedroom.
The moment he finds himself stripped down to his boxers and lying on your bed is the moment it falls apart.
It’s like every mean comment, every brush-off and ghosting, every roll of the eyes and beleaguered sigh and overheard commentary about him crowds into the room and leaves no space for this moment with you. Bob thinks of all the feedback he’s ever gotten on dates—the serial killer eye glasses, the lack of muscles, the lack of game. He tries to take a deep breath and finds he can barely pull in a lungful, and his throat feels like it’s closing on him—
And he can’t get hard. His near-erection from making out on the couch deflates, and even though you are perched over him—you’ve shed your sundress, and you’re in the sexiest, sweetest lingerie set, powder pink, like the underside of a cloud at sunrise—he cannot coax himself back to attention.
The panic that floods him—he recognizes the feeling. He’s felt it a million times. He feels the hot, splotchy redness as it breaks out across his chest and neck, and his face flushes furiously bright, and you notice it all in real time. The sultry, heavy-lidded look on your face disappears and is replaced by pure concern.
“Bob? Bobby? Are you…okay?” You reach a hand out and cup his face, and your palm had felt warm earlier but now it feels cool….which proves how hot he’s flushed, how feverish his panic makes him feel.
“I’m sorry. Shit, honey. I’m…I gotta go.” He tries to sit up but your mattress is soft and he flails a moment, and if Bob were just a bit younger he’d burst into tears at how sideways this has all gone so suddenly. You served him up the perfect evening, you’re kneeling right beside him in the hottest fucking lingerie, and he’s been reduced to a stuttering, red-face idiot who can’t even get hard—
“Hey.” You lay your hand on his bare chest, steady him. “Hey, hey, hey. Take a second. Just breathe, Bobby.”
“I gotta—”
“Just relax.” You press against his chest, tap your forefinger against his skin. “Breathe for me, okay? Everything’s fine.”
“It’s not. Fuck, it’s not!” He raises his voice, winces at how shrill he sounds, and the dam in him breaks. Something in him dislodges, and it all spills out: every mean, rotten thing he’s ever thought about himself. Every bit of unfair criticism, every insult and slight and how his own insecurity has twisted it all into a crippling imposter syndrome. How he only ever feels competent at his job but how he struggles with everything else, and now how he’s fucked it all up with you because he’s overthinking, always trapped in the own tangled maze of his mind, always waiting for the other shoe to drop because he’s not good enough, he can’t even get hard even with you looking like a dream—
“Hey. Whoa.” You remove your hand from his chest, but you scoot over to sit beside him, turned to face him, your expression very similar to the night he met you—the same easy smile, the same studious eyes.
“Nothing’s ruined. You haven’t fucked anything up. Take a breath. Is this because of that bad first date you had the night we met?”
He nods. “A little bit.”
“There’s been other bad first dates, I guess?”
Another nod.
“And now you’re worried this is just another bad first date?”
“Yeah.” It comes out a croak, a roughness in his throat.
“Hmm.” You lean forward, press a soft kiss to his forehead. “You wanna hear about my worst first date ever?”
“No, honey, it’s okay—”
“His name was Justin.” Another soft kiss, this one to his temple. “Good job, good looking.” Another kiss, to the other temple, right at his hairline. “Picked me up and gave me flowers, took me out to San Diego’s most exclusive restaurant that has a reservation list a mile long.”
Bob chuckles weakly. “Sounds awful,” he says, wry.
You hum again, kiss his flushed cheek. “He was charming at dinner.” A kiss on his other cheek. “Said all the right things. Asked about my life and listened to my answers.” The lightest of kisses on the tip of his nose, and it makes him smile despite himself.
“Halfway through dessert, a woman comes up to our table.” Bob feels the gentle press of your lips at the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to kiss you back, but you pull away.
“It was Justin’s wife.” A flurry of kisses now, to his chin, along his jawline, near his ear.
“He was cheating,” Bob says.
“Nope.” A kiss, this one lingering, under his jaw, on his neck. “Turns out, this was a little game he and his wife play. Some weird cheating, cuckolding fantasy.” Your lips skate over his pulse point. “He takes a girl out, his wife pretends to catch them, and then they go to a nearby hotel to fuck each other senseless.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Oh, shit is right.” You lift your head to gaze at him. “Asshole left me with the bill for dinner too. So Bobby….you’re not my worst first date. You’re not even close.”
“Honey—”
“You have no idea how hard you’re gonna have to work to really, honestly fuck this up.” You grin at him, and then you straddle his lap again, and he lays his hands on your hips and stares up at you.
“Because you’re, like, exactly the sort of man I’ve always been looking for. You’re that sneaky-handsome sort, and you’re smart and sweet, and you took care of me that first night when I was too drunk to make good choices.” You cup his face in your hands, and you stare at him hard, that sweet forcefulness on full display, like you dare him to disagree with you.
“It’s already a sure thing, Bobby.” You lean forward, kiss him gently. “There’s no pressure to do anything tonight. Don’t even think about needing to do anything. How about you just let me love on you, and you just relax, and if you can keep your secret wife from busting in and turning this into a cuckolding fantasy, we’ll end the night just fine, okay?”
That makes him laugh, and it breaks the spell of his terrible ruminating. Bob laughs, and he slides his hands from your hips up to your waist to feel your soft skin.
“I didn’t even think of getting a secret wife before I came here,” he confesses.
“See? It’s a sure thing, then.” You lean forward again, whisper in his ear, your warm breath making him break out in goosebumps as you tell him to just relax and let you love on him.
-----
The antidote to Bob’s awful overthinking, as it turns out, is your care and praise.
As far as first dates go, this is the one where Bob learns something new about his own sexuality. He learns, thanks to you, that he has a praise kink, because your hands and mouth and body on his feels amazing, but it’s your words that make him hard.
Loving on him means you touch him everywhere. You kiss him everywhere. You stroke him, press your soft lips to him, lick against parts of him until he feels like he’s on fire in a way that is completely different than his panic attack. You kiss every inch of his face and neck. You trail your mouth over his shoulders and collarbones, across every bit of his chest and belly, and you praise him whenever your mouth isn’t otherwise occupied.
Look at you, Bobby. Hiding this body away under that uniform.
You praise his arms, the muscles of his chest and abs. You praise his shoulders and back, the smattering of chest hair, the trail of hair that leads down and disappears under the waistband of his boxers, and you glance up at him, the question in your eyes as you toy with the elastic.
“Can I?” you ask, and Bob nods, swallows hard, and you go lower, you push his boxers down and his cock is there, hard from your honied words.
“Holy shit,” you blurt out. “Bob, are you for real with this?”
It probably seems like a cliché, like the pretty girl in a movie who somehow never realized she was pretty, but Bob has never really considered his size. He’s been around plenty of other penises through the course of his career, but he’s never exactly eyed up other men and measured himself against them. The handful of women he’s slept with never said anything so he assumed he was average, but you praise him here too—you tell him he has a beautiful cock, and Bob blushes at the compliment. He’d never call it beautiful, but when you wrap your palm around his shaft and grip him gently, he’d agree to any adjective you might offer, so long as you never let him go.
This feels too easy too, but the panic never claws at Bob’s throat again. You’ve chosen him, you’ve made it a sure thing for him, and you’ve cut through his awkward moment of near-flight to get him to this: your body stretched alongside his, your breasts pressed against his arm, your hand working against his cock while you whisper praise in his ear.
And every time doubt starts to creep in—he should be touching you too, he should be making you feel good too—you hush him, you still his mouth by kissing him, and you tell him that he has all the time in the world for touching you, but he should let you take care of him now.
His orgasm creeps up in fits and starts, and it seems to ratchet closer with each bit of praise you lavish on him, more so than each movement of your hand working against his cock.
“I want you to come for me, Bobby,” you whisper against his neck. You kiss his pulse point, a plush, open-mouth kiss that makes him shiver as you grip him tighter, work a faster rhythm with your hand. “Come for me like a good boy.”
He wants to be good for you; he wants to do as you say. Some not-so-small part of him craves your approval, and maybe the two of you will play around with that sort of dynamic in the future, but for now, he just wants to obey you. He wants to do his part to salvage the night he thinks he almost ruined, so he breathes in time to your strokes, focuses on every sensation—the softness of your breasts pressed against him, your wet, hot mouth kissing him, the light scent of your perfume. The tension in his belly is a coil, and it tightens and tightens until it snaps, and his hips stutter against your grasping hand. He gasps out your name, warns you, and then a beat later, he comes. He spills over your hand, thick ropes of cum coating your fingers and wrist, spilling over onto his belly.
“Just like that, baby.” You kiss his panting mouth, and he feels the curve of your lips as you give a pleased smile. “It’s that simple.”
#bob floyd#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#top gun maverick#kinktober 2023#tropes and tales
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Shine A Light Into The Wreckage
Chapter Five - The Hard Deck
Bob Floyd was many things. He was an instructor at Top Gun, a lover of Tolkien books and a huge fan of coffee. But Bob was also clumsy. That was how he bumped into the table, knocking her drink onto her notebook. He felt bad about it. Bad enough to come back time and time again, in the hopes that she would be there. And, every time, she is. Each time looking a little worse for wear. It doesn't take Bob long to realise he has to save her.
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Warnings: Abusive relationship! Abusive hair pulling! Abusive choking! Forceful sex! Domestic abuse! Seriously don't read if you're affect by stuff like this! Talks of stalking (but in a non serious manner), talks of non consensual groping
Series Masterlist
"Are you guys going to The Hard Deck tonight?"
Bob turned at the voice behind him. He'd scanned the room for her when he first walked into the café, but she wasn't there.
He couldn't hide the surprise on his face as he turned around. There she was, in a black pencil skirt and a navy blue blouse. She wasn't in her usual sweater and Bob couldn't help but miss it. "You wanna come with?" He offered.
Her smile was tight, barely a smile at all as she looked at him. She wasn't going to ask this soon, was gonna wait until she needed an escape.
But the need for an escape came sooner than she expected. "I'd like that," she said, adjusting her grip on her bag. "What time should I meet you there?"
"Seven, at the earliest," Bob answered as he payed for his coffee and took it from Mariana.
Her smile grew. "I'll be there at seven thirty." She ordered her drink, silently waiting for it. As desperate as Bob was for conversation, she didn't initiate it, staying quiet as Mariana passed her the hazelnut oat latte and rushing off.
Not staying for her work break, like Bob was used to seeing. He followed her out of the café and climbed into the truck, watching from his mirrors as she walked down the street.
He headed back to Top Gun, three coffees on the seat beside him and reader to force Natasha and Jake out to the Hard Deck.
But he couldn't help but wonder, why not stay in the café for lunch? Why break her usual pattern of behaviour? Bob had been on the coffee runs for the two previous days, and each time she was there for her lunch break, sitting as she wrote. Each time Bob spent at least five minutes with her before he had to get back to Top Gun.
Bob didn't know that she didn't get a lunch break that day, not when she had been over half an hour late for work. She didn't mean to be over half an hour late, but Ken had woken up in a mood and using makeup to cover up bruises took time.
There was only so much her long sleeves could hide, and she couldn't wear a scarf all day.
It was the first time Ken had utterly lost control like that, the first time she was forced to use makeup to cover a bruise. She had do doubt that she hadn’t done a good job this first time around, that some of the bruising around her neck was still visible. Just as long as it didn't raise suspicion.
It was the slowest work day of her life. Yet, the end of the work day came much sooner than she would have liked. She packed up everything slowly and was the last one out of the office. Her walk down the street to her apartment was slow, her feet refusing to take her any faster.
She pushed her way into the apartment. The moment she opened the door to the apartment, the smell hit her. Cheap beer, cigarette smoke and piss. Fuck, it was poker night.
Several voices filled the room at once. "Hey Barbie," said several of Ken's friends. She looked towards the table full of Ken's friends and offered a weak smile. A shiver ran through her body when one of them whistled.
She walked past the poker game, walking straight into the bedroom. Ken had left the door open, and the smell of smoke had ruined her sheets. She let out a breath as she shut the door and dropped her bag onto her bed.
It wasn't the first time that Ken had hosted poker night and not warned her. Actually, it was a regular occurrence. She sat on her bed and pulled off her shoes. Even with the door shut, she could hear their shouts and their laughter. It only served as further motivation to get to The Hard Deck.
As she unzipped her skirt, her bedroom door flew open. She let out a small gasp, keeping her skirt tightly held to her body. "Ken, what the hell?" She cried as he stared at her. The way he was staring at her, like he was a starving wolf.
"You should come and say hello to everyone, Barbie," he said as he pushed the door shut. He strode over to her drawers and dug through them, pulling out a too short, baby blue and white skirt. He threw it onto the bed and pulled out a tank top.
'Come and say hello' wasn’t literal when it came to Ken's friends. It was an excuse for them to cop a feel and eye her up. "I'm not doing this," she said and threw the skirt towards him.
"Barbie-"
"No!" She insisted as she grabbed her favourite pair of jeans. "I'll go and get you some more beer but I don't want the guys touching me, okay?"
Ken let out something of a laugh. She'd put her foot down with him only once before and he had pushed her against the counter top and threatened worse. She hadn't dared since. But, if he was getting beer out of it, he'd let her get away with it. "C'mere," he said as he strode over to the door.
She tried not to come across as reluctant as she walked over to him. His touch was gentle as he stroked her cheek and pressed his lips against her own, his tongue down her throat.
He left her to it and she quickly got dressed. She pulled on her jeans and the tank top that Ken had thrown her (Ken was an asshole, sure, but the tank top was cute). She pulled on her jacket, grabbed her keys and headed out.
She couldn't stop herself from shivering as she walked to The Hard Deck. The sun was setting as she made her way. This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. But, as The Hard Deck came into view, she realised it was too late to turn back.
She sucked in a breath, steadying her nerves, and walked in.
***
"Come on, Bob," Jake Seresin muttered as he chalked yo the pool cue. "When if your little friend getting here?"
Bob surveyed the faces of everyone that walked into The Hard Deck. His eyes moved across everyone, but none of them were her. "She'll be here," he said as Natasha went to get another beer. "I know it."
Maybe five minutes later she walked into The Hard Deck. For a moment she stood by the door, trying to look for Bob. Sweet Bob. Bob who would never ask for her to let his friends have a grope fest. She pulled her jacket tighter and walked further in.
Bob spotted her before she spotted him. "Hey!" He called as he walked around people trying desperately to get to her. Hey eyes lit up when she saw him, and Bob moved somebody he recognised from the class he caught at Top Gun out of his way. "You made it."
"I made it," she responded, releasing a breath. Her eyes moved to the Styrofoam cup in his hands. "What're you drinking?"
"Just water," he replied and finished what was in his cup. "Let's get you a drink."
Bob didn't expect her to grab his hand. But she did. As he led her over to the bar she kept a hold of her hand. "Penny!" He called over the noise. As soon as she recognised him, the woman behind the bar brought over another cup full of water. "What would you like?"
She told Bob her order and he put it on his tab. With their drinks in the hands, Bob led her over to the pool table, over to the pool table. There were eyes on her as Bob brought her to two of his fellow aviators. Well, everybody in this bar looked like an aviator.
"These are my friends," Bob said as he gestured to the two playing pool. "Natasha and Jake."
She gave them a wave and introduced herself as she sat in the stool that Bob had been occupying. Not that she knew. Bob didn't say anything, either. He just wore a blushy smile as he watched her shake Natasha's hand.
But then it was Jakes turn. He held the pool cue as he sauntered up to her, that usual flirty smile on his face. "Hey there," he said, grin almost sly. "I'm Jake."
She took a moment to sip a drink, took a moment to answer him. But the she placed her drink on the table behind her (Bob was sure to keep an eye on it) and turned her attention to Jake.
"We've met," she said , trying to paint a flirty smile that matched Jakes onto her face. "Good to see you again, Hangman." She held her hand towards him. "Try not to get me kicked out this time."
Jake laughed as he shook her hand. "Very sorry about that, miss. But you're here with Baby On Board, now. You're not going to get kicked out."
Bob's smile dropped from his face at that. His fists were clenched at his sides as Jake laughed. She turned to him, her eyebrows furrowed. "Baby On Board?" She asked and picked up her drink.
"It's not Baby On Board," he muttered beneath his breath.
The way Jake was looking at him, it was like they were back in Top Gun together. "What is it then, Baby On Board?" He challenged as he stepped towards him.
Bob wasn't a fighter. Natasha knew it, Jake knew it, and she knew it. He picked up his water from beside her own drink and finished it one. Bob wasn't going to challenge, but he wasn't going to let his head fall in defeat.
Suddenly she was on her feet, getting between herself and Jake. "If he says it's not Baby On Board, then it's not Baby On Board," she said, levelling him with a glare.
Holding his hands up, Jake backed off. Things fell normal for a little while. She spoke to Natasha and Jake as she drank (Bob happily got her another drink when she ran out), the three of them learning about each other.
When Natasha beat Jake, she gave her pool cue to Bob while Jake offered his to hers. But she shook her head and Jake went to play again (but Natasha took it off of him to play against Bob instead).
"So," Jake began as she began her third drink. "Baby Bob tells us you've got a boyfriend."
"Don't call him that, dude," she said as she held her beer between her fingers.
Jake raised his eyebrows at her. "Don't call him your boyfriend or don't call him Baby Bob?"
She glared.
"Anyway, Bob said you've got a boyfriend."
By the time she replied to him, she had nearly finished her drink. "So what?" She spat. She was trying to be nice, but any mention of Ken immediately changed her mood.
"So, if you've got a boyfriend, What're you doing here with him?"
Jake was an asshole. That much was clear to her. "Excuse me," she said and hopped off of the stool.
Bob watched, completely missing his turn as she walked out of The Hard Deck. He thrust the pool cue into Jakes arms and ran after her. "Wait!" He called, moving around people to get to her. "Wait!"
When Bob made it outside, he found her sitting on the sand. In the doorway, Bob watched her for only a moment. There was a slight breeze, but she had left her jacket inside. But she stayed sitting there, keeping her arms wrapped around herself.
Slowly, Bob approached.
"Hey," he called and she ever so slightly turned her head towards him. Bob sat on the sand beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "Are you okay?”
She sniffed and nodded her head. "You told Hangman about my boyfriend."
He breathed in and nodded. There were several excuses he could have come up with, but he didn’t want to. He didn't want to lie to her.
And he didn't have to.
"I asked you to come here tonight because I needed to get away." Her fingers dug into the sand. "When we started dating, everything was perfect. For the first few years, everything was perfect. And then we moved here together and everything changed."
She never would have admitted this sober, but she kept going. "We've lived her for a year. It's been a year of him..." she couldn't finish the sentence.
Bob could guess. When she pulled her hair back, revealing her neck, he noticed. The lights from The Hard Deck that illuminated the beach were so bright, it was impossible to miss. Slowly, Bob lifted his hand, gently touching the skin on her neck. "Did... did he do that?"
She didn't answer, couldn't answer. Her hands frantically patted her pockets. "I left my phone inside," she mumbled and stood up.
Bob stood with her. His gentle touch stopped her from running back into The Hard Deck. "Please," he whispered. "Talk to me."
She shook her head and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder. "Another time, Bobby. Maybe."
She pulled away, but she didn't move away. She couldn't, not with the way he was staring down at her. Bob was still as her hands travelled to his shoulders. She didn't placed them on his neck, didn't play with his hair, it would have been too intimate.
She pressed her lips to his, kissed him. Why the fuck did she kiss him? But, even as the doubt went through her mind, she didn't pull away. And Bob didn't push her away.
He didn't want to.
But he didn't move. As much as he wanted to hold her waist, he couldn't. She still had a boyfriend, even if she was the one kissing him.
She pulled away and released a breath. "I'm sorry," she said, forehead pressed against his chest. "I just..."
She moved away from Bob, practically running back to The Hard Deck. She pushed her way inside and ran around the other patrons, getting back to Phoenix and Hangman.
"Hey," Natasha said as she moved last them. "Everything okay?"
She swiped her phone from the table and shoved it into her pockets.
As she turned to leave, as she moved away from the pool table, she smacked straight into someone. "Fuck," she said as familiar arms wrapped around her.
She looked up at the person holding her. Her heart sank. "Sneaking off?"
"Ken."
She could feel Natasha and Hangman watching as he squeezed her. The smile on his face was supposed to be sweet, not sinister. But it really was sinister. Ken kept wearing that smile as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Get your ass outside. Now."
She couldn't even turn around to say goodbye to Natasha and Jake as Ken moved her along. Embarrassment filled her as she walked past the other pilots, as Ken walked her outside, feeling like a prisoner and their prison guard. Because, really, what else was she?
The moment she stepped outside, her eyes met blue ones. The way Bob was looking at her, she couldn't stand to keep looking at him. But he kept watching, watching as Ken marched her towards the parking lot with his hand on her shoulder, grip bruising.
It fucking terrified Bob.
Scared him to the point where he had to follow. He couldn't leave her at this man's mercy, not with what he had seen.
lmao none of my tags are working ffs
Taglist: @biancathecool
@nurse-sainz
@not-nyasa
@burningwitchprincess
@darksparklesficrecs
@primroseluna
@littlemsbumblebee
@wretchedmo
@imaginecrushes
@calpalsbestie
@hiireadstuff
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#bob floyd#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd x you#bob floyd fic#robert floyd#robert floyd imagine#robert floyd x reader#robert floyd fluff#robert floyd x you#robert bob floyd#lewis pullman imagine#lewis pullman#top gun#top gun imagine#top gun maverick#tgm#top gun bob#top gun fanfiction
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Eccentric Professor Bob is horny on a good day, but on vacation? Absolute menace. He wakes up horny, cock hard and desperate for Imogen, but she’s not complaining. It’s slow and lazy, leaving her incoherent and boneless. She wears that skimpy bikini that drives him wild, and he just has to have a taste until she’s coming undone on his tongue and her back arches off the sun lounger. He’s whispering filth in her ear as they eat lunch at a local restaurant, and he fucks her in their pool, not caring if the neighbors can hear her scream his name. As they make dinner, she brushes past him to choose the wine, and he’s not sure how it happens, but he has her bent over the table, thrusting into her hard and deep. Dinner almost catches fire, so they go out to eat instead. Afterward, as they walk home, Imogen pulls him into a secluded alley, drops to her knees, and proceeds to give him the blowjob of his life. By the time they make it back to the house, he’s hard and ready again, but he takes his time then. He carefully undresses Imogen, groans at the sight of her special vacation lingerie, and enjoys every second of taking it off her, watching it fall to the ground. He spreads her out on the bed and worships every inch of her, paying attention to places he usually neglects until eventually she’s begging for his cock. He loves her needy noises and his name sounds like heaven on her lips. He has her clenching around his fingers first, withdrawing right as her orgasm is about to hit and she whines so loud he can’t help but grin. When he’s inside her, he pounds into her, telling her how beautiful she is, what a good girl she is, that she’s all his. She’s moaning and babbling, clawing at his back, and he’s never known love or sex like this. She cums twice, and he finishes inside her with a shout of her name. Afterward, he carries her to the bathroom and cleans her up, praises her, tells her how much he loves her. She hisses from sensitivity when he cleans between her legs, and he presses a soothing kiss to her forehead. Back in the bed, they lie naked in each other’s arms, tracing patterns across freckled skin. Eventually, Imogen drifts off to sleep. He watches her and wonders how on earth he got so lucky. Then she moves in her slumber, hiking her leg up so her knee grazes his cock, making him harden. He considers waking her up so they can go again, but decides to let her sleep and resorts to take care of it himself. He tries to be quiet, stifling moans and keeping his body as still as possible, and it really only takes a few minutes to spill into his hand. “You’ll be the death of me,” he whispers into her hair, but knows he wouldn’t have it any other way.
#i'm gonna see myself out#eccentric professor bob#robert bob floyd#bob floyd#robert floyd#bob floyd fic#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x oc#bob floyd smut#top gun maverick#tgm#tgm fic#professor bob#professor bob musings#otp: bob x imogen#oc: imogen van doren
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Bob's wife figures out a week after he left that she's pregnant...
So not only does he miss the birth...
but he missed the entire pregnancy...
Alright, so essentially, this is what I imagine happens to Bob and reader from Ruin the Friendship. He's at boot camp and she realizes her period is late. When she tells her parents, they are relieved, though somewhat surprised to learn it's Bob's.
"Really? Floyd Junior had it in him?"
"He is quite capable."
It isn't until he comes back for a week before being shipped off that he learns. He wants to quit, but also knows he has the best healthcare.
So they go to that Italian Restaurant Bob promised to take her too, and he knows after that date he wants to marry her. They quickly go to the courthouse so she can get on his health insurance.
She sends him pictures every day, but it's not the same. Bob records stories so she can play them for their unborn child.
When it comes time for the delivery, she's crying, wishing she had her Robby. Let's just say Mama Floyd really knows how to yell to get what she wants. Bob is able to talk to his dear wife over the phone, encouraging her.
He absolutely hates missing everything. But then he sees his tiny baby girl bundled up and he realizes that there's no better time like the present.
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Explicitly Yours | Bob Floyd x Reader
Summary: When Bob met you, he fell for you hard and fast. He thought you might be his perfect match, the one that would make his days feel full instead of lonely. He never would have dreamed you had a secret. But secrets are known to be revealed at the most inconvenient of times, and Bob's surprised hesitation could cost him the thing he wants most.
Warnings: Smut, oral, fluff, angst, misogyny, language, mentions of adult film industry
Length: 11k words (what have I done?)
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Former Pornstar!Female Reader
This was written for International Bob Floyd Fucks Month hosted by @attapullman. Check my masterlist for more! Banner by @thedroneranger
Bob was fresh off of a long deployment when he returned to work at North Island on Monday morning to find he would begin training as part of a new taskforce. He was tired and antsy, still overstimulated from being around so many people on the aircraft carrier, but he was also realizing how lonely he was.
He'd arrived back to a sterile, empty, dusty apartment, slept for two days, and now he was back to work. He couldn't even have a cat or a houseplant. He really would like to have a cat or a houseplant. Mostly he thought about how nice it would be to have a girlfriend. A sweet one who would wait for him to return home so his apartment didn't feel so sad. One who didn't mind that sometimes he preferred it to be quiet. One who would let him dote on her a little bit when he was home.
When he was told to report to Classroom Six in his uniform instead of the tarmac in his flight suit, Bob knew it was going to be a long day. That idea only grew as soon as he walked in and was accosted by his friends. "You're back!" Natasha screeched, streaking across the room like a brunette cannonball and slamming into his arms. "It's not even fair that we weren't deployed together. I missed you!"
"Missed you too, Nat. Thanks for all the emails."
Then he felt Bradley, Jake and Javy all jostling him around until his glasses were crooked on his face. That's probably why he did a double take when he saw you. There was no way you were that beautiful. His glasses must need to be adjusted on his face. But he was wrong. You looked the same after he pushed his wire frames back into place.
He swallowed hard and whispered, "Who's that?"
The guys all looked at him with matching smirks, and Javy told him your name. "Civilian. She's Warlock's new assistant. Got reassigned from a different department last week."
"She's real cute," Jake added. "And she looks so familiar."
"Why does she look so familiar?" Bradley asked, and Bob realized that the whole group was staring at you where you were conversing quietly with Warlock. "We've been trying to figure it out for a week."
You didn't look familiar to Bob. You just looked pretty with bright eyes and a friendly smile, both of which were trained on him now. Of course you were looking his way now, because everyone had mussed up his hair and wrinkled his uniform. He didn't mind so much that you caught him staring, because you were the kind of woman who must get that a lot.
"Lieutenant Floyd," Admiral Bates said as he stood, and Bob saluted his superior officer immediately. "Welcome back."
"Sir," Bob replied, doing his best not to let his gaze drift back to you. "Thank you."
Then Warlock called the room to order, and Bob ended up sitting in the front row, directly across from you. Barely six feet away. You were so pretty, it wasn't even funny. The curve of your face and your neck and the way you moved were mesmerizing. Smooth and fluid. Confident. Beautiful. You kept Warlock on task and seemed to have all the pertinent information about the class memorized. But all of it was lost on Bob, because he was way too distracted.
By lunchtime, he had sweat through his undershirt, and he was sure his uniform shirt wasn't looking much better. The way you turned to look directly at him with a slightly guarded expression when you stood made him blush. It must be obvious to you that Bob couldn't keep his eyes off your face.
"Hi," you greeted. "Lieutenant Floyd."
Bob swallowed hard before something that sounded vaguely like Hello came out of his mouth.
Your smile was tinged with a little sadness as you stuck out your hand. "I've been looking forward to meeting the last team member. Welcome back from deployment, Lieutenant."
And then you were walking away, but Bob was still sweating.
--------------------------
For the next four days, Bob got there early to ensure he had that same front row seat. He had a full blown crush. Heart pounding, palms damp, unable to focus on anything other than his crush on you. When he wasn't at work looking right at you, he was daydreaming about you. When he wasn't daydreaming about you, he was asleep and having actual dreams where you were his girlfriend. In one of them, you gave him a back massage, and he woke up with an erection.
He could barely even look at you for the nauseous feeling that took up residence just below his pounding heart, but he couldn't look anywhere else. He'd never been like this before. Sure, he'd been attracted to many women in the past, but this was something else entirely.
"But why is she so familiar looking?" Jake asked Bradley at lunch. "You sure you didn't fuck her?"
"Oh, I think I'd remember fucking someone that looked like that," Bradley replied with a chuckle. "Wait... did you fuck her?"
"I don't think so?" Jake replied, looking a little panicked. "She's not the one I went home with on my birthday, is she? Because you know I can't remember that night. And if I fucked her and can't remember it, then I deserve to be executed."
They both erupted into laughter with Javy, and Bob felt deflated. One of the three of them was definitely going to ask you out sooner rather than later, and instead of getting an occasional guarded glance in his direction, Bob would have nothing.
That night at the bar, he sat with his cup of peanuts and talked with Nat about work while everyone else played pool. "I guess we have another week or two of lectures ahead of us, but I can't wait to get back in the air."
"Yeah," Bob replied, glancing around the room in case the Hard Deck was your Friday night scene. It wasn't really his, but he came for his friends. And if he got to spend another week or two in the classroom, he wasn't going to complain; there would be no way for him to look at you when he was in the cockpit.
"Bob!" Javy called as if he'd been trying to get his attention for a few minutes. He was waving a pool cue. "Take over for me. I need to go shoot my shot."
As Bob stood, he watched Javy head off into the crowd toward a woman who looked like you. He did a double take, his heart leaping up into his throat as Bradley started to push him closer to the pool table. Javy saw you. He was going to ask you out. A feeling of devastation filled his lungs, but then the woman turned around, and it wasn't you. Her smile wasn't nearly as pretty, and she didn't have the same eyes.
Relieved, Bob sank the seven ball before running the table like he was some sort of pro. But he knew deep inside that he was going to have to ask you out himself or miss out on even having a chance with you.
Every day the following week, he tried to give himself a pep talk. He could do this. Even if you said no, it would be fine. It would be good practice for him. But he knew it would not be okay. He liked the sound of your voice and the way you moved, and he thought about you in every room of his apartment doing a wide variety of things. Some of them made him blush.
He couldn't tell if it would be worse to never even try or to have to live with himself after you looked at him and said you weren't interested. At least if he kept things quiet, the guys couldn't find a way to make fun of him. And although they all liked to talk about you at lunch, to his knowledge, none of them had asked you on a date. Maybe they were as intimidated as him.
On Wednesday, you dropped your pen, and Bob picked it up for you. He got a "Thanks, Lieutenant Floyd," in response along with a cautious smile. Then on Thursday, he helped you move the projector before class started, and you said, "Thanks. You're a lot stronger than I am." He felt like he floated to his seat after that.
On Friday, disaster struck. You were organizing your stack of notes at the end of the day when Bob stood. But then Bradley was there, leaning on the table in front of you after everyone had been dismissed. "Hey, so the guys and I were wondering if you ever made it out to the Hard Deck on Friday nights? I'd love to buy you a drink."
Bob nearly collapsed back into his seat as he watched your eyes searching Bradley's face like you were trying to tell if he was lying. "No, actually. I play Dungeons & Dragons most Friday nights."
A strangled sound escaped Bob. "You play D&D?" he asked before he could think better of it.
"Yeah," you replied easily, giving him a little smile. "Been into it for years."
"Me too," he added, and you set down everything you'd been holding.
"It must be hard to be part of a campaign when you deploy on occasion?" you asked, and Bob was convinced he wouldn't notice if a freight train was about to hit him.
He nodded and took a step closer, watching you stand up. "It can be, yeah. But I've been in the same campaign for a few years, so I'd like to think I'm an integral enough part of it that everyone else doesn't mind waiting for me."
You laughed. It was so pretty. "I'm sure they don't mind one bit, Lieutenant Floyd."
"You can call me Bob," he blurted out, eyes going wide as you licked your lips and grinned.
"Okay. Bob."
He could do this. He was already part way there, he thought. Just a little further. "Maybe you and I could get coffee this weekend and talk about our characters?"
When he was met with silence and your softly parted lips, he wanted to disappear. But your expression was trained on his face, and even though you still seemed a little hesitant, you asked, "Like a date? Because I'm free on Sunday."
-------------------------
You were laughing so hard, you had to set your coffee cup down next to your scone, and Bob was basking in the sound of it. "No, Bob! That's why I made my character a Rogue! Because I could never be such a scoundrel in real life!" He just listened to your laughter taper off while he grinned in the middle of the crowded cafe where you only seemed to be focused on him.
"Well, that's why I made mine a Sorcerer. I don't know if you knew this about me, but I can't actually cast spells."
You started to laugh again. "Could have fooled me." But he must have been looking at you for too long, because you brought your hand up to your lips and asked, "Do I have crumbs on my face or something?"
"No, your face is perfect," he replied without considering his words, but your look of slightly embarrassed delight outweighed the tinge of mortification he felt.
You searched his eyes, seemingly always trying to gauge his sincerity. Then you surprised him when you said, "You're really sweet. It's refreshing."
Bob looked down at his hands, unsure how to respond but pleased nonetheless. "Will you let me take you to a movie? Or dinner? Or both?"
"Yes."
The following morning at work, you were as focused on Bob as he was on you. The sweaty palms and erratically beating heart were back, only exacerbated by your alluring gaze and the promise of a second date on Thursday night. You agreed to dinner at an Italian restaurant, and Bob was already excited.
"Why are you acting so strange?" Nat asked at lunchtime. "You're like both weirdly quiet and also talking so much?"
Bob laughed and said, "I went out on a date yesterday." And when he said it was with you, her eyes went wide. "We're going out again on Thursday."
"Bob!" she gasped, and now all of the guys were looking at him, and there was no way he would ever recover from this as Nat told them he got coffee with you.
"Welcome to the big leagues, buddy," Jake drawled, while Bradley glared at him. "Just wish I could figure out why she seems so familiar. Like it's just stuck in the back of my mind somehow. Like I know her."
"None of you know her as well as Bob does," Nat said with a laugh that made him smile. Before you and he parted ways at the coffee shop, you'd squeezed his hand in your smaller one, and it was already one of the sexiest moments of his life.
"Fuck you, Bob," Bradley grumbled.
But it didn't matter. Bob really liked you and the fact that you talked about your Dungeons & Dragons character for a full hour. And your pretty face and your laugh. And the way you seemed interested in what he had to say. You were checking off all of the boxes for him. Smart, funny, kind of nerdy, interesting. He wondered how many dates he should take you on before asking you to be his girlfriend.
On Wednesday, as soon as Warlock dismissed everyone, you handed Bob a folded up note.
I can't wait for dinner tomorrow night. Here's my number.
He waited until he was home and sitting on his couch before he texted you. Less than a minute later, you responded. And that's how he spent the rest of his night. He didn't even eat until after nine, too wrapped up in what you had to say. Those intrusive thoughts and daydreams and real dreams about you in his apartment were starting to seem like they could be a reality. That's what he wanted. He could already picture you on the couch, wrapped up in the afghan his mom made, watching a movie with him. Or in his kitchen, helping him make dinner.
He fell asleep on the couch in his uniform, too absorbed in this conversation to even go to bed properly. But that was fine, because suddenly it was Thursday, and not only would he see you all day at work, he'd get to eat with you and learn more about you.
Once again, Bob slid into that front row seat, and you had to work at keeping the smile from your face all morning. When you did look his way, he felt his breath catch in his throat. He was sure he'd pass out if you kissed him, and suddenly that was the only thing he could think about. Warlock talked about aggressive maneuvering, and Bob thought about your lips. Warlock talked about safety protocols, and Bob thought about your lips touching his.
It would be a miracle if he made it through dinner, but he had to try. You stood and started walking out of the classroom at the end of the day, but you turned back and said, "I'll meet you there at 7:30."
Bob offered to pick you up, but you said you'd drive yourself, and now he had more than two hours to kill. He took a long shower and fixed his hair before dressing in the outfit that Nat had pre-approved for him. He made sure his glasses were straight and that he had his credit card. The only other thing he could do was hope the conversation would come as easily for him this time, as it had over coffee.
He shouldn't have been worried about that. What he should have been worried about was the way his heart stopped when you walked through the front doors of the restaurant and directly for him, wearing a pretty blue dress with your face all made up like he was someone to impress.
"Hi, Bob," you whispered. Then you kissed his cheek at the same time that he started to turn his head, and his lips nudged yours. He stood there shocked as you slipped your hand into his, and you started to tug him toward the waiting table when his name was called.
His ears didn't stop burning the whole night. His brain kept circling back to the idea of another kiss. An intentional one. A kiss after a second date was not something he'd ever attempted before, but he was going to do it tonight. Based on the way you were looking at him, he had to.
"Do you want more wine?" you asked, holding up the bottle.
"Yes, please," he replied, because that would definitely help his cause.
You smiled as you poured him some. "You have lovely manners." When you set the bottle down, you added, "And really pretty eyes."
Bob counted to three and then said, "I know we didn't even eat dessert yet, but I really like you. And tomorrow is your D&D night, but maybe you'll let me take you to a movie on Saturday?"
After dinner, in the parking lot next to your car, Bob kissed you. Intentionally. The first tilt of his head was hesitant, and when his lips met yours, he started to get nervous and pull away. But you let your fingers tangle in his hair, and you chased him for another kiss. "Which movie are we seeing?" you asked as you rubbed your nose gently along his.
"You can pick," he replied before kissing you again. "I just want to be around you." And then his hands found the small of your back and you inched yourself closer until your chest was touching his and your knee was bumping his leg.
You were smiling when he finally pulled his face away from yours. "I'll text you my address and the movie I want to see."
Bob smiled, too. "And then I'll pick you up, and we can go to the theater."
This was probably the best week of his life. He watched you pull out of the parking lot, and you waved to him through your window after you blew him a kiss. He went home and thought about what he might be able to cook for date number four. Perhaps you'd want to do the movie on Saturday and then have dinner at his place on Sunday? He'd figure it out. Either way, he was excited for more.
"A third date?" Nat asked on Friday when everyone was taking a break in the classroom. "Damn, Bob."
He eyed you where you stood talking quietly with Warlock, and you glanced his way, a soft smile on your lips. "I really like her. She's different. In a good way. And she makes me feel comfortable."
Nat rubbed his back in slow circles. "Make sure you put your arm around her during the movie. She might be expecting it. But if she doesn't snuggle against you, then you should remove it."
He nodded and swallowed. "Right. I can do that. Is it too soon to invite her over to my apartment for dinner?"
"I don't think so," she replied softly. "And maybe you should buy some condoms."
Bob's cheeks immediately flushed, but he didn't mind too much, since it was just Nat. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet."
"She seems sweet. Just tell her what you're feeling when the time comes."
Now everything was making Bob a little nervous as he drove through your neighborhood on Saturday night. He passed modern beachfront house after modern beachfront house, and then his GPS told him he had arrived. He saw your car in the driveway, but the house was gorgeous and must be worth a ton of money. Maybe you had a roommate?
He parked his old truck and headed up the sidewalk with butterflies in his stomach and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. You opened the door before he even knocked, and then you were in his arms and invading his senses. "Are those for me?" you asked, kissing his cheek and poking the flowers.
"Yes," he whispered, silently begging you to let him hold you for a few more seconds while he caught his breath and got himself under control. You turned him on in every way, and he'd never encountered this before.
Your soft voice next to his ear as you chuckled and said, "Thanks, Bob," was not helping. You led him inside, and your house was incredible. There were no signs of a roommate, but there was a view of the ocean from the windows along the back of the house. He watched you bend in your little dress to find a vase for the flowers, and he felt completely overwhelmed.
"Ready to go?" you asked, reaching for his hand a minute later. Your eyes were eager and sincere as you gazed up at him. Your fingers were laced with his, and Bob realized if he wanted to get to the next step with you, he needed to get through tonight.
"Yes." He kissed your lips softly, and you leaned against his arm as he walked you out to his truck.
You spent the drive to the movie theater telling him all about your Friday night playing Dungeons & Dragons, and of course Bob felt more relaxed. He bought the tickets, and you got the popcorn, and when he put his arm around your shoulders, you snuggled against him, so he kept it there. By the end of the movie, the empty popcorn bucket was on the floor, and you had your palm resting on his thigh.
"Did you like it?" you asked softly while the end credits scrolled.
"Yes, I liked it," he promised, accepting another of your kisses.
"It's still early. Want to grab a drink somewhere?"
Bob really only knew one place, because he spent an awful lot of his free time there. "Should we hit up the Hard Deck? And then I can take you home and hopefully get another goodnight kiss?"
You had one eyebrow raised as you considered him. "Even after the third date? You're not going to try to make a move?"
Embarrassment flooded his cheeks as he muttered, "Not yet." And then your lips were all over his like he'd answered your questions correctly, even though he felt like his thoughts on the matter were actually probably wrong according to most people.
Eventually the two of you made your way to the bar, but visiting the Hard Deck was a mistake that he didn't see coming. You were tucked perfectly against his side as Bob walked across the parking lot and listened to you tell him how much you liked working for Admiral Bates. Then you ordered two vodka sodas, and Bob had to pluck your credit card from your hand to keep you from paying for them.
"Hey!" you complained, but he just smiled.
"I'll give it back later." He was rewarded with another kiss on the cheek, this one very close to his lips.
"Well, look who's here," Jake drawled obnoxiously over the music from the jukebox and the noise from the crowd. "Bob and his friend."
You rolled your eyes and laughed, but you kept one hand linked with his as the drinks were set down. "Should we say hi to your friends?" you asked, and Bob nodded even though he really wanted to just find a small table on the other side of the room. But Nat looked excited, and the other guys looked annoyed, so Bob thought a short detour might be fun.
"Hey," Bob greeted everyone as you sipped your drink.
"How was the movie?" Nat asked, elbowing Bradley in the side before he could say anything.
"Pretty good," you replied. "You know, for one of those Academy Award bait films."
Bob laughed and looked at you. "I liked it a lot, actually." Or maybe he just liked sitting with his arm around you for two hours at a time, but he wasn't going to say that in front of everyone else.
Javy tapped a pool cue on the ground and asked, "Do you like to see a lot of movies?"
You nodded with a bit of an apprehensive look on your face that had Bob just about ready to pull you over to the table that another couple was vacating. "Yeah... I like films," you replied softly.
And then Jake's jaw dropped open and he slapped the edge of the pool table. "Oh my god!" His green eyes were wide as he looked you up and down from head to toe with a smirk that made Bob want to stand in front of you. "That's why you look so familiar! You're Roxy Luxxe."
"Oh, fuck," Javy said as he dropped the pool cue on Nat's foot, and Bradley choked on his beer.
But Bob just stood there and watched your posture stiffen and the look of apprehension on your face grow. "Who?" he asked softly, but you wouldn't meet his eyes.
"She's a porn star, Bob!" Jake said a little too loudly as he hooted. "A very memorable one, too. Played up different movie genres. Everyone I Did Last Summer. Sisterhood of the Traveling Sluts. Laid in Manhattan. Some real classics!"
"I retired," you said firmly, holding eye contact with Jake even though your voice sounded strained. "I left the industry five years ago."
"Guys," Nat said with a warning tone as she looked at Bob who was frozen in place, his head swarming with wild thoughts. An adult film star? You? But you worked at Top Gun and played D&D and liked scones. You went on three dates with Bob of all people.
Now Nat was physically moving Javy, Bradley and Jake back toward the game of pool, snapping her fingers at them as they continued to ogle you in your pretty dress. "So..." you whispered, turning toward Bob, looking anywhere but at his face. "That was... yeah..."
He had no idea what to say right now, and the longer he went without saying anything, the worse he felt inside. You used to have a job making adult films? Bob couldn't even handle watching those without blushing and stuttering. You must have had sex with dozens and dozens of different men and probably women too, and Bob suddenly realized he could go home and watch them for himself if he really wanted.
"Right," you said, finally looking at him as your eyes started to fill with tears. "Well... no hard feelings, Bob. I'll see you at work on Monday." Then you set your drink down, covered your mouth with one hand and made a beeline for the door.
Bob looked at the drink in his hand, and then at the one you set down. He left his on the table next to yours and followed you out to the parking lot. He looked around, calling your name and checking to see if you were by his truck, but you didn't respond. You were gone.
Roxy Luxxe. That name was made up, and he didn't think it suited you as well as your real name. That one was perfect, and he liked it. He liked you. He could drive back to your house, but if you didn't want to talk to him, then what was the point? He'd already embarrassed himself by clamming up. But even worse, he thought he might have embarrassed you.
"Damn it," he muttered, angry at Jake and all of them for making you feel small, and angry at himself, too. He got in his truck and drove himself home.
----------------------------
Well. You got three perfect dates before it all blew up in your face. Three amazing dates with Bob who was going to look at you like you were no longer worthy of his time now. Sure, you would have told him eventually. After another date or two, you would have brought it up in such a way that perhaps could have been a little bit more flattering or at least slightly tasteful. But of course you should have been expecting this. It wasn't the first time. Getting older only did so much for your face, and it didn't matter how much you changed your hair and makeup: Once Roxy Luxxe, always Roxy Luxxe.
You really thought none of them recognized you. It was almost refreshing that Bob had never heard of your alter ego. He probably never saw a single video of you having sex with Sam Slick or Dickie Divine. He didn't know exactly what your tits looked like, because you'd never taken your shirt off for him in person. He didn't know how you sounded when you faked an orgasm. As you ran down the block and got an Uber, you could hear Bob calling for you.
You weren't ashamed or embarrassed. You were not. This was your life, and you made every decision along the way for yourself. Nobody else. You put yourself through school. You bought the house of your dreams. You had an amazing job at Top Gun now for fuck's sake. But Bob was the first guy you met in a long time who made you think you could have a relationship with someone who wouldn't judge you for your past.
You walked from your Uber into your house and kicked your shoes across the entryway. More tears were filling your eyes, but you didn't want to cry again. Not over this. "But he was sweet," you whispered to your reflection in the hall mirror. His friends were kind of assholes, but he wasn't. Even if he didn't want to be with you now, which was understandable, those three dates were something else. Dungeons & Dragons discussions and coffee and pasta.
You sighed wistfully at the flowers in your kitchen. Maybe a few more years and you'd look even less like Roxy Luxxe. That might make things easier to navigate. You made yourself a cup of tea and grabbed some crackers and sat out on your back deck where the moonlight reflected off of the ocean. The way Bob had wrapped his arm around you during the movie made it easy to imagine him here with you, keeping you warm. Instead you grabbed a blanket and snuggled in as you thought about how he would have been an excellent boyfriend.
"You win some, you lose some," you told the night sky. If he was bothered by your past which you had designed so you could have a future, then he wasn't the one for you. You fell asleep outside in your dress, and the rising sun eventually woke you up. When you stretched and stood, the chilly air sent you running inside and toward your shower.
The memories of last night were hanging out in the periphery of your mind. Going to work tomorrow was going to be awful. If you didn't like Admiral Bates so much, you'd request to work under someone else. But then again, why should you have to go to work feeling bad? Yeah, it was going to sting to see Bob, but it was still your job, and you deserved to be happy.
You showered and took your time until all of your skin felt fresh and new, and then you threw on some oversized sweats after you moisturized. After breakfast, you could see if one of your friends from D&D was free to hang out. You were finally just about to check your phone to see if Bob had attempted to reach you when you heard a knock at your door.
Bob's truck was parked in your driveway just behind your car. You could see it through the front window. According to your phone, he tried to call you twice, and he'd send you a handful of texts. But now he was here and knocking again. It was obvious you were home, so you wrenched your front door open and stood before him with your chin held high.
"What do you need?" you asked, already feeling weak at the sight of his pretty blue eyes and his glasses.
"Hi," he said softly, just staring at you. He looked exhausted, like maybe he hadn't slept. Then he fumbled around in his jeans pocket and pulled out your credit card. "This is yours."
You plucked it from his hand and started to close the door. "Thanks for returning it. I'll see you at work."
Then he said your name. Your real name. "Wait. Please?"
You pressed your lips together. "What do you want, Bob?"
The soft rise and fall of his solid chest held your attention while he started stuttering. "L-Look. I'm really sorry about last night."
You nodded. "Me too." It wasn't like you wanted to know, but you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "I take it you went home and looked up my videos?"
His eyes went wide as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I didn't."
You actually believed him, but you felt like making yourself hurt anyway. "Your friends have all seen me naked. Watched me getting fucked."
He seemed surprisingly calm as he half shrugged and kind of nodded. "So what?"
As you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, you said, "I'm not ashamed of anything I've ever done, okay? And I would have told you about it after another date or two... before we slept together." When he remained silent you added, "I started out in the adult film industry when I was eighteen. I quit when I was twenty five. I just turned thirty last month, and I guess I was silly for thinking enough time had passed. But last night was a prime example of why I haven't even tried to date anyone. Ever, really."
Bob was gaping at you now. "Not ever? But you're... you're so..."
"I know," you said, cutting him off before he could finish. "I'm hot enough to do porn, but nobody wants to date me."
You started to close the door again, but he scrambled. "N-No, that's not what I was going to say. I was going to say you're flawless. A-And I shouldn't have let you leave the bar like that last night."
Your fingers loosened on the door, and soon it was drifting away from you, opening wider for Bob as he stood there with an eager expression. God, you just really liked him. And he seemed like he was being sincere. "What would you have done differently last night?" you whispered.
He started to reach for you before tucking his fingers in his jeans pocket. "I would have taken your hand in mine as soon as I saw tears in your eyes." You bit your lips as he added, "And I would have told you that I like you so much. And if you wanted to leave, then I would have driven you home right away and walked you to your door."
He liked you so much. If there was a chance that Bob could be the kind of guy who still liked you with your past as Roxy Luxxe but also wasn't just trying to get in your pants and meet her for himself, then you wanted to give him a shot. "What would you have done after you walked me to my door?"
He was breathing deeper like he was nervous, and you wanted to touch him. "I would have asked you for that goodnight kiss that I'd been hoping for all day."
You were rushing for his arms, clearly surprising him in the process, but he held onto you as you gave him just the softest kiss. "I would have let you have it." Bob's hands found their way to the most respectful spot on your back, and you kissed him a little deeper.
As soon as you broke the kiss, his fingers flexed against your back, and he said, "I want to go on another date with you. A bunch more. But I want you to be sure about me. I don't really care about Roxy Luxxe. I'm sure she was lovely, but I like you." You laughed. You couldn't help it. And he smiled as he asked, "Maybe you can think about it today and let me know at work tomorrow?"
"Okay."
He nodded and let out the breath he was holding. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."
Your back felt cold where his hands used to be as you watched him walk back to his truck. He waved to you as he pulled out of your driveway, and you waved back with a different feeling in your heart than you had twenty minutes ago.
---------------------------
Bob was disappointed to find he would be in the air on Monday. When he arrived on base, he changed into his flight suit instead of his khaki uniform, wondering what that would mean when it came to seeing you. He'd slept poorly, wondering what your answer would be, hoping you'd say yes to another date.
"Hey, Bob," Jake drawled as Bob zipped up his flight suit. "How was your night with Roxy Luxxe?" He had a devilish smirk on his face, and Bob's skin was crawling. All of the other guys were looking at him now, and he knew his face was beet red.
"I guess she was as good as she looks on film if she rendered you speechless," Jake added with a laugh.
"Whoa, no," Javy said, shaking his head at Jake before looking at Bob. "Cut it out, man."
Bob counted to five, took a deep breath and then raised his forearm, and at least Jake had the decency to look panicked. Bradley stepped into the fray as Bob used his arm on Jake's chest to push him back against the lockers. Sure, Jake was more muscular, but Bob was no slouch, and he had a couple inches on him. "Don't call her that again. Don't even talk about her. While you're at it, don't look at her either."
Jake raised one eyebrow and nodded slightly, and Bob released him, walking right out of the locker room and making a quick detour to the classroom. But you weren't there. He ran his hands through his hair before he headed outside to find Nat.
"Hey, there you are," she said gently. "You okay? After the bar and everything?"
"I'm fine," he replied, still looking around. "Have you seen her?"
"Mmhmm," she hummed, pointing behind Bob, and he whirled around in time to see you walk out of the tower with Warlock and Cyclone. You looked as pretty as you always did, and Bob found himself wanting you the same way today as he had last week. All of the daydreams about making breakfast together after holding you in his arms all night were still there. So were the thoughts about you snuggled up, laughing on his couch. But now he could also imagine taking walks on the beach where you lived.
Your gaze met his, and he watched you excuse yourself from the admirals before heading his way. Nat squeezed his bicep, and muttered good luck before making herself scarce, and then Bob was standing there with you a respectable three feet in front of him.
"Lieutenant Floyd."
He smiled softly. "Good morning."
"So..." you began, looking down at his boots and pressing your lips together. "I'm free on Wednesday night. Or pretty much all day Saturday." Your eyes trailed up his body until you were nervously examining his face. "What did you have in mind for our fourth date?"
He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He'd been so apprehensive, afraid you were going to tell him to beat it, he hadn't bothered to come up with an actual date idea. "Cooking dinner at my place?" he blurted out.
You nodded like that sounded good to you. "Wednesday night then?"
He couldn't remember if he already had plans, but if he did, he'd cancel them immediately. "Yes. Wednesday. The day after tomorrow. Wednesday."
Your soft laughter filled him up as you turned and started to walk away, giving him just one word. "Wednesday."
--------------------------
You showed up to Bob's place with just a bottle of wine. He promised to take care of the rest. An hour later, a completely homemade pizza with fresh mozzarella and herbs was baking in the oven, and you had your arms draped around his neck. His lips tasted like the pinot noir the two of you had started drinking while you made the pizza, and his body felt strong and sure. As of right now, you thought you'd made the right choice by coming here.
"I really like you," he whispered for the third time this evening, and you believed him. You liked yourself. Why shouldn't he?
"I like you, too, Bob." You reached up and adjusted his glasses before letting your fingers trail back through his hair. As his hands slid slowly down to your hips, it was easy to imagine how he might be in bed. Authentic. Meticulous. Earnest. Just like he was at work. The thought thrilled you to no end, but you were also afraid of the way you'd feel afterwards if you rushed it just to get the first one out of your system. So you let him hold you like you were important.
The timer buzzed, and Bob laughed as you jumped further into his arms. You buried your face against his neck. "It's not funny." But you were laughing, too, and his lips met your hair. "Okay, it's kind of funny."
His stomach was growling, so you slowly pulled yourself free of his arms so he could put on his oven mitts. "Looks good," he remarked, but your gaze was fixed on him. "What do you think, Honey?"
Bob's eyes went wide as he set the tray down, like he couldn't believe what he'd said. Your heart was absolutely thundering in your chest. "Looks good," you whispered in agreement. You hadn't looked at it. You were sure it was fine. You'd eat anything anyway. But he called you Honey, and you didn't mind it one bit.
You shared the pizza side by side on his couch along with the rest of the bottle of wine, and Bob listened to you tell him about your friends you meet up with on Fridays. And then he told you about his deployment as he finished the last few drops of wine.
"I never really talk about this with anyone but Nat. This is nice," he said softly.
"Is it lonely?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as he set down his glass and looked at you.
You didn't want to rush him, because you could tell what he was going to say was important. And it was. His voice was a little rough as he looked at you and said, "Somehow it's lonelier when I come home. It's worse than being on an aircraft carrier in that I can't really have anything for myself here. There's nothing waiting for me. And a lot of the time, I feel like it would be too much to ask someone to do that. To wait for me. It would be a lot for someone to accept."
When you crawled onto his lap, he didn't stop you. And when you tilted his face up to make him look at you, his cheeks flushed pink, but his hands found your hips again. "I understand exactly how you feel."
Then you kissed him, and you didn't stop for probably hours or maybe days. It felt that good. When you ended up beneath his warm body, you were so happy he came to your house on Sunday morning with your credit card. "Bob," you whimpered, and that seemed to bring him back from wherever his head was while he kissed his way down your neck and along your chest. His hair was a mess from your fingers, and his lips were a little puffy from the kisses, and you were pretty sure he wouldn't let you down again even if his friends were idiots.
You'd broken the spell, but he didn't seem to mind as he stood and pulled you to your feet. "It's getting late. We have work in the morning. Let me walk you to your car?"
At this rate, you were afraid you'd let him do anything he wanted, because he held your hand the whole way there. And he kissed you just right and told you he'd love to spend part of Saturday with you.
"Come over," you told him, and he promised he would.
----------------------------
It was chilly as Bob watched the sunset over the ocean from your back deck, but his body was warm from the combination of having you and your fleece blanket wrapped around him. You fit perfectly in his arms. Frankly, you seemed to fit pretty perfectly in his life. He wouldn't mind spending all of his Saturdays like this, listening to your gaming recap from the night before while you occasionally kissed the side of his neck. Your fingers were laced with his, and when you asked if he wanted to share a bottle of wine you got when you were in Napa Valley, he responded with a different question.
"Is there any chance you'd want to be my girlfriend?" You shivered in his arms, so he wrapped you up a little tighter. "I can't stop thinking about you being the one waiting for me to get home from a deployment."
You didn't speak right away which made him apprehensive. He'd somehow been the one to push things too fast. This was something he'd never managed to do before. You tightened your grip on his hand as you said, "Bob... people are going to recognize me. It's going to happen sometimes, no matter what I try to do about it, and I-"
He cut you off with a kiss. "I don't care about that, Honey." Then more kisses. The bottle of wine in your kitchen was left forgotten as you carefully slipped one leg over Bob's lap and sat straddling him. You kept the blanket wrapped snug around both of you, your body nestled against his as your foreheads met. "I just really like you."
The sun had disappeared below the horizon. Everything was pink and purple and dusky and dreamy as your cheek nudged his glasses making him smile. "If you think you can handle being my boyfriend, then I'm not going to try to stop you."
Heart pounding, he asked, "So is that a yes?"
"Yes." Your kisses were slow and soft, and Bob kept chasing the smile on your lips, because he couldn't get enough. With his eyes closed, all he could hear was the ocean below and the soft sounds you made. All he could feel was your body everywhere. You smelled familiar. You tasted good.
As you ran your fingers through his hair, your other hand trailed down to his shoulder, along his bicep and then across his chest. When Bob dared to let his hands dip from your waist to your hips and butt, you scooted a little bit closer. He realized when your fingers skimmed his abs that he had an erection.
Embarrassed, he tried to break the kiss and move his hands, but as soon as he started to move, you pulled away first. In the dying light, he could see your wide eyes and the alluring rise and fall of your chest. Part of your lace bra strap was showing, and your nipples were obviously hard. His cock throbbed in his jeans as you asked, "Do you want to stop?"
He knew you could read the desire on his face. When he started to shake his head, you rubbed yourself against his jeans where he was hard for you. "No," he grunted, head tipping back as he panted. "I don't want to stop."
"Good," you whispered next to his ear, lips barely grazing him. "Neither do I." You took his hands in both of yours and brought them back up to your body, encouraging him to touch every curve.
He gasped your name as he watched you slowly rolling your hips against him, seemingly in no hurry as you bit your lip. When he reached for the hem of your shirt, you didn't stop him, and he tossed it aside. Your body looked magical in the twilight, and as he reached for your bra clasp, realization hit him.
You were used to a certain caliber of partner for these kinds of activities. Standards he probably couldn't meet. "You're hesitating again," you whispered, voice breaking a little bit on the last word. "If you don't think you want to do this with me, I completely understand, Bob."
It was getting difficult to read your expression in the darkness, but when you stopped touching him and pulled your arms to your sides, he started to panic. "It's not that," he promised. "But you've been with... p-professionals. Guys who know what they're... doing." He ran his hands through his own hair. "And I'm not the most experienced. I've only had two partners."
"Oh, Bob," you moaned, and his cock ached at the sound. He wanted you. His whole body was screaming for it, and then he watched as you unhooked your own bra and let it slide down your arms and fall from your fingers. Your body was flawless, back arched, every curve designed to make him crazy. He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine as you leaned in closer and kissed him. "You'll be so much better."
Your bare skin was everywhere as the blanket slipped from around you. Bob's hands splayed across your back to keep you warm, but the supple feel of you had him thrusting against your core as he gingerly ran his thumb along the side of your breast. "So much better!" you whispered before pulling his bottom lip between yours.
He was still a little nervous, throbbing against you in his pants like a teenager as he cupped your breast in his rough palm. When you trailed your lips down his neck, he said, "I just want to be good enough for you."
Bob was thankful it was dark and you couldn't see him blushing as you nipped his earlobe and giggled. "Bob. You're better, because you're real. And you're turning me on, because we're not faking anything." You moved your right hand down between your bodies and squeezed his cock through his jeans as you sucked on his neck. "There's nothing fake about this."
He was gasping as he reached for your hand. "Honey." He couldn't take too much more teasing, or at this rate, he'd finish before his pants were off. "Can we go inside?"
You were off his lap and reaching for him with both hands, pulling him to his feet and closer to you. "My bedroom sound good?"
"Yes."
It was honestly difficult to walk. You led him through the sliding glass door and inside where the soft lighting somehow made your topless body look even more stunning. You brought him down the short hallway to your room, walking backwards and looking up at him with a smirk as you unzipped his jeans. He made another unintelligible noise as he watched the way your breasts swayed and bounced with each movement.
Your bedside lamp provided the only light, and Bob was still looking around, trying to get his bearings, when you pulled his shirt and undershirt off. "Oh," you gasped, running your palms up his flat stomach to his slightly broader chest. "God." He couldn't fathom that you liked what you saw and felt enough to leave you panting his name, but you definitely were. Then your hand was down the front of his unzipped jeans, and he grinned as you tried your best to wrap your hand around his length, your eyes growing wide. "Bob."
And now he wasn't really nervous, because this actually felt really easy and good with you. You were giving him all the queues that you wanted more. You were kissing him as you stumbled to the bed. You were trying your best to get your hand around his cock, but you couldn't. He picked you up and hauled you up to the pillows, and you squealed. All he could see was your beautiful smile as you kissed him over and over, only pulling away to run your nose along his cheek and whisper his name.
He watched you shimmy out of your yoga pants and underwear and push them aside, and it was no wonder you were able to make a career out of using your body the way you did. But if most of that was just acting, then he wasn't going to let you down now. He watched as your head tipped back, and you pressed yourself up against his hands when he gently squeezed your breasts. Mesmerized by all of this, he let his hands drift down over your ribs and along your sides until he was met by your hips.
Bob worked his hands slowly back up your body and down again, pausing to press his lips to your breasts as you arched for him again. You felt soft, and you were sensitive, running your bare foot up and down his leg as you whimpered. When he squeezed your hips again, he let his gaze fall below your belly button.
His voice was soft and deep as he asked, "Is it okay if I taste you, Honey?"
You instantly spread your legs a little wider, grabbed him by his hair, and said, "Please."
---------------------------
Bob's hands were huge, with thick veins and graceful, calloused fingers. All he was doing was touching you and kissing you, and you were very fucking worked up. This was already a treat, just being with a guy who wasn't grabbing at you and trying to shove his cock in your mouth. But it was more than that. It was the soft tone he used when he said your name and the way he was looking at you.
Gentle but strong. That was how you'd describe your newly minted boyfriend. You smiled at him as he stroked his fingers down your sides. You hadn't had a boyfriend in years, and Bob was so sweet and handsome, it was absolutely outrageous.
"Is it okay if I taste you?"
All of that and he wanted to go down on you? "Please." Your voice was needy, and your body was so ready for him. You eased your thighs further apart so he could see all of you, and you let your fingers tangle in his soft hair. You were so excited, and when the wire rim of his glasses brushed the inside of your thigh, you shivered with pleasure.
Then his lips met your pussy, and you almost went through the fucking ceiling. Those big hands were at your waist, holding you in place on the bed as he licked up along your slit, slowly tasting every inch before he hummed softly. You wanted to watch, but you could barely lift your head off of the pillow as he licked up again and again before kissing your clit.
When you managed to prop yourself up on one elbow, you got a great view of his big cock hanging out of his unzipped jeans when he lifted his head away from your body. "Does it feel good?" he asked, and you laughed. He pulled away from you further, concern on his face as you started to reach for him.
Your nails scraped along the day's worth of stubble on his cheek as you sat up and kissed him, tasting yourself. You licked at his lips and chin, cleaning up the wetness before you whispered. "It feels better than good."
A few seconds later, you were on your back again, legs over his shoulders as he ate your pussy with fervor. All of your nerve endings were singing his praises. He had you spread with his rough thumbs, and when he looked up at you, even his nose was wet. Your hands were fisted at your sides while you gently rolled your hips against his mouth and whined at the perfect feel of him. "Shit. Fuck," you gasped. He sucked on you with just the right amount of pressure, and your toes were literally starting to curl. "Bob!"
All you got in response was another hum of pleasure that made you squeal followed by some seriously lewd, wet sounds. His broad shoulders pushed against the backs of your thighs, and you felt him teasing at your opening with the tip of one finger. Tongue circling your clit, he glanced up at you over his crooked glasses. His cheeks were pink, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead as you reached for his hair again. "I want you to fuck me."
"Okay," he agreed, nodding his head like he hadn't brought you close with his mouth. He looked a little dazed and pussy drunk, and you thought you could fall in love with that expression on his handsome face.
"Come here," you whispered, kneeling so you could kiss him. "You taste like me," you added, licking his cheek and chin. "And I love it."
"Honey," he growled, and when you looked down, you could tell he was aching. You pushed him onto his butt and helped him the rest of the way out of his jeans and snug briefs, his thick cock bouncing for you. Then you looked at him there in just his socks and glasses, and your entire body clenched with a need you'd never known before.
You took his cock in both hands, leaned down and kissed away all of his precum while every muscle in his abs and both legs tensed up. "Holy shit," he gasped. When you tugged on his shoulders, he moved with you, covering your body with his own. His weight and warmth against your bare skin felt essential to your happiness, and when you kissed him, he said, "And you taste like me."
His cheeks flushed a pretty pink as you ran your tongue along his lips. You couldn't get enough. He shifted his body slightly, and his cock came to rest on your slick clit, making you moan into his mouth. You arched away from him, moving your hips back and forth a few inches at a time, using his body to bring yourself pleasure as you clung to his arms. "God, Bob. You haven't even been inside me yet, and I'm a mess."
The veins in his neck and forehead were more prominent as he panted, a bead of his sweat rolling down to the tip of his nose. You licked it away as you shifted your hips so he was positioned at your entrance. He was thick, and even though you were soaking wet now, you had to use one hand to help guide him. You shook your head from side to side, your body taking him slowly. He buried his forehead to your neck, and the bite of his glasses against your collar bone kept you grounded.
"Honey," he moaned, clutching at your hips as he finally, finally bottomed out. You were completely full, already clenching around him softly and enjoying the rough feel of his trimmed hairs against your clit. He thrusted a few times like he couldn't help himself, and you kissed his forehead. "Am I hurting you?"
His neck was a little slick against your fingertips. You'd been fucked too rough or without enough lubrication to the point of it being painful several times before, but this was the exact opposite. "Bob, you feel incredible." He lifted his head and kissed your lips, rewarding you with another thrust. Your legs tangled with his as you pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him harder.
His lips found their way to your neck and breasts, and his thrusts started coming quicker, but every smooth movement left you gripping at him, your body begging for more as you whimpered and whined. He murmured your name against your skin, sucking on your nipples until you were seeing stars. And each thrust filled you somehow better than the last. And every movement left you grinding your clit up for more.
You were going to come. You were going to come so hard. You could feel it. The buildup was delicious. Lips and stubble and glasses on your breasts. Hands on your hips. Bob everywhere.
"I'm not wearing a condom. Honey," he panted. "I'm not wearing a condom."
"It's okay," you whined loudly, suddenly gasping and clawing at his shoulders for leverage. "You can come wherever you want."
He chose inside you. And you came, hard and long and loud, hands on his face while you kissed him. You knew he was going to be so much better. You called it from the start. From when he surprised you by asking you out for coffee. He was immediately better than anything else you anticipated for yourself, and even when he fumbled, he recovered. You ran your lips along his cheek and back to his ear and whispered, "You're so much better than faking it."
He rolled both of you onto your sides, facing each other while he was still deep inside you. "Please don't ever do that. Fake it," he said, voice deep and raspy as he ran his rough palm along your cheek. "I want to know I'm good enough for my girlfriend."
You smiled and tucked your head under his chin, and he wrapped his arm around you. His skin was warm beneath your lips, and his words were soft and gentle. When he climbed out of bed, he asked where he could find a washcloth, and he came back with it a minute later, ready to help you get cleaned up. He even held your robe out for you and waited while you used the bathroom, but you did that quickly, finding you wanted to be right next to him as much as possible.
Bob looked delicious in his briefs and undershirt, and you wrapped your arms around his waist as you asked, "Do you want to go back out under the blanket? With the bottle of wine? We could look at the stars. Listen to the ocean before bed."
He kissed your forehead. "As long as I'm with you."
-------------------------
Six months later...
After eight weeks away, Bob was excited to get home. He really hoped this was the start of his deployments feeling lonelier than the time between them did. Especially since he was going home to you and the house where he moved all of his stuff as soon as you asked him to live with you. He couldn't wait to hold you all night and hear all about your Dungeons & Dragons campaign and ask how you'd been enjoying work.
As soon as the aircraft carrier started docking in San Diego, he was at one of the lower railings along with the other aviators, and he spotted you immediately. You were bouncing around at the front of the crowd shouting his name and waving like a lunatic, and he had missed you so much. "Hey, Honey!" he shouted, and you just jumped higher.
"Damn, Floyd. That's your girl?" asked one of the guys he'd flown with.
"Yeah," he replied, never taking his eyes off you. "That's my girl."
Six and a half minutes later, he was practically running down the long ramp with his duffle on one shoulder to the spot where you were waiting for him.
"Bob!" you screeched as he scooped you up in your tiny dress and kissed you until you were as breathless as he was. "I missed you. I love you so much, and I missed you."
"I want to go home, Honey," he said, kissing you again. "Take me home."
"Gladly," you gushed, grabbing his hand and leading him toward his own truck. "I have big plans for your big cock," you announced to everyone around you, and Bob felt his cheeks warm up. "Well, and the rest of you, too. We can make a pizza together and eat out on the deck."
"Anything you want," he promised, tossing his bag in the truck bed and pushing you against the door. "And I love you, too."
You only let him kiss you for a few seconds, before you were pushing him away. "I know you do. Let's go home." You held his hand on the short ride, and when he pulled in the driveway, you yanked him right out and led him inside the house.
This felt incredible, knowing you wanted him as badly as he wanted you, running hand in hand to the bedroom. Then you stopped short and turned to face him as he bumped into you with a laugh. "You know how you're kind of your alter ego right now when you're in your uniform? Lieutenant Floyd?"
"Yeah?" he whispered, leaning down to kiss you, but your lips curled into a smile as you backed away.
"Well... I thought you might like to meet my alter ego?" you asked softly, easing that little dress up to your hips and along your torso before pulling it over your head. You were standing there in the tiniest black thong and bra set known to mankind. "Do you want to meet Roxy Luxxe?"
Bob just nodded and reached down to palm himself through his khaki pants as he gaped at you and grunted, "Uh huh." If Roxy was just a playful extension of his girlfriend, then yes, he wanted to meet her.
You bit your lip and coaxed him toward the bed, running your hands down your body to your hips where you played with your underwear. "Good. Because she wants to meet you, too. And she wants you to know she's only going to be available exclusively for Bob Floyd's enjoyment."
---------------------------
Thanks for reading this long one-shot! I wanted Bob to get to fuck a former pornstar, because nobody deserves such a treat the way Bob does! But then I got attached to them and had to make it special. Bob and the artist formerly known as Roxy Luxxe are adorable together. Thanks to @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger and @sylviebell for your help!
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Robert From Next Door | Robert "Bob" Floyd
Summary: You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings & Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x gn!reader, extremely fluffy, food mentions, heavy making out, shirtless Bob, only referred to as Robert for the series, unrealistic expectations of next door neighbors, 18+ as always. This idea hit me like a bus while walking the dog (where I almost was hit by a bus) and has been fully unable to leave my brain since then. Cozy, sweet, overly helpful Neighbor!Bob is literally all I want for Christmas. And he's my holiday present to all of you!
robert from next door | if only the neighbors knew
“I have a ladder you can borrow.” You look up from the box of Christmas lights you’re detangling in the garage to see your neighbor standing in the opening to the street. Coffee mug in hand as he watches you loop out another knot. He’d noticed your garage open that morning, too early for a Saturday, and came to investigate or possibly offer assistance. If there is one thing Robert Floyd does best, it’s help his neighbors.
You had moved into the tidy bungalow just under a year ago, placing a potted fern on the doorstep and painting over the dated beige walls. It was finally starting to feel like a home. Now with the holidays approaching (as reminded by the entirely too jolly Santas everywhere in town) you were excited to start new traditions in your humble home. And it started with putting twinkling lights on the house, lights currently tangled in the cardboard box you haphazardly threw them in twelve months ago.
Threading out another knot, you give him a playful smile. “How do you know I don’t have a ladder?”
“Lucky guess?” He’s not going to admit he’s scanned and memorized nearly every inch of your garage.
The day after the moving truck came and went, you were thrilled when your first new neighbor rang your doorbell. While you had expected some middle aged woman with a plate of brownies and a plea for babysitting, you were pleasantly surprised at the man in a flight suit (Lt. Robert Floyd according to the stitching) with the striking blue eyes who stood there instead. He didn’t have brownies, but he happily gave you the lowdown on the neighborhood as you sat amongst moving boxes drinking lemonade out of paper cups.
As the months passed, an easy friendship had developed amongst neighbors. In the morning before making his way to base, Robert would scoop up your morning paper and walk it up the seven steps to your porch. The paper boy always threw it short. And despite numerous pleas to leave it be - you didn’t mind the short walk - every morning when you went for the paper, there it sat neatly on your mat along with any misdelivered mail.
And when he wasn’t saving kittens from trees in his free time, Robert was a shining example of a great neighbor. Driving his truck for a trip to get plants at the nursery, lending his mower when yours broke in the heat of July, cleaning your gutters when the leaves fell…you shouldn’t be surprised he’s now offering up his ladder so you can enjoy your Christmas lights. Looking down at the tangled mess, you hadn’t even thought about how you were going to get them actually on the house. Nails? Did you even own nails?
Not even an hour later you’re standing on the sidewalk facing your home with a hot cup of coffee in your chilly hands. Propped up on a ladder with detangled lights in one hand - and a tool belt around his waist like your personal Mr. Fix It - Robert hums to himself as he hammers nails into the trim before wrapping the first strand of lights in place.
You had accepted his ladder graciously, but mentioned you needed to hit the hardware store first for nails. With a nod of his head he left your garage and you continued on the lights. It was a tedious project, but rewarding once the final strand lay flat against the concrete floor. You were digging around in boxes for tools when your neighbor reappeared. He had a ladder and his tool belt, a full box of nails clutched in his large hand. Cheeks warm, you assured him you would buy your own. He let out a playful pfft.
“Nonsense. It’s Saturday, the hardware store will be packed. Consider them an early Christmas gift.”
You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me at least trade you for them? A cup of coffee?”
“Do you still have those Kona beans?” His ocean blue eyes are hopeful.
Your smile widened as you nodded. The overpriced beans you had expensively shipped every month were a favourite of the weapons systems officer. Last month you had hosted the homeowners association meeting (for the first and hopefully only time) and Robert had raved about the coffee you served. He was used to the basic stuff they made on base, his own home brewing not much better. Your coffee was the best.
When you came back to the garage after whipping up a carafe - hot mug in hand - you shouldn’t have been surprised to see your neighbor already up the ladder, deep into the project.
You holler up to him. “Robert, get down! You don’t need to do that!”
But he waves you off, insisting that he had already started and might as well finish the job. He would just drink your delicious coffee once he was done. And so you were relegated to the sidewalk to make sure everything looked straight from the street.
From this distance you could admire him innocently. The military-issue wire frames that catch the morning sun. Broad shoulders under the neat canvas barn coat he recently replaced when the corduroy collar ripped. His strong hands shielded from the chilled wind under his workman’s gloves. Because someone like Robert Floyd follows safety precautions and owns workman’s gloves.
At this angle you can see the slight smile on his lips as he strings lights along your porch. For the next hour you watch him put up lights, him occasionally turning back and asking you how they look.
“Are you sure they’re straight?” You promise him they are, but he meticulously checks his work anyway. He wants your house to look perfect.
The wind has tinged both your cheeks a deep pink and the cold is starting to seep through boots. Robert has nailed the last of your lights to the trim and deemed them faultless. He comes down the ladder and walks to stand beside you to admire his handiwork. Hands on hips - with that damn tool belt still astride his waist - he turns to you beaming at a job well done. It’s impossible not to beam back, thinking how long it would have taken you to do even a job half as good.
“Thank you for putting up the lights. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” He isn’t sure whether your cheeks are red from the cold or something else. “I’m so lucky to have you as a neighbor.”
His smile is permanently stuck at your compliment. He opens his mouth to make a joking comment about the coffee you owe him - anything for more time together - when he feels the telltale buzz in his pocket. Pulling it reluctantly out after shedding a glove, he sees it’s Phoenix and is only semi-annoyed. They have lunch plans, which he’s running late for. And while he’s sure his front seater would approve of him blowing her off for the neighbor he can’t stop talking about, he’s a better friend than that.
Turning back to you, where you’re enjoying your freshly strung twinkling lights, Robert rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I have to head out…lunch plans. Rain check on that coffee?”
Nodding through your disappointment, you help him gather up his ladder and assure him that coffee is his whenever he wants.
The following morning you pad toward your front door, eyes bleary from a deep sleep. The house was cold and you pull your robe tighter around you. Through the glass panel in the door you can see your paper on the mat, as always, ready for you to consume over coffee and toast. As you open the oak door and scurry to shut it with the paper secured, something - or rather someone - catches your eye.
Robert stands in the doorway of his own bungalow, calmly watching the neighborhood. The thick fair isle sweater covering his wide shoulders looks incredibly cozy, and he nurses a mug between both hands. He exists in that moment without worry, and you’re envious.
His placid expression is broken when he feels your eyes, turning his head to see you, bedhead and newspaper clutched in your fist. His lips turn in a warm smile and he raises one hand in a slow, friendly wave. Your heart flutters, utterly taken away with how surely he carries himself, how sweetly he treats others. An emotion quickly squashed when you realize you are still standing in a bathrobe and knobby socks, flying back inside and shutting the door with heated cheeks.
As you go about working on your Sunday chores, you keep picturing Robert’s face, that small happy smile you can’t get out of your head.
Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in the sheets unable to find peace, you finally trudge down the hall into the living room, settling under blankets on the plush couch with a cup of chamomile. You’ve lost details of the plot of the movie you started, brain racing as your fingers fidget with the mug.
The faint trill of your phone on the coffee table breaks you from your thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Bo-Robert…from next door?” You yawn a hello while checking the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “I just wanted to check if everything was alright? Noticed your lights were on.”
A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his concern. Picturing him peering out his kitchen window with the striped cotton curtains, filling up his own kettle, distressed that your house lights were on so late. You’d like to think he wore tartan pajamas, neatly buttoned. Those would suit him.
You settle back into the cushions as you reply. “Everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”
His thoughtful nod can practically be heard through the phone.
“Better question is, what are you doing up so late?”
The whistle and clink of boiling water and china crash over the line. A sigh pulled from his lips before responding. “I was going to make myself a cup of tea while I finished some reports, but appears that I am out.”
You glance down at your own mug of tea. It’s late, but not that late.
“What kind of tea do you like?” He muses on about his lack of preference - an equal opportunity tea lover - before admitting he was looking forward to a cup of peppermint. You make your way to the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you both open your cupboards. Your voice feels small as you offer, “I think I might have some.”
A silence lingers on the line. An unspoken late night implication that neither of you knows what to make of it. Your fingers flip through boxes of tea that take up too much cupboard space. Pomegranate, green, oolong. You don’t even drink tea that often. But right as you think you have too many white teas, you see the striped box of peppermint tea, one lone bag waiting for its turn.
You empty the box and walk to the window in your kitchen, where you can see the faint light on through his curtains. You clear your throat. “Look out your kitchen window.”
To your disappointment, Robert does not wear tartan pajamas to sleep. Although you are delighted to see his shirtless chest, defined from years of Navy training. He waves at you through your respective kitchen windows, holding up his mug of hot water. You lift up the tea bag, and his face splits into a toothy smile.
Before you can offer to bring it to him, he’s already turning toward his front door, speaking into the phone, “I’ll be over, just a minute. Need to find my coat.”
By the time there’s a soft knock on the door, you’ve turned on the kettle and gotten a fresh mug for him. You open the door, greeted by the tip of his nose and ears a merry red, the cold kissing his features. He’s been outside all of a minute. You usher your neighbor in, watching him observe how you’ve put up garlands and festive knickknacks in the entry since his last visit.
He slips off his boots, bare feet settling on the cold hardwood, and fingers the collar of his canvas barn coat. In his rush to come over he’d thrown his coat on forgetting his bare chest. It feels obnoxious to be half naked in your home, so he keeps his coat on and follows you to the kitchen.
“Peppermint still good?” You tease, the packet of tea leaves in your hand. He nods, slightly distracted by how cozy you look in your soft loungewear and the robe from this morning. Dunking the bag into the hot water, you search for a topic to pass the steeping time. But when you turn to talk to him, words catch in your throat because he’s right there.
Eyes so blue the sky is jealous. Shy smile so friendly it warms the room. Your thoughts dirtily flit to the tool belt around his waist on the ladder, fingers adeptly wielding a hammer. Fingers that brush yours in the proximity. He’s so close and your brain blanks as bodies simultaneously take action.
Your mouths find each other effortlessly, bodies pressing together as if they know the moves the two of you were just figuring out. The low-lying tension building for the past year breaking the surface as the dark of the house gives you both the bravery needed. His hands are cold as they find your waist, your hands too warm on his chilled jaw.
His mouth is all soft lips and hard pressure, the faint hint of toothpaste in his taste. It’s exactly as you imagined, but better.
Lips become more desperate the longer you connect, your back suddenly against the counter as he presses into you. This moment has been building since he’d watched you first walk up the front steps with that too big moving box. A hand slips into his sun-bleached locks he always has so perfectly combed. He moans into your mouth, a sinful noise in the quiet kitchen.
Before sense can interrupt, you’re reaching for the zipper of his coat, revealing every inch of his toned pale chest as the zipper slowly comes down. You slide a hand over the skin, a low gasp slipping out at the strong muscle. You’ve been attracted to his mind for so long, it feels unfair his body should be attractive too.
He shrugs out of the barn coat and follows you to the lowly lit living room, where the couch is softer on your back than the counter edge. Sitting side by side, knees knocking, he’s more hesitant to touch you in this context. Despite his body screaming to explore every inch of his pretty neighbor’s mind and body, he knows he’s basically barged into your home and immediately stuck his tongue in your sweet mouth. You get to set the pace.
“This okay?” His hand encompasses your knee, thumb rubbing smoothly through the fabric. You nod, tilting your head toward him to continue kissing. He’s warmed up now, your home and body bringing him to temperature. Robert smiles into your kiss. You can’t get enough of him, wanting to consume him fully. He’s delicate with you in the most delicious of ways; gentle kisses pressed to your soft lips before sliding his tongue across to politely ask for access.
Your mouth can’t open fast enough.
You place you hand on his hip, enjoying the warm skin and lean muscle beneath your fingertips. Groaning lightly into your mouth, he blindly reaches for your hips to bring you into his lap. His tongue takes its time to taste you, learn every intricacy of your flavor. Administration so thorough your eyes roll back in your head. The sounds escaping you music in the darkened room.
Fingers dance across skin, finding purchase on thighs, shoulders, chests. You can’t get close enough to him, resting one hand on the back of his neck as your swollen lips press harder to his. Robert loves the way your thighs straddle him as he leans against the couch cushions, his warm, large hands along your back bringing you closer to him. Your sharp inhale as one hand toys with the waistband of your lounge pants.
When his lips trail down your neck, praising the delicate skin, you can’t hold back your declaration any longer. “I…I’ve wanted this for a while.”
His lips pause, brow furrowed. “This?”
“You.”
That gratified smile will forever be imprinted along your neck. “I’ve wanted you since the day you moved in.”
The whimpers that rip through you when he nips the thin skin behind your ear have him grabbing your chin and swallowing your sounds. Reveling in the shared passion you’ve both had simmering beneath the surface. Can’t help his hips rutting up into yours, glorious friction he’s been craving satisfied. You giggle through a moan against his lips.
“So, we could have been doing this all year long? What a shame, lieutenant.”
You ground down in his lap, running your own tongue along his lips and savoring his taste. Thoughts of what he tastes like after his peppermint tea have you wrapping your arms tighter around his bare shoulders. Behind his head, outside the window, the faint glow of the Christmas lights he strung up shines in the winter night. How did you find this perfect man, and how is he your neighbor?
You express your gratitude for him with your mouth along his jaw, licking along the skin while he deliciously whimpers in your ear.You can only take so much before you’re sealing your lips over his again, inhaling his every breath.
As lips finally reach exhaustion - brains well past tired as the clock strikes a new hour - Robert and you pull apart with content smiles. Already cold without his warmth, you immediately lean back into him. He’s practically a furnace now under your ministrations. Unspoken words pass between as you invite him to sleep on your couch with you. A throw blanket produced from the nearby chair as the two of you tangle your limbs. There’s something comforting in the way he rests your head upon his arm, your knee upon his thigh. Again, it’s like your bodies know the actions like they’ve been waiting for you to finally figure them out.
You’ve just settled your head upon his warm chest when a thought strikes you, prompting you to lean up to look at those sleepy cerulean eyes. The small curious smile he gives you melting your heart.
“Did you still want your tea?”
He shakes his head with a chuckle, using the last of his energy to tuck the blanket tighter around your body. “It’s okay. I got what I really wanted.”
Your heart feels two sizes too big as he presses a kiss to your temple before sleep takes you both.
When the winter sunrise streams through your curtains the next morning, you refuse to get up. Perfectly warm wrapped up in the thin throw and your neighbor’s arms, you are purely too content. When Robert blinks open his eyes and gazes at your face, he sees the same placid smile he wore the morning before. The same one he’s had since you moved in next door.
Despite both being all too happy to remain entangled on the couch, sharing small kisses on any skin within reach, the responsibilities of Monday morning dawn and you must get up. Reluctantly you release him, watching him fold the throw neatly upon the sofa arm before helping you stand. Warmth blossoms down your spine the more you’re in Robert’s presence, the little things he does meaning so much to you. Especially as he strides through your home shirtless, musing about the whereabouts of his coat on the kitchen floor.
Your eyes flit to the cold mug of abandoned peppermint tea as you offer him coffee. But he’s intent on getting home for his flight suit, the drive to base longer than he’d like. Of course, he would ideally spend the morning drinking your expensive delicious coffee and listen to you go on about the neighbors down the street with the atrocious holiday decorations. If you’d let him, he would spend every morning like that for the rest of time. But his admiral would put him in drills all week if he was any later.
You walk him to the door, robe pulled tight across your chest to keep out the cold. He’s pulled on his boots for the short walk and wraps his arms around you in an intimate embrace, disappointed this perfect night must come to an end. You bury your nose in his jacket-covered chest to enjoy the last of his herbal and citrus scent, hands reluctantly slipping from his middle. He turns to leave and both your hearts pang.
When Robert reaches the end of your path, he bends down and picks up the paper, thrown too short as always. He turns around and retraces his steps, walking back up the steps and straight up to where you reside in the doorway still. Fingers brush as he hands you the newspaper, saving you the walk as he always does. Only this morning he tips his head to press a kiss to your lips.
You’re already adding peppermint tea to your shopping list as you walk back into the house. Just for him.
see what antics happen at the next HOA meeting
taglist: @callsign-mongoose
#robert bob floyd#robert bob floyd fic#bob floyd fic#bob floyd#bob floyd fan fiction#robert bob floyd fan fiction#top gun maverick fan fiction#robert bob floyd x you#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#bob floyd x reader#x reader#bob floyd fluff#robert bob floyd fluff#gn!reader#neighbor!bob
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a day off
#enthyrea art#top gun maverick#top gun#top gun fanart#I didn’t make this with any particular ships in mind but just in case#macheresin#hangster#Bobnix#javy coyote machado#jake hangman seresin#bradley rooster bradshaw#natasha phoenix trace#robert bob floyd#top gun hangman#top gun rooster#top gun coyote#top gun Phoenix#top gun bob#bob floyd#coyote machado#hangman seresin#rooster bradshaw#phoenix trace#tgm#tgm fanart#top gun maverick fanart#dagger squad#top gun daggers#top gun maverick fan art
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four eyes. | BF x Reader
PAIRINGS: Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader
SYNOPSIS: asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely.
WORD COUNT: 1.8k
WARNINGS: ahem, SMUT, established relationship, profanity, oral (m!receiving), deepthroating, facial, handjob, cum eating, dirty talk, begging, slightly sub!reader, praise, aftercare and such sweet affection from bobby, not proofread and mdni!!, reader is a minx, brief mention of term ‘slut’, size kink, awkward sweetheart w a big dick!bob,
A/N: this is the most filthiest shit I’ve ever written and if you like this ur crazy… *reblogs, comments and likes the post*
“What are you up to?” he drawls, watching carefully as you crawl over his naked midriff and through the sea of bedsheets. Post-sex endorphins were through the roof right now for Bob, a wave of happy tiredness sweeping over the pilot.
You huff, hand outstretched as you reach for Bob's glasses perched on the bedside table.
“I wanna try these on” you say to him, balancing yourself as you try to grab the frames. Bob chuckles, a hand coming to rub your ass lovingly.
You bit your lip to fight the feeling of a grin spreading on your face, the feeling of Bob's soft hands tickling you as you playfully pushed him away, all the while he simply beams at you.
The hand supporting yourself on his hard chest slips, causing you to collapse on top of your boyfriend, your naked breasts brushing over his cock and sending a shiver down his spine.
A firm hand comes to still yourself. “Careful” he says softly, hands warm.
Bob looks over, grabbing the glasses just as you were about to pick them up, and holding them out of your reach. You protest, trying to get ahold of the frames you loved so much. Bob puts them on, allowing himself to properly see his girl.
“You don’t wanna wear these, they don’t look good on anyone. Including me.” he mumbles, adjusting you on top of him.
But you're quick to swipe them off his face, ignoring Bob's laughs when you put the glasses on yourself and straddle his hips. “I like them, they’re cute,” you tell him.
“Well what d’ya know?” Bob utters softly to himself when he sees you, gazing up at his girl wearing the steel rimmed aviators and looking absolutely breathtaking.
“Hi there, four eyes” he chuckles, finding it odd saying a phrase he’s been nicknamed all his childhood. Hell, even Seresin has no problem calling him that to this day.
Bob smiles, strong but soft hands coming to rest on your hips as you sat dangerously close to where his happy trail leads to. Your brows furrowed as you viewed the world through his lenses.
“Jesus, Bob, you really are blind!” You uttered, looking down at the blurry man seated against the bedpost.
Bob’s become busy at the moment, pressing pecks to your hardended nipples. He simply nods, pretending he’s listening.
“You should go to the eye doctor, honey”
Bob peaks through, giving you a look. “That’s where I got them”
“Hm.”
The room is silent, a soft glow of the afternoon sunlight peeking through the white shutters. You feel the corners of Bob’s lips curling into a smile against your skin, a silent worship to your body.
“You’re so soft.” he murmurs.
“Honey,” you call to your boyfriend.
“Hm?” Bob replies absentmindedly, still brushing his face along your chest, hugging you closer.
You tug on his brown locks, pulling his head from your body and looking down at him.
“I wanna try something.” you grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes mixed with a bottle of excitement. You quickly press a kiss to his lips.
Bob watches as you pull from his grasp, lips forming a small frown from the loss of contact as you shuffled down the bed so you were now kneeling on the floor by the edge.
Bob looks over at you quizzically, wondering what you were up to before you beckon towards him, ushering him to sit at the edge of the bed.
“Come sit, Robert” you directed, calling him by his birth name to get his attention.
His soft cock limps near his thighs as he adjusts himself, sitting before you in all his naked glory, hair tousled by your hands and a pink blush ghosting his cheeks. His hand comes up to play with your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. You look up in seriousness and confess.
“I want you to cum on these glasses”
Bob stops all motion, hand still tucked behind your ear. The room falls silent.
“What?”
You ignore the bafflement of your crimson cheeked boyfriend, bending down to lick a long stripe up his veiny shaft. A loud moan and harsh tug against your scalp brings you to take him further, almost triggering your gag reflexes. It all happens so fast. Bob mutters incoherently from the sudden gesture, both of you going slightly insane when your nose presses against his pubic bone as tears form near your eyes.
“Baby, hold on a moment, Jesus fuck!”
You’re worried you’re going to make a mess on the floor from the way your slick almost drips from your pussy.
You’ve been thinking of this fantasy for a while if you were to be honest. Bob pulls you back, gasping for air as a proud feeling settles in your chest. It’s not everyday you hear Bob cuss like that.
He’s panting hard, watching as a bit of saliva is smeared on your lips, eyes glossy. Bob sighs in exasperation as you decide to stroke his cock with your hands.
“You gotta let me speak-“
“Please, Bobby” you beg, pressing kisses to the pink tip and relishing in the way you feel him harden in your hand. A loud groan escapes Bob's throat, feeling sensitive despite having had sex the whole afternoon with you.
“I want you to cum while I have your glasses on” you told him, kitten licks getting the best of your boyfriend. “Like in those pornos” you mumble softly, your shy giggles driving Bob insane.
“Nobody says pornos anymore” he mumbles telling you, swallowing hard when you tug on his cock tighter for not responding.
Bob clears his throat. “You, um, want me to give you a facial?” He asks softly, holding onto your hand that's stroking his cock.
You nod eagerly.
“A-Are you sure?” He says, worried that taking him like this is gonna wear you out. In all honesty, the boy can’t help but grow hard at the thought of cumming all over your innocent face, big eyes covered by his glasses milked by his seed.
You nod, excitement and horniness flowing through your body.
“Please, honey, I want you to see me painted” you sighed, thumb brushing over the thick tip, smearing precum over the slit.
Bob thinks he’s gonna cum just from this angle, but he needs you so badly he tries to regain composure. He bends down to kiss you, tasting himself on your lips and letting your face be held in his soft touch. “Let me know if it's too much baby” he addresses in concern, the tears on your cheeks worrying him.
You sniffle, nodding your head to assure him. “Want you so bad, Bobby, let me suck you”
Your last few words are incoherent from the way you let Bob’s big cock stuff your throat, making you gag but desperately hold on. Bob lets go, both hands coming to balance himself on the edge, one gripping the bed sheets.
The sensation is fucking marvellous. You feel so full, loving the way the stretch of your mouth and untouched ache of your pussy turn you cockdrunk on Bob Floyd’s dick.
You look up, desperate to see how he's taking you, wanting to see the expression of him getting the daylights sucked out of him.
Lieutenant Bob ruts his hips pathetically, trying so hard not to make a mess of your mouth and hurt you. His head is pulled back, groans falling from his soft lips as he praises you so good.
“That’s it baby, doing so well for me” he sighs, now two large hands coming to push you a little further, a groan falling from his lips as you take him fully now.
“God, I love you!” he cries out loud, an instinctive response coming from your boyfriend as he caresses your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. You smile, aviator lenses reflecting the light as your lips are wrapped securely around his dick.
”So pretty, such a pretty girl” he says under his breath, admiring the way your tits bounce along with every stroke on his cock. You gasp, pulling away as you let your fist do the rest.
“I love you too, Bobby” you gasped, looking up to find Bob staring at you intensely, with such a fierce gaze of love, sensuality, and pure awe.
”H-How,” he begins, starting to feel a familiar feeling settle inside him. “How did I get so lucky with you?” He admits, wanting nothing more but to see his cum painting his glasses you’re wearing. He thinks he might just let you have them. Being able to see is overrated anyways.
“I think I’m gonna cum, baby” he lets out, watching as your eyes get eager, adjusting your sore knees so you can get the perfect angle.
“Please baby, give it to me” you begged, pussy so sensitive you have to make sure you hold yourself up enough so the cold wooden floors don’t brush against your folds.
Watching you rub his dick like that, mouth open and face ready is an image Bob will have ingrained in his mind forever, a hot spurt of milky liquid shooting onto your lips as Bob finally gives you what you wanted.
Incoherent mumbles fill the sweaty bedroom, letting one hand cup his balls as the other makes sure to smear the warm fluid all over your lips, glasses starting to get foggy.
“Fucking hell” Bob cries out, spilling your name from his lips like a sacred mantra.
You hum, a wave of both happiness and satisfaction washing over you as you sit in front of Bob’s glory.
You let the man come down from his high, tasting salt and your boyfriend in your mouth. Before you can even clean yourself up, Bob is ripping off the dirtied glasses framing your face, and grabbing you towards him for a passionate kiss. The action makes you dizzy, your red, sore knees almost buckling under.
It’s only a while after when he pulls away, grabbing for a box of tissues near the nightstand and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry for the mess” he replies shyly, the image of this tall, naked, handsome, and yet totally awkward giant taking care of you making it all worthwhile.
“It’s okay” you reply, voice hoarse. You couldn’t help but feel happy, even if you didn’t cum (Bob would see to it later of course).
You feel him use the tissues to wipe your chin, face, and tits, or really, what was leftover after you sucked it all up like a slut.
“You’re crazy sometimes, you know that?” Bob mumbles, shaking his head as he smiles at you, his soft touch so rewarding.
You laugh, latching your arms around his neck and letting him hoist you up so easily. His semi-hard cock limps against your stomach, both of you standing up and lips pressing together in another soft kiss.
”Thank you for the most mind blowing head of my life.” He jokes.
”Thanks for the facial” you gleam, sucking your fingers with a pop that makes Bob weak, falling back down on the mattress and taking you with him so you’re straddling him again.
Bob reaches for the glasses, getting a tissue so he could wipe them before an idea pops in your head and you stop him.
You put on the glasses again. He looks up.
“Bobby, where’s the Polaroid camera?”
#oh my fuck I have done it again#dear Jesus it’s me again#fic: four eyes#bob floyd smut#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd#bob floyd fanfiction#bob floyd fanfic#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd fic#bob floyd x you#top gun maverick smut#top gun imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick#top gun bob floyd#lewis pullman#lewis pullman smut#lewis pullman fluff#lewis pullman x reader#bob floyd Angst#bob floyd imagine#top gun fic#top gun: maverick#top gun maverick fanfiction#promising young lady : enid writes📝#robert bob floyd
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I Got Chills, They’re Multiplying
Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader (fem, she/her)
Category: sick fic, fluff
Summary: Despite being stubbornly independent, Bob won’t let you push him away in your time of need.
Warnings: sickness, sexual references and innuendos, implication of Bob having a “lieutenant” kink, just fluff mostly, reader is used to pushing people away, they’re like hella in love but won’t say it
Word count: 2.4k
A/N: Wrote this exhausted because I haven’t been able to sleep these past few days due to being sick. Enjoy!
Consider buying me a coffee :)
You stared at the last text message Bob had sent you.
Okay, get well soon!
It was unclear whether the constant pounding in your head was what was making you feel sick or if it was how quickly the text conversation had ended with your boyfriend. Well, kind-of boyfriend. You'd been on a lot of dates over the last few months but hadn't actually made it official yet.
It's not like you expected anything from him, you were used to men being pretty dismissive, and his message was actually very friendly, especially with the exclamation point at the end, but you couldn't help but feel a pang of something at him just ending the conversation like that.
To be fair to him, you had told him that you were fine, just had a cold or a minor case of the flu. It was a little worse than that but you weren't used to telling people your problems, used to keeping them bottled up inside. So you guess you couldn't really blame him for taking your word for granted and assuming that, as you'd said, you were fine. And maybe he was busy.
You sighed and tossed your phone aside, burying your face in one of the many blankets you'd dragged to your couch in an attempt to feel slightly warmer. You were being ridiculous, this is exactly what you wanted. And what you expected. At least you had peace and quiet for the day whilst you recovered.
Drifting off into a dreamless sleep came naturally with the state your body was in and you were thankful for it, hoping that the headache that had been plaguing you since you first woke up that morning would be gone by the time you woke up again.
It wasn't.
In fact, it only got worse when the rhythmic throbbing in your skull matched the timing of the person knocking on your front door. You groaned quietly to yourself and dragged yourself up off the couch, wrapping a blanket tight around your shoulders and padding to the door with only one sock on. You figured the other one must have fallen off during your nap.
You didn't even bother looking through the peephole to see who was bothering you, hoping to just snap at them to go away once you'd managed to unlock the door.
That plan was foiled when you were greeted by your favourite pair of baby blue eyes behind wire framed glasses. You immediately softened at the sight of your kind-of boyfriend.
"Oh, hi." You croaked, immediately feeling sheepish that you were about to shout at him without even thinking about the consequences.
Bob frowned at you, giving you a quick once over. "You're sick."
"Yes, I told you that." You chuckled, coughing into your elbow as soon as the words had left your mouth.
"Sicker than you let on." He clarified.
You shrugged, not knowing what to say. He was right. But that's just who you were. Keep everything to yourself, was your motto.
So you just asked him a question instead. "Why are you here? I said I was fine."
Bob smiled at that. "I think your exact words were 'yeah, I'm good' which I knew was a lie."
"Oh." That surprised you.
He went further. "You only say you're good when something's wrong."
God, were you that easy to read?
"So, I thought I'd come check on you." He stiffened suddenly. "I hope that's okay."
You didn't think it possible but somehow you softened more under his worried gaze. "Yes, that's very okay. Do you want to come in?"
You opened the door wider for him, stepping aside and grinning when he hurried in and kicked off his shoes. It was then that you noticed what he was wearing. Blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He looked good. Very good. If you didn't feel like you were dying then you'd definitely be jumping his bones right about now. You still kind of wanted to. You pushed the thought aside.
"Didn't realise how hot it is outside. I'm freezing." You mumbled, shuffling back towards your couch. "Do you want a drink?"
"No, thanks. But if I did then I'd make it myself. I'm here to look after you." He placed a hand on the small of your back to guide you in the direction of the blanket pile you'd previously made, smirking at the sight of it.
You shifted away from him. "You don't have to touch me. I'm sick and disgusting right now."
He huffed. "You're beautiful and lovely like always."
"Liar." You grumbled, pushing back into his hand nevertheless.
"No, just smitten and honest." He confessed, sitting you down on the couch and wrapping you in the millions of blankets. "Have you eaten today?"
You shook your head no. You didn't feel up to cooking.
"Want me to make you something?" He stood in front of you with his hands on his hips.
"No." You sighed. "It's okay."
"Yeah, I'm making you something."
You huffed. "You really don't have to-"
"I want to." He cut you off. “I don’t want you to think you can’t ask me for things. You know I care about you, right?”
You nodded slowly. “I know, I’m just used to doing stuff for myself.”
Bob smiled gently. “I know that. But now you don’t have to. I’m here for you. To help. Or whatever you need.”
You were about to respond with a fond thank you when you were interrupted by his cellphone chiming in his pocket.
“Sorry.” He grunted, pulling the device from the front of his jeans.
“It’s okay.” You coughed, curious as to why he was suddenly frowning. “Who is it?”
"Had plans with the team tonight. Was supposed to meet them for drinks." He mumbled, typing away on his phone.
"Oh, god." You rubbed your hand across your face. "Please go. You don't have to stay here. Don't let them down."
Bob suddenly looked up from his screen and gave you an amused smile. "I'm sure they'll understand that I'm looking after my sick girlfriend."
He said it so casually, as if he’d been doing it regularly. Your heart rate picked up at that. Girlfriend. His girlfriend. Bob Floyd's girlfriend. You could've squealed with glee. You stayed silent and settled for a pleased grin.
He sighed to himself once he’d replied to his team and placed his cell down on your coffee table. “Where were we? Oh! Right. Me cooking for you.”
“Like I said, you don’t need to do that.” You pulled your feet up onto the couch after a particularly violent shiver ran through you. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Bob reached out and pressed the back of his hand onto your forehead. “You have a fever. And you’re still shaking like we’re in Antarctica.”
“It’s just my immune system fighting back.” You hummed, leaning into his touch as he moved his hand down to cup your cheek.
“Exactly. And I’m sure some warm soup will just help your immune system out.” He crouched down in front of you, taking the other side of your face in his other hand. “Please let me take care of you.”
The words were so softly spoken, so tender, that you almost started crying. No one had ever sounded so sincere before, especially when it came to your well-being. If you weren’t so scared of infecting him, you would’ve leaned forward to kiss him.
So you could only reply quietly, with the smallest of nods. “Okay.”
His face burst into a dazzling smile, the kind that made you never want to stop looking at him. “Okay. You rest some more and I’ll go make that for you.”
You smiled weakly back at him, suddenly remembering something. “I don’t think I have any soup.”
Bob didn’t falter. “That’s alright. I’ll figure something out.”
You thought that maybe you were a little bit in love with him.
“Help yourself to anything.” It didn’t need to be said, he knew your kitchen pretty well at this point and you always made it clear that he was free to eat or use anything in it when he was over at your place.
He nodded, pressed a kiss to your forehead and stood up. “Try to sleep a little. This might take a while.”
You snorted, regretting it immediately as it made your throat feel all scratchy. “Yes, Lieutenant.”
Bob paused for a second, halfway to taking a step towards the kitchen, and looked back at you. “Lieutenant?”
You nodded, mouth twitching at the corners.
He seemed to think on it for a second. “Hm, we’ll come back to that.”
You giggled quietly into your blanket and settled back onto the couch, closing your eyes and thinking of Bob Floyd. Your boyfriend. Your extremely caring boyfriend. Who was in your kitchen making you soup! When did you suddenly get so lucky? The musings drifted away with you as you slipped into unconsciousness.
Some time passed before you were awoken again by Bob stroking the side of your face and softly uttering your name.
You rubbed your eyes as you sat up, slightly confused as your head cleared. “What’s going on?”
“Soup.” He replied simply, picking up your legs and sitting down before placing them across his lap. He leaned forward to grab the bowl and spoon on your coffee table and then turned to face you.
“You gonna feed me?” You teased.
Bob smiled. “I would if you wanted me to but I’m sure you’d rather I throw this soup in your face than do that.”
He was right.
“Hm, when did you get to know me so well?” You asked, half joking as you took the bowl and spoon from him. The soup was a rich green colour. What he’d found to put in it, you had no idea. “Always thought I was closed off.”
“You are.” He shrugged. “But I pay attention.”
Your eyes shot up to meet his again. He was just looking at you with a slight smile, hands smoothing up and down the lengths of your clothed legs.
You were definitely a little bit in love with him.
You defaulted to a joke. "Remind me when I'm feeling better that you're gonna get it sooo good."
Bob snorted. "I think the fever is making you delirious."
"I'm just frustrated because you, somehow, look hotter than usual and I'm too sick to do anything about it." You gestured vaguely to his outfit, using the spoon to point.
“I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt.”
“Hot.” You insisted.
"Okay, I'll remind you." He rolled his eyes. “Now eat your soup.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” You mumbled, dipping the spoon into the thick liquid.
He huffed out a laugh.
You weren’t surprised in the least that the soup was delicious. You were starting to believe that Bob might actually be the perfect man, some sort of miracle sent to Earth to apologise for all the wrongdoing in the world. How he’d managed to concoct a good soup out of the limited ingredients in your kitchen was beyond you. And yet, he’d done it.
“What the hell did you put in this?” You asked, frowning at him mock suspiciously. If you didn’t know him better you’d think he’d ordered it to your place while you were asleep. But Bob Floyd wasn’t that kind of guy.
“Some stuff I found laying around.” He shrugged modestly. “Didn’t follow a recipe or anything.”
You scoffed. “You’re something else.”
He just shrugged again, a pleased smile playing on the corners of his lips, and watched you practically inhale the rest of the dish. He was very glad you’d eaten it.
“How you feeling now?”
“Better.” You admitted. “But I don’t know if it’s because of the soup or because you’re here.”
Bob’s heart thudded against his rib cage at that confession. “Just happy to help.”
You hummed and stared at him fondly.
He had trouble getting his next question out, distracted by the way you were looking at him. “Do- do you- do you want to go back to sleep?”
You hesitated before answering him, mulling an idea over in your mind. “There is something I want.”
“Oh, yeah? What is it?” He was willing to do anything for you.
“Don’t want you to get sick.” You sighed.
He smiled. “I think we left that concern behind when I first got here.”
Your eyes widened. “No! Don’t make me feel guilty.”
“I’m not trying to.” Bob assured you. “But I doubt whatever you want is going to have a higher risk of getting me sick than me just sitting here next to you.”
You grumbled something underneath your breath to yourself.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind getting sick off of you.”
Maybe you were a lot in love with him.
So you let it burst out of you. “Wanna cuddle.”
Bob didn’t even respond to you, just scooped you up into his arms and maneuvered the two of you into the position he knew you liked - him on his back with you half on top of him and half next to him, one leg and one arm slung around him, your face buried his chest and head tucked under his chin, one of his hands moving to stroke up and down your arm, trace patterns across your back and comb through your hair.
He knew you so well.
You nuzzled your face against his t-shirt. “Thank you.”
He inhaled deeply. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I want to. You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“Making you soup is nothing. It’s not like I’m giving you a kidney.” He paused. “Although I’d probably do that too.”
You chuckled against his chest. “What I mean is, most guys would’ve accepted my ‘I’m good’ text and carried on with their day. You didn’t.”
“Because I knew you were lying.” He reminded you.
“That’s my point. No one has ever known I was lying before.” You tilted your head up to look at him. “I’m glad you knew.”
“Me too.”
Bob wanted to kiss you but knew you’d kill him if he tried. So he settled for the smile he gave you that always made you look away nervously. Which you did, as predicted, and then swiftly fell asleep against him. He wondered how’d he’d gotten so lucky. Sure, he was caring for a sick person but it was the happiest he’d been in a long time. Which should sound ridiculous but to him it made more sense than anything.
He was knocked out of his thoughts when you whined lowly in your sleep and held onto him tighter. He smiled down at you and held you closer to his chest.
Bob knew then that he was a lot in love with you.
A/N: And we’re back!
#bob floyd#robert floyd#robert bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#robert floyd x reader#robert floyd x you#robert bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd x you#bob floyd fanfiction#robert floyd fanfiction#robert bob floyd fanfiction#top gun#top gun maverick#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#ej’s writing#ej’s fics#deakyjoe’s writing#deakyjoe’s fics
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Good Girl
Day 2: Dry humping (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)
(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)
CW: Idiots in love; praise kink; smut (dry humping; outercourse; whatever the youths call it now - clothed grinding and such); 18+ only.
Word Count: 2996
AN: This is loosely related to the very loosely-formed Seresin cousin mini-series, found here. It was requested for Kinktober by @justreblogginfics!)
You and Bob continue your little dance for months.
You know the man likes you. Every time you fly into town to visit your cousin Jake, Bob is always nearby, staring at you on the sly like a lovesick puppy. He’s always just at the edge of the group gatherings—nights at the Hard Deck, parties at Nat’s house, afternoons at the beach—and you always feel those big blue eyes tracking your movements.
Everyone else notices it. Harvard and Yale corner you at the Hard Deck, ask if you’ve noticed that you have an admirer. Nat pulls you aside at her barbeque and obliquely gives you a rundown of Bob’s numerous good traits. Only Jake holds his tongue, but you catch him narrowing his eyes at the WSO enough that you realize even your cousin—your cousin with his penchant for being self-centered, the handsome narcissist with the blinding smile—has noticed Bob’s crush too.
Bob never makes a move.
Nights at the Hard Deck when you blatantly lament being single. The party at Bob’s house where you stayed behind to help him clean up. The little touches you chance: brushing your hand against his, a light hand on his shoulder, friendly hugs…they are an invitation, but he doesn’t pick up on it.
It’s Rooster who clues you in. The man takes your hand one night at the bar and tugs you outside where the ocean crashes along the shore in the darkness. In the dim light, you can just make out the man as he peers down at you.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says. “But you’re going about it all wrong.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
You catch the white of his eyes as he rolls them. “C’mon. It’s obvious you like Bob, but you gotta make the move if you’re interested. You gotta be blatant with him. He won’t get it otherwise.”
“Why not?” Your stomach twists unpleasantly; you wonder if perhaps you’ve misread the situation. Maybe Bob has a crush, but maybe it’s just a crush, and maybe there’s someone else he loves and this is just a passing bit of madness—
“Guy’s a brilliant wizzo, but he’s clueless with women.”
Now you roll your eyes at Rooster, and he chuckles at the gesture.
“I’m serious!” he continues, and he holds his hands up, helpless. “I think he misread a situation once with a girl when he was younger, and I think it scared him off of making the first move.”
“That’s a terrible excuse. I got food poisoning from bad tacos once but I still eat tacos.”
Rooster chuckles again. “Yeah, but you women can be devastating when you reject us. I think poor Baby on Board was crushed before and now he’s just a pining little asshole, staring at you from across the bar.”
You shrug helplessly and glance back into the Hard Deck: you can see Bob in profile, and you get the impression that he’s just turned away, that he didn’t want to get caught watching you. Watching you and Rooster together, chatting outside, laughing outside. You feel a wave of sympathy for what Bob must be thinking—that you’re flirting with Rooster, that maybe Bob has missed his chance.
You turn back to the pilot. You square your shoulders. “Okay, I hear you. I’ll be the brave one.” A beat as anxiety blooms in your chest, makes your ribcage feel a fraction tighter, makes it just a bit harder to draw a full breath. “And you’re sure he likes me? You aren’t misreading this somehow? I don’t want to look like an idiot, Bradshaw.”
He laughs outright, and he hooks an arm around your neck to pull you into a friendly hug.
“Ah, kid, he loves you. You make the first move, he’ll probably go ring shopping next weekend,” he says, and he lays a smacking kiss on the side of your head before releasing you, shoving you gently back towards the bar.
-----
You may be confident, but that confidence doesn’t always extend into your romantic life. Still, you decide to be brave.
You make the first move.
When you go back into the Hard Deck, you notice that Bob seems quieter than usual, and you guess that he saw the hug, the friendly kiss between you and Rooster. You guess that he is drawing incorrect conclusions about what he thinks he saw, and you hate to think of him suffering needlessly.
You sidle up to him, and you feel another wave of tenderness towards the man when he turns to look at you—still with that soft smile on his face, a glimmer of hope in his eyes despite what he must be thinking.
“It’s too noisy in here,” you say close to his ear. “I was going to take a walk on the beach. Do you want to join me?”
The hope in his eyes turns blatant. “Really?”
“Yeah. You wanna go? C’mon.” You don’t give him a chance to stammer his way out of it; you thread your arm through his and tug him towards the door, and he follows you without any resistance.
You catch Rooster’s eye, then Nat’s as you leave. The former tips you a knowing wink. The latter gives you a nod, and she lifts her glass in a salute.
You don’t release him until you’re at the water’s edge, and you bend down to untie your sneakers and peel out of your socks. He hesitates a beat then joins you, and he rolls up the pants to his uniform so that his shins are bare.
The two of you walk along the shore in silence for a bit. It’s one of the things you like best about Bob—how he lacks the braggadocio to always talk, to always fill up every bit of silence with the sound of his own voice. You know he’s perhaps more shy than the average person, but he doesn’t seem undone by it. He seems comfortable just to be himself: quieter than most, willing to sit back and watch.
Case in point: you hold your shoes and socks in one hand, and you take his hand with your free one. Maybe he’s nervous, but his palm is warm and dry, not sweaty or twitchy. If he’s nervous, it’s not obvious.
And he breaks the silence, after a while.
“Growing up in the Midwest, I never even saw the ocean until I enlisted,” he says.
“Same,” you reply. “I mean, growing up in Texas, we went to Galveston a few times, but that was technically the Gulf, not the ocean.”
“You like it?”
You feel the water lapping around your ankles, the give of the sand underneath your soles. “I do,” you admit. “There’s something really peaceful about it, and I love poking around at low tide and looking for sea glass.”
He glances at you, and you can hear the teasing in his voice when he replies, “I’m gonna tell Hangman that his cousin only visits him because he’s stationed along the coast.”
The words slip out of your mouth before you even realize you’re saying them. “Maybe I only visit Jake because I like one of his coworkers.”
The light-hearted feeling of the moment deflates; Bob goes silent. He takes a beat to reply, and when he does, his voice sounds strained.
“Bradley.” It comes out curt, two quick syllables. A statement, not a question.
You shake your head, let out a grumble of disagreement. Up ahead, you can see the outline of a lifeguard station, painted white and rising ghostly out of the night. You want to sit with him and finally talk with him, so you tug his hand and lead him there. The two of you sit on the steps, side by side, hips touching and facing the ocean.
“Not Bradley,” you tell him as you pick up the thread of the conversation.
“I saw you tonight—”
You shake your head again, cut him off. “He wanted to talk to me,” you tell Bob. “About you.”
You feel him go rigid beside you, and he huffs out a frustrated breath. If there was more light, you’d see the furious blush that breaks out across his face, but it’s dark enough that you can only guess at his embarrassment.
And now that you’ve opened the Pandora’s box, you can hardly take it back, so you plunge forward. Usually confident, you’re glad for the darkness too—you hope it hides your shaky hands, your inability to turn and meet his eyeline.
“I think you’re great, Bobby. Honestly. I thought you were handsome the moment I met you, but then I got to know you, and you’re quiet but you’re funny and sweet, and I was giving all these signs that I was into you, but nothing…I mean, I like you a lot and it’s just…” You trail off, lose your words like an idiot. You hadn’t enough time to rehearse this in your head; you just grabbed him at the Hard Deck and dragged him out here, and now you’re fumbling it completely. You drop your head and swipe your sweaty palms along the sides of your shorts, and you take a deep breath—
You hear his soft “hey,” and then a split second later you feel his warm hand on your face, tilting your head up and turning you to face him, but nothing on earth could prepare you for the way Bob Floyd kisses: gentle but firm, only a bit hesitant. His lips are soft, and he breathes out a quiet groan when you reach up and lay your own hand along the side of his neck.
Your thoughts go fuzzy. Your concentration—all the words you were fumbling to say—is shot, but when you try to break the kiss to finish what you were saying, Bob shakes his head faintly and mumbles against you lips.
“I know,” he says, and you can hear his accent breaking through. “I know, honey. Me too.”
Then he kisses you again, firmer this time, and a moment later, when he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you open yourself to him, allow him to taste you. You taste him too, and Bob Floyd tastes like the grenadine-laced Coke he nurses each night at the Hard Deck, never much of a drinker even on the rowdiest night.
If nothing could prepare you for the way he kisses, then certainly nothing could prepare you for how sweetly dominant he is, how perfectly he walks the line between gentlemanly and not. Your clumsy confession must have given him the wherewithal to take charge, and you’re surprised when he puts a hand on your waist and gently urges you to turn towards him…then how he just as gently urges you to climb onto his lap.
It doesn’t take much urging, you find. You’ve been ravenous for months for this exact moment, and you had thought it’d never come. You break away long enough to study his face—this close, and with the faint light of the half-moon in the sky above you, you can see his wide blue eyes, his parted lips as he gazes back at you. You don’t see any hesitancy in his expression at all, but then he breathes out, “please, honey” and he squeezes your waist, so you clamber onto him with no grace whatsoever, but neither of you care because the moment you’re settled on him, you bend your head to kiss him again.
As it turns out, maybe Bob was just as ravenous for this moment too. He puts his other hand on your waist too, draws you closer to him, and you can feel the nudge and brush of his growing erection against your inner thigh. He makes a strangled, pained sort of groan in the back of his throat the first time you touch him there, and his hands spasm on your waist, grip you tighter before he schools himself and apologizes.
You break the kiss, slow the moment down. You cup his face between your palms and hold him steady, tilt his face up towards yours.
“Bobby, why didn’t you ever say anything?” you whisper.
He shakes his head against your hold and offers you a rueful grin. “Didn’t think you were interested.”
You snort and press a light kiss to his forehead, then another few to his cheeks, the tip of his nose. You can feel how flushed he is under your lips.
“You think I just randomly hang back at parties to help the host clean up?” you tease. You shift your head, whisper the words in his ear, and you note how he squirms under you. He’s growing harder, even at your playful kisses.
“Just thought…ah, just thought y-you were bein’ nice.” His accent comes out stronger, and his hands squeeze you tighter again before he loosens his grip. “You’re always so…so nice to everyone.”
“I’m nicest to you,” you point out. You kiss a trail along the line of his neck, and he tilts his head to grant you the space. At his pulse point, you can feel his heartbeat thundering away there, so you bare your teeth and nip him—not enough to hurt or even sting, but he groans out “shit, honey” and wraps a strong arm around your waist, hauls you right up against where he’s straining against his uniform for you. His other hand finds the back of your neck, and he draws you to him, kisses you breathless as he guides you against him, sets a steady, rocking motion against him.
It's too much: the way his clothed erection hits you just right, how he pushes you back and forth, over and over, until you are so wet that you’re certain you’ve soaked through your panties and your shorts. Everything feels sensitive, swollen, but he keeps guiding you, lifts his own hips in time to the rhythm he sets. It’s too much but it’s not nearly enough, and you wish you’d known how this entire evening was going to unravel because you would have just taken him home instead—
“This good?” he asks. His face is tucked against your neck; you’re a fraction higher than him, perched in his lap, and he works his mouth almost lazily against your neck, your throat, the underside of your jaw. He has one arm around your waist, holding you tight to him, but his other hand settles against your ass, kneads you there, digs his fingertips into the fat of your ass like he wants to own you.
You start to make a joke about being surprised to find he’s an ass man, but then he dips his head, works an open-mouthed kiss right where the swell of your breasts begin. You whine at the sensation and thread your fingers through his hair. You hold him there, and the desire coursing through you—the sharp ache between your thighs, the prickly-hot flush across your skin—makes you feel fuzzy, light-headed. You remember he asked you a question, so you answer him, nod hard and mumble yes, he’s making you feel good, he’s making you feel amazing, but what about him?
“Don’t worry about me.” He nips at your collarbone, runs his tongue along the line of it, dips his tongue into the divot at the base of your throat. “Wanna make you come, honey.”
Hearing those words come from his mouth makes your desire rachet up higher, hotter. You grip his hair harder, whine out his name, but then he adds, “you gonna be my good girl and come for me?”
There’s no way he could have known of your praise kink, so it’s just a lucky guess, but the unexpected phrase—my good girl…fuck if it doesn’t make you cock-drunk and stupid. No other guy really ever cracked the code of that kink for you. A few had made half-hearted attempts when you mentioned it, but Bob Floyd stumbles over it immediately, and your mind goes blissfully blank: yes, you want to be his good girl. Yes, you want to come for him. Whatever he wants. Anything he wants. Everything he wants.
You let go of your hold on his hair, and you cup his face again, tilt his head up so you can kiss him. “Yes,” you whisper just before you slot your mouth over his, push your tongue against his, kiss him so deeply that you’re sharing the same breath, mapping the inside of his mouth with your tongue, memorizing every bit of him you can. Yes, yes. Yes to all of it.
Mind blank, your pleasure overtakes you: you feel the heat and friction from where he sets you grinding against him, you feel the bulge of his cock hitting you perfectly, and every bit of him—his subtle cologne, the soft feel of his hair, the quiet little groans he makes, the flex of his muscles as he holds you—pushes you close to the edge. You teeter there, you ride him faster, the seam of your shorts pressing deliciously against your swollen clit, but it’s his words that push you over. His quietly domineering orders.
“Come for me,” he whispers, and it’s a harsh, punched-out sound that makes your stomach swoop when you hear it. “My good, sweet girl. Come for me.”
Your orgasm breaks around you like a wave, and Bob releases his hold on your ass to draw you closer to him, let you ride it out as you shudder against him. Both arms wrapped around your waist as pleasure sparks outward from your core, travels up your spine and courses through your limbs until your head is swimming and he’s tucking you against him.
“That’s it,” he whispers into your hair. “Good girl. So fucking good for me.”
And all you can respond with is yes, yes. Only for you, Bobby.
#bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd imagine#robert floyd#robert floyd imagine#robert floyd x reader#top gun maverick#tropes and tales#kinktober 2023
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Mafia!Bob AU
Bob Floyd, arms dealer for The Daggers, and, most importantly, sweet loving boyfriend
Short mafia Bob blurb
As Bob sat at her vanity, he pulled his glasses from his face. It was his least favourite part of his morning, swapping his wire rimmed glasses for his glasses.
She watched from their bed, looking pretty in his clothes, as he struggled. "Bobby," she said as she climbed from beneath the comforter. She walked over and sat herself on his lap, completely blocking his view of the mirror as she helped him to put in his contact lenses.
As he did, Bob held onto her hips, squeezing slightly. "There," she said as soon as she had popped the second one in. "Now everybody can see your pretty eyes."
Robert Floyd hated wearing his contact lenses. He loved his glasses, but they made him look so nerdy. And you can't look nerdy when you work for Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. Not when you're the arms dealer for The Daggers.
"I shouldn't be home too late tonight, Bun," he said and leaned forward to kiss her noise. "Are you doing anything nice today?"
She shrugged and laid her head on his shoulder. "Think Mickey wants to come to the store with me?" She asked as she blinked up at him.
"I think Mickey has no choice," he said and kissed the top of her head. He would have given anything to spend the day with her, would have given anything to swap places with Mickey. But he couldn't, not unless he wanted to face Mav's wrath (and he'd never expose her to that).
Bob pulled his wallet from his pocket and placed it in her hands. "No spending limit for you, my baby," he said and pulled her in her a kiss. "Get anything you'd like."
He hated leaving her, but worked called. Bob stood up, still holding her as he walked over to the bed and dropped her on it. "I'll miss you, bunny," he whispered and kissed her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled at his hair, desperate to keep him there with her. "Stay," she whispered against his lips.
Bob let out a groan "I'm sorry, bun," he said and pressed his forehead against her own.
Reluctantly, she let him go. She watched as Bob walked out of the bedroom, leaving her there wearing a pout.
It had become a daily ritual. Her, reluctant to let him go, and Bob, reluctant to leave her.
She went shopping, taking Mickey (Bob's best friend and the man who was charged with protecting her while Bob worked) from shop to shop.
Bob couldn't help but think about her as he worked. As he took inventory, as he sorted orders for Ice Man, he was thinking of nothing but her.
But then Jake and Bradley came knocking on his office door. They didn't wait for him to say anything before they walked in and threw their guns on his desk. "We want an upgrade," said Jake.
Bob picked up the gun. "Guys, how do you think this works?" He couldn't stop himself from asking. "Do you think you can upgrade your guns like this is Grand Theft Auto?"
"No," Bradley said immediately. "We just want something better."
Bob let out a sigh as he checked through his books. "Fine, I'll see what I can do."
The old Bob wouldn't have so easily given them what they wanted. The old Bob would have made them stick with their old guns until they damaged them beyond repair. But he'd gone soft, and it was all because of her.
At the end of the day, Bob couldn't wait to get back to her. He locked up the gun store, checked over his books one last time, and made his way back to her.
"Bunny!" Bob called the moment he walked into their lavish apartment. A fond smile crossed his face at the sight of the shopping bags by the door.
He pushed on, past the living room and straight into the bathroom. This part of his day had also become a ritual, but a comforting one at that.
After a day of dealing weapons and selling them in the cities, Bob's favourite part of his day was when he got to wash the grime away and take out his goddamn contacts.
And then it was a careful walk to their bedroom to put his wire framed glasses on.
When he walked into the bedroom, she was just a pretty blob on the bed. Bob placed his glasses on his face and looked down at her, dressed in pretty lingerie that Bob had never seen before.
Pretty lingerie that she'd with his money. "Holy shit, Bunny," he said as he looked down at her. But there with little else he had to say before he was shedding off his suit and climbing on top of her.
@nurse-sainz this is for youuuuuu
#bob floyd#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd x you#bob floyd smut#robert floyd#robert floyd imagine#robert floyd x reader#robert floyd x you#robert floyd fluff#robert floyd smut#robert bob floyd#top gun#top gun maverick#top gun bob#tgm#tgm fic#mafia!au
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Bob Floyd Fics Pt. 2
Man of your dreams| One-Shot| Fluff| @sorchathered
Please Come Home for Christmas| One-Shot| Fluff| @nerdgirljen
bleeding love| One-Shot| Fluff, Smut| @bobgasm
do you wanna make somethin' of it| One-Shot| Fluff, Smut| @theharddeck
All I Want| One-Shot| Fluff| @cornishkat
Pride, Prejudice, and Flyboys| One-Shot| Smut| @sorchathered
Explicitly Yours| One-Shot| Smut| @roosterforme
Cards Close to the Chest| One-Shot| Fluff| @ohtobeleah
Sprinkles of Love| One-Shot| Fluff| @bradshawsbaby
Ruin the Friendship| One-Shot| Fluff, Smut| @withahappyrefrain
Stiff Competition| One-Shot| Fluff| @roosterforme
The Kind of Girl I Could Love|One-Shot| Fluff| @roosterforme
Stud on Board| One-Shot| Fluff, Implied Smut| @roosterforme
He Sees All My Colors| One-Shot| Fluff, Angst, Implied Smut| @peachystenbrough
i want you midnights| One-Shot| Fluff| @laracrofted
Bob and T Swift| One-Shot| Fluff| @peachystenbrough
The Perfect Pink| One-Shot| Fluff| @attapullman
Something in the Orange| Pt.2| Two-Shot| Smut| @sorchathered
A Lesson in Love| One-Shot| Fluff| @tip-top-cloud-surfer
Bob and the Moon| One-Shot| Fluff| @topguncortez
Baby Boy Bob| One-Shot| Fluff| @topguncortez
Dandelions| One-Shot| Fluff| @callsign-phoenix
there's a hole where something was...| One-Shot| Fluff| @bobfloydssunnies
you don’t have to be a star| One-Shot| Fluff, Implied Smut| @sunlightmurdock
color up my skies| One-Shot| Smut| @thiswaytwoinfinity
scenes from the kitchen sink| One-Shot| Fluff| @bradshawsbaby
High On Lovin' You| One-Shot| Fluff, Smut| @bradshawssugarbaby
Bob From Stats| One-Shot| Smut| @attapullman
six summers| Series| Warnings in Each Chapter| @lewmagoo
Mav's Reaction to Each Dagger Dating His Daughter| One-Shot| Fluff| @tip-top-cloud-surfer
I will ease your mind.| One-Shot| Fluff| @floydsmuse
Like Peas in a Pod| One-Shot| Fluff, Angst| @bradshawsbaby
Covering the Classics| Series| Warnings in Each Chapter| @roosterforme
good girl| One-Shot| Smut| @bobgasm
Some Things Take Time| One-Shot| Fluff, Angst| @roosterforme
All The Pretty Girls| One-Shot| Fluff| @bradshawssugarbaby
the legend of the great wizard bobernius| One-Shot| Fluff, Smut| @sio-ina-bottle
As you wish| One-Shot| Fluff, Smut| @sorchathered
Pretend| One-Shot| Fluff, Smut| @attapullman
Room for Dessert| One-Shot| Smut| @purelyfiction
I HEARD SCREAMING| One-Shot| Smut| @oncasette
Stupid White Car| One-Shot| Fluff| @attapullman
#ficrecs#daisyfieldrecs#bob floyd#top gun maverick#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd fic#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd smut
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Ruin the Friendship- Bob Floyd
Warnings: Best friends to lovers trope, it’s so obvious they love each other they’re stupid, language, filth, some angst (why not?), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), Bob being pussy drunk.
Summary: The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that.
Words: 4.8K
This is for @attapullman's Bob Fucks celebration!
When you've been friends with someone since preschool, you get to know them like the back of your hand. Certain quirks and sayings that no longer surprise you.
“God, I wish that were me.”
It wasn't the first time Bob heard you say that. Usually there was a cute dog around, or a sushi boat being delivered at a restaurant when you said it.
But saying it during an oral sex scene in a movie was new.
It also brought up many questions.
Questions Bob shouldn't ask, considering he's known you since preschool. Questions Bob couldn't ask right now, because he was too preoccupied looking at you.
Your eyes were fixated on the screen, focused on the actress withering. Occasionally, they would dart to the other actor who was between the actress’ thighs. Bob noticed the increased rise and fall of your chest, how your front teeth dug into your bottom lip, how when you lean forward, the v-line cut of your shirt showed off the tops of your breasts. The soft glow of the lamps highlighted the beautiful features on your face.
All things he shouldn’t be noticing about his best friend. But then again, best friends shouldn’t be watching a French film together whose plot line focused on sexual liberation before he went off to Navy boot camp.
Granted, you and Bob haven’t had a conventional best friend relationship in a while, if at all, considering both sets of parents claimed you two promised to marry each other at the age of four.
Promises or not, best friends shouldn’t be one another’s first kiss. Or make out practice partners. Or each other’s New Year's kiss when y'all were single. Or spend Valentine's Day together at the local dinner.
The line between friends and something more was blurry, saved by a comment that ensured the other to think that the feelings that had been brewing weren't reciprocated.
“You’re a good kisser. Kelsey McCoy is going to think so too.”
“If Tommy Delaine doesn't like you, he's a dumbass.”
“I’m sure next year you’ll have someone.”
“If I had to spend it with anyone, I want it to be with my best friend.”
“You’re an amazing friend, you know that?”
Why say that if you harbor romantic feelings? Surely, all those kisses and talk of marriage meant nothing to them.
At least that's what the other thought.
It's because of this blurry line that Bob doesn't bite his tongue, doesn't throw away the comment to be forgotten. Instead, he speaks up.
“Been awhile?”
And because it's Bob, the guy you've known your whole life, the guy you tell everything to, your response rolls off your tongue without a second thought.
“Try never.”
It takes Bob a moment to process your words as the way your lips wrap around the beer bottle is far too distracting. But just like processing a car accident, once it registers, your words bring his brain to a screeching halt.
“Wait, never?” The shrug you give isn’t satisfactory. He grabs the remote to pause the movie, ignoring your cries of protest.
“Real talk; are you saying that no one has ever gone down on you?”
You sigh, regretting saying anything in the first place. One would think that after years of friendship, you’d know well enough that once Bob set his mind to something, he wouldn't relent until satisfied.
You down the remnants of your beer, mentally preparing for this conversation.
“No Robby. I've never had someone eat me out. Happy now?” Reaching for the remote was all in vain, as he just held it further away from you.
Darn those long limbs.
“But you've been with people…..so what did they do?” When you looked at him, there was no malice, just Bob looking genuinely baffled. His gentle blue eyes put you at ease, giving you the comfort to explain.
“They would touch me,” you motioned to the lower half of your body, “And like finger me. Enough to get me ready, I guess.”
Bob raised an eyebrow, “You guess?”
College was supposed to be a time for you to explore, to figure yourself out, to interact with new people.
And yet, when it came to the relationship aspect, everything had fizzled. You were now going into your junior year having yet to experience a meaningful romantic relationship.
Did you just have shit luck? Or was it because your mind would wander back to a bespectacled best friend when you were in bed with someone else?
“So instead of eating you out, which would actually be enjoyable on your end, you're telling me they just stuck their hand down there and hoped they were rubbing your clit? You didn't ever ask them to do something else?”
Bob didn't have the pristine mouth that parents thought he possessed. You knew, and had known for a while. And yet, hearing him say the phrase your clit in his deep, slightly twangy voice felt different.
You rubbed your thighs together.
“Are you shaming the people I've been with or me?”
Bob closed the difference between you and him on the couch, placing a hand on your bare knee.
Have his hands always been so big and veiny?
Fuck, did you have a thing for hands?
“I'm not shaming you. I’m shaming the people you've been with because well,” he ran a hand up and down the back of his neck, “Well, I enjoy giving….I like doing it. So I guess I'm surprised other people don't?”
His statement was shocking because everyone else you had been with viewed it as a chore, as something to use every excuse in the book to avoid doing.
Too tired. Takes too long. Wet enough so what's the point?
“You…like doing it?”
The tops of his cheeks reddened, despite a smirk beginning to form, “Yeah. I like giving and I like making them feel good. It's also a confidence booster, being able to make someone fall apart with your mouth.”
It shouldn't come as a surprise, it was Bob after all. The same Bob who always brought an extra pencil with him to algebra, in case you forgot yours. The same Bob who shared his Dunkaroos because your mom refused to buy them. The same Bob who made his dream of serving his country finally come true after years of hard work.
He was selfless. But this didn't feel like selflessness. Hearing him talk about giving pleasure, making someone fall apart with his mouth, was different. Even his voice when he said it was different, raspier than usual.
“Well,” you scooted closer to the edge of the couch, trying to widen the gap so he couldn't feel how hot your body was, “I can't wait ‘til I meet someone who feels the same way.”
“You don't have to wait.”
The grip on your beer bottle tightened, the alcohol getting caught in your throat. There's no way he could have just said that, no way he could be implying what you're thinking.
But when you look at Bob, he was staring back with raised eyebrows and thin lips curled into a little smirk. The same look he’s given you countless times before when he mumbles a smartass comment only your ears were privy to hear.
You heard me.
“What-are you…” You stared at him, mouth agape. Bob appeared unphase by it, like he had just offered something totally normal and rational.
Perhaps it was the three beers he had downed. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline kicking in after realizing this was his last chance at making a move before he left.
“Wouldn't that be like crossing a line?” Your head was racing, alternating between flashbacks of when you kissed Bob and imagining what it would be like to have his mouth on your body.
“Wouldn't be much different from what we’ve already done.”
All the air was sucked out of the room by his comment. Because of course he wasn't doing this because he wanted to, because he wanted you. This would be meaningless, just like everything else. If you went through with this, you’d wake up the next day to Bob leaving with nothing changed, still in this seemingly endless limbo.
Long, nimble fingers hooked themselves under your chin, gently forcing you to look up.
The look he gave you was unfamiliar. His eyes remained focused on your face, though it seemed like they were searching.
For what, you couldn't tell.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Do you want it to be different?”
What good was telling him if he didn’t feel the same way, thus ruining a great friendship?
“Do you want it to be different Robby?” You countered back.
He leaned in, his breath hot on your face, “I asked you first.”
He thought he had the upper hand. But you were like a lightning bug, faster.
“I asked you second, Robby.”
Like a rubber band, the tension snapped as Bob was unable to hold back a snort of laughter. The tension left your shoulders, the sight of him laughing familiar and safe.
“I’m going to really miss your resounding maturity,” Bob deadpanned after gaining the ability to compose himself, though a sweet crooked smile remained.
It was now your turn to roll your eyes, though it didn’t stop the smile currently forming on your face. Seeing this side of Bob was always fun; most folks thought he was quiet and meek. The truth was that he liked to observe and didn’t find value in speaking when it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t hold back with you, didn’t feel the need to sit and observe. He truly conversed with you and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel special.
He was never that way with the other girls he dated.
“You love me,” you teased back. It was a comment you've said countless times, always with that sweet, albeit mischievous smile that made Bob's heart flutter.
But this time instead of shaking his head or rolling his eyes, he leaned forward until your foreheads were touching.
Seeing him up close took your breath away. You could see how his roots were beginning to darken, the blonde fading as he got older. The little scar on his chin from a BB Gun incident when he was ten. Eyes bluer than the ocean. The ends of his hair were beginning to curl, something you'd greatly miss when he'd get the military mandated buzz cut.
“Yeah, I do.” There was no teasing in his voice. No mischief in his eyes. Instead of playfully shaking your shoulder, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, fingers cupping your warm skin. He was moving quickly, making you unable to truly process what he had just said.
Despite it being new territory, he was handling it beautifully. You, on the other hand, were torn between wondering if your increased heart beat was medically concerning and how large Bob’s hands were.
“You gotta….if you want to stop, tell me,” His breathing had increased, like it did when he had finished his part in the marching band. But this wasn’t marching band practice and y’all weren’t on the high school field. You were in your parents’ basement, with Bob’s lips quickly closing the gap between yours and his.
It wasn’t your first time kissing Bob, but it might as well have been. Years of experience had given him more confidence. He knew where to put his hands now, one still on your neck to guide you, the other gripping the soft flesh of your hip. He didn’t hesitate to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, successfully driving you wild.
When the rounded tip of his nose brushed against yours, a soft laugh escaped your lips. Bob didn’t mind, using the chance to let his tongue explore your mouth. Your body leaned towards him, hands gripping the soft fabric of his old Warped Tour T-shirt.
“I thought you,” your words were slurred, a weak moan interrupting your speech due to his lips moving down to your neck, “Thought you were gonna eat me out.”
Bob’s moan vibrated against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands traveled to your breasts, gripping them through your T-shirt. It wasn't a hard squeeze, which is what you were used to.
It was pleasurable. Bob was pleasurable.
“Did none of the guys you were with do foreplay?” He asked, his hands continuing their ministrations.
“I-fuck- yes they did, it just never took this long,” you grunted against his lips.
“God, you have terrible taste in men.”
You wanted to let Bob know that he was now included in that group. But then his fingers hooked themselves around the band of your shorts, pulling them down. Had you known what tonight would entail, you would have opted for underwear that wasn't so worn. The long hairs on his arms tickled your sensitive skin as he moved to kneel on the floor, the cool basement air making you realize just how wet you were.
How could he do that so quickly?
He pinned your hips against the soft couch cushions. With anyone else, you would complain with how hard he was gripping your soft skin. But with Bob, you’d love it. It meant hand-shaped bruises that would stay after he left, reminding you of tonight.
When his sharp nose nudged your clothed slit, a loud gasp erupted from your mouth.
Thank god your parents were on vacation.
His tongue was so wide as it stroked the quickly dampening fabric. How was he able to find your clit so quickly? Most struggled to find it even after your panties had been taken off.
Bob couldn’t help but chuckle upon hearing your strained whimpers. You were practically squirming, hips erratically jerking with every touch.
“Wha-why did you stop?” You whined, looking down to find him staring up to you.
“Are you-I just need to know, do you still want this?” God, he was so fucking considerate. In any other moment, you’d find it endearingly sweet.
But if his tongue felt that good against your covered cunt, you were dying to feel it without the barrier.
“Robby, I swear to god, if you don’t eat me out, I’m going upstairs and using my vibrator,” Your voice was strained, your knuckles turning white from gripping the couch cushions.
He laughed. Bob knew you were bluffing. He had just gotten started and you were already so wet.
Slowly, he took his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table behind him, making a show of it.
“Won’t need those. I’m nearsighted after all.”
“You little-” The insult remained unsaid, as Bob pushed your underwear to the side, his mouth instantly latching onto your swollen clit.
His mouth was warm. The pressure wasn’t too much, just enough to make you wither in pleasure. It felt so good, so fucking good. When Bob looked up, he found your mouth open, despite no sounds coming out.
Good.
You deserved to know what it was like, to have someone care about your pleasure, to focus solely on making you feel incredible.
God, he could feel his cock throbbed. You looked so pretty with your eyes glazed over, mouth agape as you watched him, completely enthralled.
And he had just gotten started.
He wanted to do more than make you come, he wanted to blow your mind. Call it selfish, but Bob wanted to ruin you for anyone else. He had always held back his tongue when it came to the people you dated, knowing sooner or later you'd realized they weren't worth your time.
But now he had his chance and Bob sure as hell wasn't going to let it slip away.
The loud sound of fabric ripping broke you out of the pleasure filled haze you were in. Before you could make a sound about your now ripped underwear, your knees were pinned to your chest, giving Bob complete access to your soaked core.
“So fucking sweet,” He groaned against your cunt, sending vibrations all through your body, “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Robby.”
To say Bob dreamed of hearing you moan his name would be the understatement of the fucking century.
Your whole body was on fire, unable to do anything else but take everything Bob was giving.
A resounding moan fell from your lips as Bob thrusted two fingers inside you, your walls struggling to accommodate the unexpected stretch.
Was he this thick elsewhere?
You wanted to find out. Wanted to feel it inside you, in your mouth. You shamelessly wanted it all. But you couldn’t even voice that because Bob was tracing figure eights on your clit, his fingers brushing against a spot you thought Cosmo had made up.
Fuck, he was doing a number on you. His soft hair threaded through your fingers as you gripped the strands. Your hips involuntarily jerked upwards, desperate to get as much of Bob as possible.
You kept expecting him to stop, considering you were wet enough for him to fuck you. That's what everyone else did.
But Bob Floyd wasn't like everyone else. Far from it.
He was fucking delighted to hear all the cute, strained noises coming from you as he continued. Each time you tugged on his hair, a groan would fall from his lips. It was the prettiest sound you had ever heard.
Why did either of you wait this long?
You tried to communicate, to let him know you were close, tugging on his hair, trying to move away from his mouth.
But Bob was deceivingly strong, using his free hand to pin your hip back to the couch, his mouth firmly on your pussy.
When you looked down, you were in awe of how blissed Bob looked. His eyes were closed as his mouth remained latched to your clit. The sounds of your own wetness were obscene, but barely audible over the moans Bob was letting out.
He really did enjoy it.
“Come. Wanna taste ya,” His voice was muffled as he added a third finger inside you.
Worried thoughts of coming on his face left your brain as pleasure coursed through your veins. Without any warning, the band that had been tightening came undone.
Bob used both hands to hold your hips firmly in place, his tongue lapping up your release.
You don't recall coming this hard or this long before. It wasn't a small wave, it felt like the whole damn ocean was taking you under.
His fingers continued to stretch you open, prolonging your high. The Navy was the perfect fit for him, considering he could apparently hold his breath for an impressive amount of time.
The soft fabric of the couch cushions brushed as the back of your head, your eyes half closed. You couldn't even voice an acknowledge when Bob’s mouth and fingers withdrew from your abused cunt.
“You're so pretty when you come,” Bob murmured, his lips brushing against yours.
Your hands tugged on the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
“M-my turn,” you whined, hips jerking up towards his.
Bob shook his head, “Wanna be inside ya.”
How was this the same guy who feared clowns as a kid?
Before you could even question it, Bob had sat down on the couch, gripping your hips to help you straddle his lap. When had he taken off his jeans? How was he so quick-
Jesus Christ, he was huge.
“Fuck, she was right.”
Bob looked up from where you two were about to connect, a very confused look on his face, “Excuse me?”
“Betsey Thomas said you had a huge dick,” you confessed, wishing that you'd think before speaking for once.
Bob’s brows knitted together in confusion, “Betsey Thomas has never seen my dick, the fuck are you talking about?”
“Said she could tell you were packing because of the gym shorts you'd wear for PE class.” Bob signed, shaking his head as he muttered something about the required uniform.
“I….we can unpack this later-”
You snorted, “Why? Too busy packing here?”
Your laughter was cut short by Bob rubbing his cock against your soaked cunt. Memories of high school escaped your brain, the only thing you could focus on now was Bob and his huge dick.
Curious wasn't accurate. Frankly, you were desperate for him. Had been since middle school, if you were being truthful.
“Woah, hey. Easy baby, easy,” his voice made your thighs clench, made you whine into his shoulder as you tried to line your aching hole with his cock.
Finally, you felt him at your entrance. Slowly, he filled you up inch by inch. Every time you tried to urge him to go faster, Bob would simply shake his head before pressing a kiss against your cheek.
“Don't want to hurt ya darlin’.”
Darlin. You were his darlin.
He made you feel so full, and you didn't even have it all inside of you yet. All you could do was cling to him as he whispered praises in your ears.
Once you reached the base, it felt like you and Bob were the only ones in the world. At least, that’s what you pretended. It was better than thinking about how he would be gone for who knows how long after tonight. After boot camp was done, he would be off to train for the Navy.
Even he didn't know when he would return home.
It wasn't fair, finally expressing your feelings for one another just to be separated immediately after. You wanted him to stay, to go on dates with him, to visit him on the weekends when school started, just like everyone else in a long distance relationship.
“Hey, what's wrong? Do you- we can stop if you want, it's okay.” Bob’s voice was soft, full of concern.
His hand lifted your chin up from his shoulder, revealing your watery eyes.
“I don't want you to go.”
“I know,” his voice was barely a whisper, matching your volume. Long fingers gently traced over your face, as if he was trying to memorize them.
“I know it's horrible timing, but we'll figure it out, okay? I want to figure it out with you, I promise,” He peppered your face with soft kisses, earning a small smile out of you.
“But for now, can I make ya feel good? Because I'm willing to bet no guy has made you come while fucking ya.”
Unlike in the past, where Bob’s smartass comments earned him a shove, you pressed your lips against his.
“I'm gonna start moving now, okay?” Even though he warned you, nothing could have prepared you for how full Bob made you when his hips thrusted upwards.
“You're-fuck- you feel so good, oh my God.”
Your fingers tangled into Bob’s hair, trying to commit the feeling to memory.
Bob was trying to do the same, his hands roaming over your body as he took in your scent. Maybe if he asked nicely, you'd let him take a bottle of your perfume with him.
He was going to need it for the next few months.
Your mouth clashed against his, tongue desperate to taste him. Wandering hands desperate to feel everything everywhere.
“When-fuck- when I come back, wanna take you out. W-we can go to that Italian place by your school. The one where you have to wear a tie.” How Bob was able to talk coherently while fucking you was beyond comprehension.
The Navy will be lucky to have his great ability to multitask.
“Gonna bring ya flowers too. Sunflowers ‘cause they're-oh my god- you're favorite.” You didn't think you could recall your full name with the way Bob is thrusting into you, much less favorite things.
Your walls clench around Bob’s thick cock, eliciting a desperate groan from him, rather than the instant ejaculation you were used to.
“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna come,” Bob whined into the crook of your neck.
“That’s-shit- the point,” you grunted, your hips picking up speed.
Bob shook his head, “Need you to come first.”
Confusion caused you to still your hips, “Bob, I already-”
“Don't finish that sentence, don't you dare,” Bob ended his command with a strong thrust that made you feel as if he was splitting you open on his cock.
Your head dropped down to the crook of his neck. His skin was so warm and the smell of sage was nearly overwhelming. You knew exactly what body wash he had used, as it was the same one he wore ever since junior year, when you commented on how nice it was.
In hindsight, it was painfully obvious.
His lips found yours, capturing them in a desperate kiss. When you felt his fingers draw circles on your clit, you saw stars.
You didn't know it could feel this good with someone. This was more than a quick fuck, as you actually felt cared for. It was intense, the sensitivity of your first orgasm still echoing every time the thick head of his cock brushed against your walls.
It's audible how wet you are for Bob. He can feel it at the base of his cock, which makes him wonder what it would be like to have you on your knees, or better, your back, all spread out for him.
“C’mon sweet girl,” he’s panting, voice desperate and raspy, “Wanna-fuck! Wanna feel you come s’bad, please, please baby.”
Each circle drawn on your clit causes the band in your stomach to tighten. Combined with Bob’s words, you knew you wouldn't last much longer.
“You're incredible, shit, I-fuck. All yours. Wanna be all yours. Fuck fuck fuck, clenching me so hard, fuck, don't stop.” Obscene was not a word many, if any, would use to describe Bob Floyd.
Up until thirty minutes ago, you would have considered yourself part of that group.
But now? Now you were falling apart on his cock. The rush of pleasure had hit like a brick, coursing through your veins. It hit harder than anything else, harder than the now banned alcohol caffeine combo drink, or any controlled substance doctors had prescribed to help you focus.
His finger-fuck, usually you had to use two of your own- didn’t stop rubbing your clit, nor does he stop thrusting in and out of your pulsing cunt. It's almost as if-no, you know Bob’s enjoying making you feel euphoria.
That's what blows your mind. His laser focus on your pleasure, rather than his own. Truthfully, he could have come already and you wouldn't have thought twice about it.
But now it was all you could think about. How much he cared, how good he felt. How incredible it was for him to pull your hips flushed against his, filling you to the brim with his cock.
“Holy shit you're so tight-I, sh-should I pull out?”
Instead of answering, you used all your strength to rock your hips against him. Considering he made you come twice, the least you could do was help him find his release.
Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging on the strands as your mouth clashed against his.
The downright guttural groan he releases against your mouth has you clamping down on his cock. The motion finally leads to Bob’s undoing, causing him to come deep inside you, warmth flooding your body.
His arms are wrapped around your body, clinging onto you as if he thinks you'll disappear if he lets go.
You’d be a damn fool to.
The basement is now quiet, apart from the heavy breathing coming from both you and Bob.
After several minutes pass by, you gather the courage to break the silence, “Did you mean all that? Taking me out on a date and being mine?”
Bob’s cheek burned a bright red as he timidly nodded his head, “I….yeah. I didn't mean to say it when we were, you know. I'm sorry.”
You pressed a reassuring kiss to his warm cheek, “Robby, what do you feel the need to apologize for?”
He looked up to you, those earnest blue eyes sparkling, “Shit timing?”
“You're not wrong about that, but like you said earlier, I want to work it out with you.” Your words brought comfort, giving Bob the confidence to place a sweet kiss right on your lips. His smile was burning into yours, causing your stomach to flutter.
“I know it's not that Italian restaurant, but can I take you out to breakfast tomorrow?”
The local diner had been a go-to since y'all were thirteen. But this time would be different. This time you wouldn't feel the urge to look away when he caught you staring. This time neither one would correct the waitress when she'd make a comment about y'all being a cute couple.
The soft call of your name pulled you out of your thoughts.
“Uh can I….eat you out again? Tomorrow obviously! Like before we go to the diner?”
Good Lord this man was going to be the death of you.
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#my writing#Bob Floyd#Robert Floyd#Robert Bob Floyd#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#Bob fucks#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd fic#Bob Floyd smut#bob floyd x y/n#bob floyd x female reader#top gun smut#top gun fanfiction
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Some Things Take Time | Bob Floyd x Reader
Summary: Bob is a man well known for his patience. He never rushes things in the air, and he tries to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. You and he are both on the same page about welcoming a child into your home through foster care, but it's hard for him to watch you try to bond with her unsuccessfully. He soon realizes that Avery is a lot like him, and that some things are worth the extra time.
Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of infertility, mentions of foster care and adoption, Bob making all other men look like trash
Length: 5800 words
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader
Happy birthday @wkndwlff! Check my masterlist for more!
You were laying on the couch with your head resting on your husband's lap, spinning his wedding band around on his finger while you tried to put your thoughts into words. You could tell he knew you were on the verge of speaking, sending you several expectant glances as you and he both pretended to watch the movie he started an hour ago. But Bob would never rush you, and you were thankful for that, because you wanted to make sure you got this right.
"We've been trying for a long time," you whispered, and Bob's blue eyes met yours as you looked up at him. "Almost two years."
He nodded once and smiled softly. "We have," he murmured, squeezing your hand in his larger one. You pressed your lips together as tears stung your eyes. Bob never seemed upset that he was pushing forty years old and in spite of trying and trying, you'd never gotten pregnant. He never put pressure on you to keep trying or to stop. You were convinced he never would, but you wanted to know what he was really thinking.
"What if we... stopped. Stopped trying. And just went with an alternative?"
"Honey, I already told you I'm happy with things how they are. We can stop trying if you want to, or we can talk about alternatives if you want to do that. But there's nothing wrong with just you and me. In fact, I'm really quite enjoying myself."
You closed your eyes as his fingers drifted along the curves of your side. It would be delicious to get back into the habit of having sex when you wanted to instead of when your cycle demanded it. You and Bob sharing your undivided attention with each other was something you were craving, but you still wanted something else, too.
"What if I said I wanted to look into fostering and adoption again?" you asked softly as you started to sit up.
He pulled you closer so you were straddling his thigh. "Then I would say we can call our lawyer on Monday and get some answers."
You smiled as you nudged his glasses with your nose and kissed his cheek. "And what if I said I'm not fertile today, but I want you anyway?"
Bob reached for the remote and turned the movie off as a soft blush rose in his cheeks. "Then I would say it's time we got in bed, Honey."
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Bob was a man who was well known for his patience. He never rushed things in the air, and he tried to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. He knew he wanted to marry you about halfway through the first date. He also knew you would have looked at him like he was insane if he admitted that to you halfway through the first date. So instead of rushing things, he took the time to make sure you were on the same page he was and that you were comfortable. He always tried to do that.
When a baby just didn't seem to be happening, he was more than willing to keep trying, but he was also completely content with the idea of no kids at all. It wasn't worth rushing anything as long as he had you in his life. But you had recently convinced him of a third option, and his lawyer helped the two of you smooth out the details.
And this is how Avery ended up at Bob's house on a random Monday evening. She was eight years old and in need of a foster family, and you were adamant when you answered the phone call that you and Bob were more than ready for her to be dropped off even on such short notice.
"I'm so nervous," you whispered as you held Bob's hand and watched through the front window as a van pulled up.
"I'm excited," he told you with a soft laugh. When he thought about having kids, he always pictured a little girl. For some reason, the idea of reading princess stories and painting a bedroom a putrid shade of purple really appealed to him. As he watched Avery being led up the walkway, he realized she didn't look one bit like you or him. He also realized that having a child who resembled him was actually never part of his dreams.
As the doorbell rang, you bounced in place and whispered, "She's here. She's really here."
Bob pulled you in for a kiss as his heart thudded. He realized he needed to tamp down his excitement a little bit. The two of you were merely fostering Avery. Nothing was set in stone even though you told the lawyer you wanted to eventually adopt a child. But right now your eyes were glittering with hope and anticipation, and Bob couldn't take that away from you.
"Let's make her feel welcome," he said as you both headed for the door.
Avery stood there with an unreadable expression on her adorable face, and Bob noticed right away how the case worker seemed to rush through everything. There were papers to sign and a schedule to keep, and even though all of it pertained to Avery, she ended up sitting quietly at the kitchen table while everyone else talked about her.
It was late by the time you and Bob were alone with her, and now her unreadable expression looked something like sadness. "Avery," Bob said softly. "Do you want to see your bedroom?"
She looked up at him and nodded without saying a word, and then you helped her down from the chair. You had taken the time to freshen up the extra bedroom and buy a pink glitter toothbrush and a pair of pajamas in her size. But Avery just sat down on the edge of the bed with her bag and asked, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"
"Yes," Bob replied with a smile. "I'll drop you off on my way to work, and then I'll pick you up in the afternoon."
When she didn't respond, you asked, "Is there anything you want? A bedtime snack or something to drink? I could make you some hot chocolate or get you a cookie. Bob makes the best oatmeal cookies, and there are a few left from the weekend. Maybe you can help Bob make the next batch." You were rambling now, and Bob reached out to squeeze your hand as you said, "We're just excited that you're here."
But Avery shook her head and told you, "I'll just read my book. Thanks." Then she untied her shoes and took a well worn copy of The Secret Garden from her bag, but she sat on the bed with rigid posture, not looking at either of you.
Bob wasn't quite sure what to do. You'd already shown the child where the bathroom was, and she seemed to have all of her essentials. He swallowed hard, deciding not to rush Avery even though he could feel your disappointment radiating off of you. He cleared his throat and said, "We'll leave our bedroom door open in case you need anything. And we'll get you up around seven for school. Good night, Avery."
She just nodded and squinted down at the tattered book cover like she was going to cry. Bob led you down the hallway, through your room and into the en suite bathroom where he gathered you in his arms as tears filled your eyes. "I don't think she likes us," you gasped before you buried your face against his neck.
Bob kissed the top of your head and whispered, "I just think she needs some time. Let's not rush anything."
-------------------------
You cried yourself to sleep the first night. You knew that your response wasn't fair to Bob or Avery or even to yourself, but you'd imagined meeting a little girl who was at least a little bit more talkative if not upbeat. You had your hopes set on fostering a child who at least gave the impression that your home was better than another alternative. You'd been given a vague picture of where Avery had come from, and you wanted her to be comfortable here, but now you felt stupid for buying the glitter toothbrush and the Minnie Mouse pajamas.
Bob's hand drew lazy circles on your back as you turned away from him and cried softly. "It's just the first night," he reminded you in that sweet, even tone that you loved so much.
"I know. I just wanted this so desperately," you admitted between shaky breaths. His hand on your body helped you eventually fall asleep, and the next morning, Bob was up before you, making breakfast. When you tapped on Avery's door which was ajar, you poked your head in to find her once again sitting on the bed reading.
"Did you sleep okay?" you asked, and she nodded in response. "That's great!" you said in a tone of forced excitement. "Do you need help getting ready for school?"
"No," she said softly, setting the book aside.
You took a deep breath and said, "Bob's making breakfast. Do you want to come downstairs and eat?"
"Yes."
That was the last word you heard her speak before Bob led her out to his car in his uniform. He smiled at you over his shoulder as he told you to have a good day working on your true crime novel, but you knew you weren't going to. You spend two hours trying to write, but you ended up with three and a half new sentences. Instead, you spent most of the day thinking you'd made a huge mistake and hating your own body. Avery would probably last two weeks tops with you and Bob before she was begging to go somewhere else. You didn't even know if you could stand to see her melancholy little expression when your husband brought her home from school today, but you didn't want to call her case worker for help yet.
In the afternoon, you bought everything you needed to make oatmeal cookies along with the rest of your usual groceries. You paused next to the checkout line where there was a display of children's books and grabbed a few of them. Avery appeared to like her book more than anything else, so maybe she would appreciate these ones, too.
But when Bob brought Avery home with him after school, she barely spoke. She didn't want to help make any cookies, and after dinner, she went back to her bedroom. Bob tried to help her with her homework, but she told him it was easy and she already finished it. When you dropped off the new books, she told you she already had a favorite.
"Oh," you said, standing in the doorway with your hands full of the unwanted books. "That's good... that you have a favorite. I have a favorite book, too."
She looked up at you and nodded, but soon you were backing out of the room and trying to hide your tears from Bob. "It takes time," he reassured you as you balled your hands into fists and cried on him again.
You knew you needed to be as patient as he always was, but you just weren't like him. And you started talking before you could stop yourself. "If we could have gotten pregnant, we'd have our own child," you sobbed. "One that we raised from day one who would love us and bake cookies and read new books."
Bob kissed your ear and whispered, "Nothing is easy, Honey. But sometimes the harder something is at first, the more rewarding it is later on."
You cried yourself to sleep again.
------------------------
Bob tried his best for that first week. He watched you start to pull away and retreat into yourself the more Avery kept to her bedroom. Every day when he dropped her off and picked her up, she thanked him for the ride. When he asked if she would rather start taking the bus, she told him it didn't matter. When he asked if there was something special she wanted to eat for dinner, she said she wasn't picky.
And all the while she just squinted down at her book. Just The Secret Garden even though you brought home some others. When he pulled up to the curb in front of her school one morning, he said, "Avery, would you like me to take you to the library one day? Or maybe a bookstore where you can pick out what you want?"
She looked at him as she grabbed her backpack in one hand and her book in the other. "Maybe." Then she climbed out of the car, and he waited to pull away until she was inside the school building. That was the most promising answer he'd received yet. He drove to work thinking about signing her up for a library card, and when he got there, he was in a much better mood.
Natasha was the only one who knew that Avery was under his care. He didn't want to give anyone too many details, but she sweetly asked him the same question every morning after they got to work. "How are you and the Mrs. making out with your houseguest?"
And this morning, he said, "Maybe a little better today, Nat. I'm just trying not to rush it."
She patted him on the chest and smiled. "You never do, Bob. You're a man of details."
She was right. He spent the day thinking about all of the details that he knew about Avery. She was eight years old and very quiet. She only wanted to read one book even though you offered her more. She seemed to find the most comfort when she was alone. She was honestly a lot like Bob.
When he picked Avery up from school, he watched as one of the teachers patted the top of her backpack and sent her on her way. She squinted toward his car before trudging over in his direction with a frown on her face. Bob sighed as she climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in. "How was your day, Avery?" he asked as he shifted into drive. But today he got no verbal response at all. Instead he heard her crying.
Without another word, Bob pulled his car around and into an empty parking spot before killing the engine. He opened his door and closed it before taking a few deep breaths, and then he climbed in the back door and settled in next to the crying child. He let one hand gently rest on her shoulder, giving her a small squeeze before asking, "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"
She just shook her head as tears flowed down her cheeks, and she stared at her feet. "It's stupid."
Bob smiled slightly. "You might think so, but I'd probably find what you have to say fascinating."
She turned her head to look at him, examining his face to see if he was being honest. But of course he was. He just wanted her to tell him what was on her mind. It took a few minutes before she started to settle down, but eventually she said, "I failed my eye exam with the nurse today." She unzipped her bag and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper and handed it to him. "She told me my eyesight is terrible and that I need to get glasses."
Bob looked at the page and had to hide his alarm from her. Avery failed her eye exam spectacularly. It was a wonder to Bob that she was even able to see in her classroom. But now her squinting and her preference for one, well worn book were starting to make sense. As he filled in the blanks in his mind, he said, "Glasses aren't so bad," while he tapped his own silver frames. "They certainly make my day a lot easier."
She kind of rolled her eyes and said, "But you're an adult. People aren't going to make fun of you for wearing glasses."
"You think you'll get made fun of?" Bob asked softly, folding the yellow paper in half.
"Yes," she replied immediately as she wiped at her tears. "I already do. Glasses will make it so much worse."
Bob wanted to press her for more details, but he didn't think this was the right moment. Instead he asked, "Is that why you only like to read The Secret Garden? Because you already know most of the words by heart?"
Avery looked at him like she couldn't believe he solved a very complex riddle. "Yes."
He nodded and asked, "Would you like to be able to read other books, too? Because glasses would definitely help with that."
She shrugged and sniffed as she said, "I like books about gardens and flowers and fairies. I don't know of any other ones I would like anyway."
Bob patted her on the shoulder one more time and said, "I like those kinds of books, too. And I think I can help you get glasses that look cool and help you pick out more books. If you'll let me."
Another partial shrug was his only answer, but at least she wasn't telling him no. As he climbed back into the driver's seat, he sent you a quick text telling you that he and Avery were fine and to go ahead and have dinner on your own. Then he drove along to his optometrist's office, hoping they would squeeze an extra appointment into their schedule.
"You're in luck," the receptionist told him when they arrived. "There was a last minute cancellation. Have a seat, and we can take you back shortly."
The rack hanging on the wall was filled with books and magazines for people of all ages, but Bob watched Avery squint as she took a seat empty handed. He skimmed a magazine and offered to read an article to her, but she said no. When ten minutes had passed, Bob asked her, "Are the kids at school mean to you?"
He was already considering other options that might make her feel more comfortable when she said, "I just don't fit in. Everyone else has parents or grandparents. Everyone else is loud, and I like it better when it's quiet. Everyone else already made friends."
Bob nodded his head. It was like she was living his own childhood in many ways. "I like it better when it's quiet, too. So does my wife. And making friends can be hard at any age. I still struggle with it."
"You do?" she asked him, eyes wide and interested.
"Absolutely. Sometimes I still get nervous and stumble over what I want to say, and I'm thirty-nine. And you know what?"
"What?"
"There's nothing wrong with that."
He watched Avery take a deep breath and look down at her hands before both of their names were called. Once they were in the exam room, Bob got to witness her fail the test for the second time in one day, and then her tears started up again. The crying was only made worse when the receptionist popped in and tried to quietly tell Bob that Avery wasn't approved for any vision insurance.
The child was clearly smart as a whip, and if she was having a hard time fitting in at school, he didn't want to make it worse by making her feel like she didn't fit in with you and him either. "I was planning on paying out of pocket today," he told the receptionist who just nodded in response. Then he turned to Avery and said, "Looks like the nurse was right. How about we pick out some glasses?"
She looked at the displays while she wiped at her eyes with a tissue, but she wouldn't tell Bob which ones she wanted to try on. "Which ones are the cheapest?" she asked softly.
"I have no idea," Bob replied easily. "What's your favorite color?"
"Purple," she whispered, and Bob followed her squinting gaze to a purple frame sitting on a shelf above her head.
"I like purple, too," he said as he reached them down and handed them to her. She held them for a couple minutes, and Bob decided not to rush her. She finally slipped them on and looked in the mirror, and he told her, "I think they look cool."
She nodded a little bit. "They're pretty good. But nobody else at school has purple glasses."
As she removed them and tried to hand them back to him, Bob quickly looked at the adult sized frames. There was one pair that came in a deep purple, and he kind of liked them. "Just hang onto those for a minute. I need help picking out new glasses for myself, okay? What do you think about these?"
When he removed his wire frames and replaced them with the purple plastic, it seemed like Avery couldn't help but smile. "I like them."
He nodded once. "Then I'll get them. That way we can match since we both like purple. Thanks for your help."
"You're welcome," she replied quietly, looking at the glasses she was still holding before handing them to Bob.
He took both pairs in his hand before nodding toward the door. "I'm feeling like it's a good day to get ice cream for dinner and look around the bookstore. I can think of at least two more books that you might like to read once your glasses are ready for you to wear. Sound good?"
"Yes."
--------------------------
You didn't know what to expect when Bob brought Avery home after seven o'clock on a school night, but you definitely weren't prepared to hear her laughter for the first time. You'd barely made any progress on your novel since Avery arrived a few weeks ago, merely existing in your own funk all day long. But the sound of Bob's voice followed by her light giggle as they walked inside left you feeling better than you had in ages.
"Hi," you said, your voice dripping with optimism as Bob headed your way with a shopping bag in his hand.
"Hi, Honey," he replied, kissing your cheek while Avery took her shoes off.
"How was school?" you asked her.
"Terrible," she told you with a smile aimed up at Bob. "I failed my eye exam."
"Oh," you gasped, already making a mental note to call the eye doctor first thing in the morning so she could get some glasses. "We can take care of it for you."
"Already did," Bob said as he squeezed your hand. "Stopped on the way home and picked them out. Should be ready next week."
"Really?" you asked in surprise as he pulled two books out of the bag. Both were covered in vines and flowers, but one was clearly a novel for an adult while the other was much slimmer and looked like it was for Avery's reading level.
"Yes," he replied softly. "Now, on the drive home, I told Avery that you're a writer, but that you're also really good at reading books out loud." When you nodded and looked at her, she was squinting up at you. Bob handed you the smaller book and said, "I didn't get to take a shower before I left work, so I need to go do that now. But I promised Avery that you'd read a chapter to her after she gets ready for bed." He patted her on the shoulder and then made his way upstairs.
Your head was swimming with information. New glasses and new books and a child who was looking up at you with hope in her eyes. A husband who set up some time for you to spend alone with her. Tears stung your eyes as you said, "I love reading books out loud. Do you want to change for bed and brush your teeth now?"
Ten minutes later, you were sitting next to Avery on the spare bed, reading to her about a magical garden filled with flowers that turned the characters into superheroes. You read all sixteen pages of the first chapter, and then she asked you to read more.
It was a little bit past bedtime when you finished the third chapter, and she was yawning. "How about I go get you one of my bookmarks from my office? And we can read more tomorrow night?"
"Okay," she replied easily, and when you returned a minute later with a bookmark that had a purple tassel, she smiled. "I like this book so far, but I think I'd like it a lot better if there were fairies, too. Thank you for reading to me."
"You're very welcome," you told her, barely shutting off the light in time for a tear to slide down your cheek. "Goodnight, Avery."
When you rushed into your own bedroom, Bob was in bed reading the other new book. "How did you do it?" you asked him, quickly climbing under the covers with him. "How did you get her to open up a little bit?"
He set the book down with a soft smile. "She just needed some time, Honey. She's a lot like me. She can't be rushed."
"No," you said, pushing your fingers through his hair as you cried a little bit. "That's not it. I think you're actually magical."
"Maybe," he agreed. "But her vision is so bad. That's why I think she kept reading The Secret Garden. She probably has it memorized and didn't want to tell anyone she couldn't see."
"Poor thing," you whispered, realizing that most of Bob's magic came from his patience as you fell asleep in his arms.
-------------------------
A week later, Bob noticed you were exhausted, but you seemed a lot happier, because Avery seemed a lot happier. You had successfully read two books to her, and she was starting to become more vocal around the house. He was hoping she was having an easier time making friends at school now, too. But he was a little bit concerned with how late into the night you'd been working.
When he got a message around lunchtime letting him know both pairs of glasses were ready, he smiled. Pretty soon Avery would be able to attempt reading a new book on her own. He sent you a text letting you know that he'd be home with Avery after a quick stop back at the optometrist's office. And when he picked her up from school, she squinted at his car before climbing in the backseat.
"Ready to go get our new glasses?" he asked before pulling out onto the road.
"Yes," she replied softly. "I've decided that wearing glasses is a better alternative than not being able to read new books. At least until I can get contacts."
Bob chuckled. "A wise choice."
A few seconds later, she asked, "Will you take me to the library this weekend? There have to be more books there that I'd like."
"Of course I'll take you to the library. We can ask the librarian to help you find you as many books as you want to read."
He hoped that would make the new glasses an even easier decision for her. He parked and led her inside where the eye doctor got them both fitted correctly before handing them a mirror. "What do you think?" Bob asked as he smiled at Avery. "I think they look cool on you."
She shrugged. "They're okay."
"Can you see better?"
"Yes," she whispered. On the way outside, she said, "Thanks for getting new glasses with me. I like yours, too."
Bob checked himself in the mirror before he backed out of the parking spot. "I think it's kind of my color."
You were waiting in the living room for them when Bob opened the front door. The house smelled like dinner cooking, and you had a stack of bound pages on the couch next to you. When you jumped to your feet, you said, "You both look great!" as you bounced in place a little bit.
"Purple is kind of our color," Avery said, making Bob laugh as you covered your massive smile with your fingertips.
"It really is," you replied, wrapping Bob in a quick hug before cautiously placing your hand on Avery's shoulder for a beat. "I have something I wanted to show you. I was hoping to get your opinion."
"Me?" she asked, looking up at you, eyes wide behind her purple frames.
"Yes," you told her softly. "I've been working on a new story for the past week, and I really think you'll be able to help me with the ending."
"What kind of story?" she asked you, and Bob slowly made his way into the kitchen where he could still hear the two of you talking.
"Well," you told her as she joined you on the couch, "it's about a fairy who gets invited to live in a magic garden. And she starts to learn how to use magic herself while a friendly witch and a kind wizard supervise her. And the garden is really pretty, and she loves it there and starts to make friends with the other creatures. Do you want to take a look at it?"
"Okay."
Bob hovered in the doorway and watched you hand the bound manuscript to the little girl next to you while you chewed nervously on your lip. He knew you wanted this to work out; he did too. He was also very surprised that you'd been working on this for the past week without sharing your secret even with him. But it truthfully wasn't really for him. It was for her. And you.
The child looked up at you and whispered, "You named the fairy Avery."
You just nodded and smiled. "Your name is so pretty, and you remind me of the kind of little girl who would have magic inside her."
Avery turned back to the page in front of her and snuggled in a little bit closer to you. She started reading out loud, and after a few pages, handed it over to you for a little bit. The two of you went back and forth like this for an hour before Bob carried in two plates of dinner and set them on the coffee table.
"Even magic fairies get hungry," he said softly before leaving both of you to the story.
---------------------------
When you woke up a few weeks later on Avery's ninth birthday, you were beyond exhausted. The past few nights had been late ones for you as you tried to finish up and edit the story you'd been working on. The title that the two of you came up with was The Littlest Fairy in the Garden, and you were just as proud of this as your true crime releases.
Then you realized that there was actually a reason why you woke up. You could hear Bob talking. It sounded like he was on the phone even though it was barely eight o'clock. You climbed out of bed and stretched before finding him sitting on the floor in the walk-in closet talking softly on the phone in his pajama pants, undershirt and purple glasses.
"I'm sure she's going to agree with me. We want to move forward if that's what Avery wants, but I'll call you back in an hour or two. Thank you so much."
He ended the call right when you asked, "Who was that?"
Bob jumped a bit as he looked up at you with a tentative smile. "Our lawyer," he whispered.
"What did they say?" you whispered back as he got to his feet and wrapped his arms around you.
When Bob's lips found your ear, you shivered at his words. "It was just a preliminary conversation, but they asked if we would be interested in pursuing adoption."
"With Avery?" you gasped, and he nodded against you.
"Yes. With Avery."
Tears filled your eyes as you clung to him. You thought about all the books she'd been reading with you and the birthday cake waiting in the kitchen. You could practically still smell the oatmeal cookies she and Bob made a few days ago. You could picture her smile and imagine her laughter, both of which were coming more easily with each passing day. "I want to adopt her. She belongs here. With us."
"I think so, too," he replied immediately, and you could hear the unshed tears in her voice. "I think we should have a conversation with her about it today. The process could take a little time, but I want to be sure it's what she wants as well."
You nodded, a jerky motion against him as your heart pounded faster and faster. "Let's talk about it when she wakes up."
Bob led you downstairs to the kitchen, his fingers laced with yours, and he started to crack some eggs while you made coffee and fresh orange juice. Avery had picked the menu for each meal today for her birthday, and the plan was to take her to the zoo after lunch. There was currently a purple banner with flowers and fairies on it stretched across the kitchen along with a large assortment of balloons. You couldn't remember being this excited about something in such a long time.
"Good morning," came a soft voice from the bottom of the stairs, and you nearly dropped a mug on the floor as you turned to look at her.
"Happy birthday!" you and Bob replied in unison, and then all three of you started laughing.
Without another word, Avery made her way into the kitchen in her Minnie Mouse pajamas and gave you a hug around the waist. You gasped softly as you hugged her back, her purple glasses pressing against you. Then she tucked herself against Bob's side and hugged him right after that. "Thanks for all the birthday stuff. And thanks for being so nice to me and getting me glasses and everything."
You and Bob shared a look over her head as he rubbed his hand along her shoulder. "It makes us happy that you're here, Avery," he said softly, and you had to swipe at your tears. "Let's have your breakfast, and maybe we can talk about making this permanent."
"Permanent? Like me staying here for a while?" she asked softly as she looked up at him.
"Like you staying here forever."
--------------------------
This is a little birthday treat for @wkndwlff! I hope you have a great day, Taylor! I set out to write a nice little story based on this mood board, but somehow it turned into this angsty thing instead. Thanks to @sylviebell @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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#bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#robert bob floyd#bob floyd x female reader#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd fic#robert floyd#bob floyd fanfiction#robert floyd imagine#robert floyd x reader#robert floyd fic#bob floyd#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#roosterforme#some things take time#tw infertility
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Like Peas in a Pod
Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader
Summary: What happens when two wallflowers find each other?
Word Count: 5.7k
Author’s Note: I admit that this story is extremely self-indulgent. But I have a feeling that a lot of people can relate to what our leading lady goes through, and I hope you can find pieces of yourself in her!
Warnings: Mild angst, social awkwardness, feeling overlooked, alcohol consumption, flirting, fluff.
If you’d had it your way, you would be at home right now, curled up on the couch in a pair of cozy pajamas with a good book and a steaming cup of tea in hand. But instead, your friends had outnumbered you 3-1 and you were currently sitting in the middle of a noisy, crowded bar, the patrons loudly competing with the music that was blaring through the speakers.
“Do we have to go out tonight?” you’d groaned over FaceTime a few hours earlier. “It’s been such a long week. Can’t we just do a wine night and put on some movies?”
“We did that last week!” Shawna argued. “C’mon, I just got my nails done. Don’t let it be for nothing,” she teased, wiggling her manicured fingers in front of the camera.
“Besides,” Kelsey chimed in, “like you said, it has been a long week. We deserve a night out to unwind and treat ourselves.”
“Hopefully we’ll find other people to treat us,” Renee added cheekily, tossing her unruly dark curls over her shoulder as she winked.
“Besides, the girls at work told me this is a really fun bar. Apparently it’s where all the hotties from North Island go after work,” Shawna giggled.
Your former college roommate had just started a new nursing job at Naval Medical Center San Diego, so if anyone was going to know where the hot Navy guys spent their off hours, it would be her.
“It’s settled! We’re going to The Hard Deck, ladies,” Renee grinned, blowing you all a kiss. “Meet at my place at 8 and we’ll Uber over.”
As much as you would have preferred to stay at home tonight, you had to admit that Shawna hadn’t been wrong. From the moment you’d stepped foot inside The Hard Deck, you’d been amazed at the sheer number of attractive men crowding the space. You certainly never found men like this when you hit the bars downtown.
Renee, ever the mastermind when it came to scoping out the most advantageous situations, quickly managed to grab your group a table smack in the middle of the room. It had an excellent vantage point that not only made you most visible to the bar’s patrons, but also gave you a perfect view of the pool table, the dart boards, and the bar all at once.
“Cheers, ladies!” Kelsey exclaimed once you were all seated with your first round of drinks. “And a special toast to Shawna for telling us about this place!” she added with a grin, holding up her glass of hard cider.
The rest of you held up your drinks—Renee had opted for a bottle of Coors, Shawna had gone with an IPA, and you had chosen a High Noon—and clinked them together with a celebratory “Cheers!”
“Tonight’s the night that you’re finally going to find yourself a man,” Shawna told you, turning to you and playfully poking you in the side.
“Yes, it is!” Renee nodded in agreement, winking at you from across the table as she took a sip of her beer.
“Take your pick, babe,” Kelsey added, waving her hand to encompass the whole bar. “I’ve literally never seen so many gorgeous guys all in one place. And in uniform, too!”
You felt the back of your neck prickling and your skin growing warm at your friends’ expectant stares, a weak smile gracing your lips as you took a sip of your drink. It always ended up being like this. You loved your friends, and you knew they meant well, but they had no idea what it was like to be in your shoes.
The four of you had been best friends since college, despite the fact that you couldn’t have been more different from one another if you tried. Kelsey always joked that your four personalities combined helped to balance each other out.
Despite their differences in looks, style, and demeanor, Shawna, Renee, and Kelsey did all have one thing in common that you had never seemed to possess—the ability to turn men’s heads no matter where they were.
Shawna had the perfectly sweet girl-next-door vibe going on. With her strawberry blonde locks, big blue eyes, dusting of freckles, and curvy figure, she always attracted guys like bees to a flower.
At any given time, Kelsey looked like she had just walked off the runway. Even in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, she managed to look chic. With her tall, willowy figure, sleek dark brown bob, almond-shaped eyes, and lips that never needed lipstick, she had men drooling all over her.
Arguably the most exuberant member of the group was Renee, who had been a firecracker for as long as you had known her. The only thing bigger than her laugh was her smile, and she had the most gorgeous ebony curls that contrasted perfectly with her cinnamon-colored skin. Paired with her petite figure, she drew men in like moths to a flame.
And then there was you. Quiet, shy, bookish you. Throughout college, people had often commented that you seemed like the most grounded out of all your friends, but you knew what that really meant. You were boring. And you knew what people were really trying to say—how had you become friends with such fun-loving girls?
You loved your friends more than anything, and you were grateful for the ways they’d helped you come out of your shell since college. But you’d be lying if you said going out to bars with them wasn’t challenging at times.
They all knew how to light up a room, how to flirt and talk to random strangers and get phone numbers from the hottest men you’d ever seen. You—didn’t know how to do any of that.
You’d tried over the years, you really had. Mainly at the girls’ insistence. You made an effort to flirt with the guys they introduced you to, or strike up conversations with random cuties at your favorite coffee shop, but it never seemed to work for you the way that it did for your friends. And guys never approached you the way they did Shawna and Kelsey and Renee.
The most painful experience had been a couple months ago, when a guy had come up to you while you were waiting to order a drink, smiling and chatting in a way that had you thinking he was interested. Your heart had soared inside your chest, only to crash a few moments later when he asked, “So, is your friend single?” while pointing at Kelsey.
You hadn’t told any of your friends about that encounter. You knew they’d just feel bad and you didn’t want them to. They were desperate to find somebody for you, and you didn’t have the heart to tell them that you’d given up hoping for that a long time ago. They just wouldn’t understand. They went on dates all the time. You were just the one guys approached to inquire after their relationship statuses.
“Don’t give us that look,” Renee told you, shaking her head and pointing an accusatory finger at you as you attempted to slink down in your seat. “You look hot tonight, and you need to show it off!”
“You do,” Shawna nodded vehemently, nudging you in the side again until you sat up straight. “I love that top.”
“See? I told you it was a solid purchase,” Kelsey winked, as she had been the one to convince you to buy the top in question when the two of you had gone shopping a couple weeks ago.
Despite your lack of hopefulness, you had put a good deal of effort into your appearance tonight. You couldn’t help it. A bar full of hot guys in sexy uniforms? You’d be crazy not to try. You’d spent over an hour on your hair and make-up, and had decided to finally take the tags off the top Kelsey had convinced you to buy. The neckline flattered your figure and hugged your body in all the right places. You’d coupled it with a pair of high-waisted jeans and strappy sandals to show off your pedicure. Even you had to admit that you looked good, but you still hadn’t seemed to catch the eye of any guy in the bar.
“Let’s just enjoy the night and focus on us,” you said, trying to deflect your friends’ intense attention. “If anybody else happens to come along, then so be it.”
The girls all shot you dissatisfied looks, but didn’t push the point any further. Shawna started regaling you all with stories from her new job, which allowed you to let out a soft sigh of relief.
As the night went on, you tried your best not to grow discouraged, but it was getting harder and harder. Countless guys had passed by your table, stopping to flirt with Renee or Kelsey or Shawna, or even all three, but their eyes skipped over you like you were invisible. Whenever your friends tried to direct their attention your way, they smiled politely before instantly turning back to the actual objects of their attraction. Every time you got up to use the bathroom or order another round at the bar, you attempted to smile and make eye contact and appear open and interested, all the things your friends had been telling you to do for years, but none of it worked.
At that point, all you wanted to do was go home, put on your pajamas, and live vicariously through a good rom com.
You were about to tell your friends that you were going to get going when one of the bartenders—if you’d heard correctly earlier, she might have been the owner—approached your table with a tray full of drinks, a smile gracing her lovely face.
“Ladies, these are for you,” she said, setting down a cider for Kelsey, a Coors for Renee, an IPA for Shawna, and a High Noon for you.
“Oh,” Shawna said, her blue eyes widening in surprise. “I think there might have been a mistake. We didn’t order another round, did we?” she asked, looking at the rest of you.
“Not that we won’t take them,” Renee chimed in with that bright laugh of hers.
The woman smiled at the four of you. “No mistake. These drinks are compliments of the group over there,” she chuckled, pointing at a group of officers clustered around the pool table.
The four of you turned your gazes in the direction she was pointing, your friends letting out various sounds of delighted surprise when they realized the men in question looked as though they had just been featured on the cover of Men’s Health magazine.
“Oh, we’ll definitely take them!” Renee beamed, flipping her dark curls over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Kelsey grinned up at the older woman gratefully.
“Of course,” she nodded, tucking her empty tray under her arm. She leaned in a little closer with a conspiratorial smile and whispered, “I’ll vouch for the fact that they’re good guys. But if they act like idiots, just come find me. My name is Penny.”
“Thanks, Penny,” Shawna giggled, reaching for her new drink. “We owe you one!”
Penny winked at you before heading back to the bar, which was surrounded by thirsty customers. Business was booming. If Penny was the owner as you suspected, then she must have been doing quite well.
“Should we go thank them for the drinks?” Shawna grinned, chewing on her lower lip as she glanced in the direction of the handsome officers at the pool table.
“Not yet,” Renee decided, smirking mischievously. “We’ll let them sweat it out a little bit first.”
“Renee!” Kelsey laughed, lightly smacking her on the arm.
“What? You know it’ll work. They’ll be eating out of the palms of our hands,” Renee grinned, taking a hearty sip of her Coors.
“They look cute,” you ventured, though your palms were already sweating at the thought of approaching them. You highly doubted any of them would be eating out of your clammy palms.
Clearly you shouldn’t have said anything, because suddenly all three of your friends were pouncing on you like ravenous wolves.
“Which one do you think is the cutest?”
“Do you see one you like?”
“Claim one now before we get over there!”
Their words loudly overlapped one another, to the point that you had to resist the urge to cover your ears with your hands.
“I—I—I don’t know!” you exclaimed, feeling your skin grow warm with embarrassment. You hated being the center of attention. “I just meant—I mean, they look cute for you guys.”
“Um, last I checked, you were just as single as the rest of us. Why wouldn’t they be cute for you, too?” Kelsey demanded, raising one of her perfectly waxed eyebrows.
“Please, you guys, let’s just drop it. I’m probably going to start heading home soon anyway,” you told them, sliding down in your seat and wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
“What? No, you can’t!” Renee and Shawna practically cried in unison.
“C’mon, we’ll go over to them now,” Renee decided, grabbing her drink and her purse. “You can’t leave yet,” she insisted.
Kelsey and Shawna nodded, grabbing their things and following suit, nearly having to drag you out of your seat to get you to come with them.
“Well, well, well, fellas,” smirked a blonde-headed officer as the four of you approached the pool table. “Looks like our little gift didn’t go unnoticed after all.”
Glancing down quickly, you spotted the name printed on his nameplate—Seresin. He was extremely handsome in that clean-cut, All-American way, with his perfectly coiffed blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and charming smile.
Renee, who always ended up being your group’s fearless leader, smirked in return as she stepped to the head of the pack. “Well, well, well, ladies. Looks like the guys who sent us those drinks aren’t half bad after all,” she said, resting a hand on her hip as she gazed up at the blonde man, challenge twinkling in her dark eyes. “Even if they weren’t brave enough to come bring us the drinks themselves.”
Kelsey and Shawna stood on either side of her, giggling softly, while you hung near the back, staring down at your feet as your cheeks burned hot.
“Most of us aren’t half bad. I can’t speak for Hangman here,” another voice piped up, deep and gravelly. You could sense, rather than see, Kelsey’s ears pricking up at the sound.
Glancing up, you saw another handsome man standing before you, looking every inch Kelsey’s type with his sunkissed brown hair, broad shoulders, tanned skin, and easygoing smile. If you knew Kelsey, you knew she was already imagining what that mustache would feel like against her lips. You clocked his nameplate as well—Bradshaw.
“Hangman?” Renee asked coquettishly, quirking an eyebrow as she glanced between the two men.
“My callsign,” the blonde cut in smoothly, pool cue still in hand. It was clear that while he and Bradshaw might be buddies, there was still a sense of competition between the two.
“Ah, callsigns. You’re fighter pilots,” Shawna commented, grinning knowingly. Thank goodness for her job at NMCSD. She was much more in the know than any of the rest of you.
“Not just any fighter pilots. The best fighter pilots,” came another voice from the other side of the pool table. When Hangman stepped to the side, you saw it belonged to a guy whose jawline looked like it could cut glass and whose smile could melt butter. His nameplate read Machado.
“Oh, yeah?” Kelsey asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “And who determines that?”
“The Navy,” Bradshaw replied smoothly, stepping a little closer to your statuesque friend. “We’re all TOPGUN graduates. The top 1%.”
“Hmm, and humble, too,” Kelsey laughed, delicately resting her hand on his arm as she did so. “So what’s your callsign then?”
“Rooster,” the mustached man told her, chest puffing out with pride. “But I’m being awfully rude. I didn’t catch your name,” he said, holding out his large hand.
“Kelsey,” she replied, her dark eyes twinkling as she slipped her hand into his.
You watched as, almost instantly, your friends partnered off quite naturally with the handsome aviators. Renee and Hangman were already bickering about the best way to sink the 8 ball, Kelsey and Rooster were talking about music near the window, and Shawna was flirting up a storm with Machado, whose callsign turned out to be Coyote.
Your stomach sank as you realized that you were suddenly on your own. As usual. Not that you resented your friends getting to flirt with cute guys. You always cheered them on when they met someone new, and you were always there to celebrate with them. You just wished that, for once, they had a reason to celebrate with you.
Glancing around, you saw that there were several other officers hanging around the pool table, though most of them seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations. No one was paying you any mind. And suddenly you felt like crying.
What was wrong with you? Was there something about you that just naturally repelled handsome men? Your friends were constantly telling you how beautiful you were, but that was hard to believe when you were the only one who never got hit on, never got asked out, never felt special or seen by anybody.
It was time to go home. You could feel the tears stinging the backs of your eyes, and the last thing you needed was to start bawling in the middle of a Navy bar. No one would notice if you just slipped away. You’d text your friends in the Uber and ask them to let you know how the rest of their night went. It always ended up being like this, and you weren’t sure why you had thought tonight would be any different.
Silently leaving your drink on the table with your friends’ things, you turned and began snaking your way through the crowd, trying to get to the bar so that you could close out your tab. Before you could get there, however, someone bumped into you from behind, sending your purse flying out of your hands.
Sighing softly, you dropped down to your hands and knees, praying you wouldn’t get stomped on as you tried to reach for it. Just as your hand was hovering over it, however, a much larger hand closed down around it and lifted it up.
Before you could shout for help, that same hand was hovering in front of your face, silently offering to help you up off the sticky bar floor. You lifted your head and your heart skipped a beat at the man who was gazing down at you. He had sandy brown hair, big blue eyes magnified behind a pair of military-issued glasses, and ruddy cheeks, an uncertain smile on his handsome face.
Wordlessly, you took his hand and allowed him to pull you back up to your feet. He was even taller than you had originally thought from your position down on the ground.
“Are you alright?” he asked loudly, trying to be heard over the din of the crowd.
“Yes,” you yelled back, nodding your head on the off-chance he hadn’t heard you. “Thank you,” you added.
“I’m guessing you were looking for this?” he went on, holding up your purse in his other hand.
You nodded again, accepting your bag with a grateful smile. “I guess I’m just a klutz,” you told him sheepishly, the realization dawning that this man had literally just witnessed you crawling on a grimy bar floor.
He smiled in response, which only made him look all the more handsome. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, shaking his head. “Someone bumped into you.”
He had seen that? Had he actually been paying attention to you? Or did he just happen to be nearby?
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it,” you murmured, nervously fiddling with one of your bracelets as you glanced over at the bar.
He followed your gaze, his expression conflicted. “Well I don’t want to hold you up,” he told you, sounding vaguely disappointed.
Your head whipped back in his direction. “Oh, no! I mean, you’re not. I was just trying to get to the bar to close my tab.”
Were you losing your mind or did he really look disappointed now?
“Oh, you’re leaving?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “I, um, I thought I saw you with the girls who were hanging out with my friends,” he explained, indicating the group at the pool table with his thumb.
He was a part of that group? Was this a sign that maybe you shouldn’t leave after all?
“Oh, um, yeah,” you nodded, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to think of what to say. “I just, um…well, it’s kind of loud in here and I just…” Your sentence trailed off as you realized how lame you sounded.
“Would you like to maybe go outside for a minute?” he suggested. When you hesitated, he stammered, “I mean, of course you don’t have to. I’m sorry. I mean, obviously you just want to get out of here and I’m—”
“No,” you cut him off, briefly brushing your fingers against his arm. “I mean, I would like that,” you clarified with a shy smile.
“Oh,” he blinked, looking a little surprised. But then he brightened instantly, his bright blue eyes shining as he smiled at you in return. “I’m Bob, by the way. Bob Floyd,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand to you.
Slipping your hand into his, you smiled wider as you told him your name, beaming when he repeated it back to you and told you it was pretty.
“So do you have a callsign, too, Bob?” you asked curiously as he led you through the crowd and towards one of the back doors that faced the beach. “Your friends were telling me and my friends their callsigns earlier.”
“Oh, um, yeah,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck as he held open the door that led to a little back patio with picnic tables. It was relatively empty, except for a few people hanging out in the sand. “My callsign is Bob. Original, I know,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh, as if he was used to being made fun of for it.
In that instant, you felt a deep sense of connectedness to him that you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the way he ducked his head and averted his gaze, like he was trying to hide, or the way he nervously shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but you were suddenly certain that no one understood what it felt like to be in your shoes more than he did. To be overlooked, forgotten, underestimated. To be uncomfortable in your own skin because you were so certain you were never going to be enough for people.
“I like it,” you told him with a smile.
“Thank you,” he replied sincerely, looking caught off guard and surprised by your words once again.
The two of you wandered over to one of the picnic tables and took seats opposite each other, the fairy lights strung up outside illuminating his features as he gazed at you.
“Is this your first time at The Hard Deck?” he asked curiously, resting his elbows on the table. “I feel like I’d remember seeing you.”
You bit down on your lower lip to hide your smile, his words warming you from the inside out. “It is, actually. It was my friend Shawna’s idea to come tonight. She just recently started working at NMCSD and some of her co-workers told her this was a good spot.”
“It is,” Bob nodded, smiling at you. “Penny Benjamin, the owner, is a good woman and she always makes sure to look out for us.”
“I’m guessing this is a regular spot for you guys then?” you questioned, glancing up and spotting your friends through one of the windows. They looked like they were still having a good time with the aviators they’d found.
“Pretty much, yeah,” he chuckled. “It’s been almost a year since I’ve been back in San Diego. I was at TOPGUN a few years ago, then got stationed at Lemoore, then got called back to TOPGUN last October for a special mission, then got asked to stay on permanently with my new squadron. The Hard Deck has become like a second home,” he joked.
You laughed softly, charmed by the way he told you the story without a trace of arrogance or conceit. Clearly, he was one of the Navy’s best pilots if he had been called to TOPGUN not once, but twice, but he wasn’t bragging or boasting. He was just stating the facts.
As if he could read your mind, Bob explained, “I’m actually not a pilot. I’m a Weapons Systems Officer. I ride in the rear of the jet and deal with navigation and operating the aircraft system. I wanted to be a pilot when I was young, but my vision’s always been a problem. I’m proud to be a WSO though. And I have a great partner.”
“I think that sounds really impressive,” you told him honestly, reaching out and resting your hand over his. “I’m sure that takes a tremendous amount of skill and talent. If it was up to me, we’d never make it off the ground,” you grinned.
Bob smiled in return. “I’m sure you’d get the hang of it real quick. You seem really smart,” he said, the tips of his ears turning red as he ducked his head slightly. “So, uh, what do you do?”
“I’m a teacher,” you replied. “I teach history to middle schoolers.”
“Now that’s something I’m sure takes a tremendous amount of skill and talent. Just the thought of middle schoolers terrifies me,” he admitted, which made both of you laugh. “And history, too, huh? I love history. It was always my favorite subject in school.”
“Really?” you asked excitedly. It was rare that you found someone who enjoyed geeking out over history as much as you did.
“Absolutely. If I hadn’t gone into the Navy, I would have loved working in a museum or something. Maybe being a teacher, but like I said—middle schoolers terrify me,” he grinned, his eyes crinkling.
“There’s always high school,” you pointed out with a smile.
“Even worse!” he exclaimed, which made you dissolve into a fit of giggles.
The two of you sat in companionable silence for a few moments, taking in the sound of the ocean waves and the faint trickle of music coming from inside the bar.
“Is that a piano?” you asked when the sound of the music registered in your ears.
“Sounds like Rooster is already trying to show off to your friend,” Bob teased, glancing over his shoulder as the door opened and a small group of rowdy sailors made their way outside.
“Trust me, Kelsey is probably eating it all up right now,” you assured him with a knowing look.
“My friends are very smooth with the ladies, but they’re also good guys, I promise. Your friends are in good hands,” he told you.
“It’s funny, Penny told us the same thing earlier,” you said.
“Ah, well, no one’s more trustworthy than Penny,” Bob smiled.
You nodded and the two of you sat in silence once again. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, however. You didn’t feel the need to fill it with awkward chatter. You were more than happy to just sit there with him, enjoying the cool evening air and listening to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore.
Bob looked like something was on his mind, like he wanted to say something, but was holding back. When you met his eyes and cocked your head to the side curiously, however, he seemed to come to a decision.
“Why were you going to leave?”
You were a little taken aback by his question and immediately dropped your gaze to your lap, fiddling with the strap of your purse and trying to figure out how to answer his question in a way that didn’t make you sound completely pathetic.
“I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked that,” Bob chastised himself, shaking his head. “Please, just forget it.”
“No, um, it’s okay,” you reassured him, clearing your throat slightly. You suddenly wished you had thought to grab a cup of water before coming outside. “Um, I guess I just realized that my friends were really hitting it off with your friends, and I didn’t see any point in sticking around any longer.”
Bob seemed troubled by your response, a small crease appearing between his brows. “Wasn’t there anybody for you to talk to?”
You turned your face away in embarrassment. Things had been going so well. You didn’t want Bob to know what a wallflower you truly were.
“Um, no, not really. My friends are the ones guys usually want to talk to,” you admitted quietly, your voice nearly drowned out by the wind. Your mouth felt so dry, and your hands were sweaty as you wiped them against your jeans.
Bob fully frowned at that. “Guys should be lined up out the door to talk to you,” he said softly, his voice serious.
“That’s sweet of you to say,” you murmured, staring down at the table instead of meeting his eyes.
“I’m not just saying it,” Bob insisted, his tone so urgent that it actually caused you to lift your head up to look at him. “You’re sweet and kind and funny and smart and so beautiful. Guys would have to be insane not to want to talk to you. I’m honestly shocked you’re out here talking to me of all people.”
“Don’t say that,” you begged him, your heart hurting to think that other women didn’t appreciate the wonderful man sitting before you.
“I know that I’m not like my friends,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he blushed furiously. “I know I’m not the kind of guy that girls want to talk to. So I know what it’s like to feel like you could just disappear in a place like this and nobody would notice. I hate that you feel that way, too.”
Your breath caught in your throat at his words. You had never met anyone before who seemed to know your thoughts so clearly, who could read your mind and understand everything you were feeling.
“Bob,” you breathed out, reaching across the table and clasping one of his hands between both of yours. “I think you’re a terrific guy. And the girls who can’t see that? It’s their loss.”
He smiled at that, his gaze fixed on your face as he rested his free hand over yours, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “I’m really glad you didn’t leave.”
“I’m really glad you asked me to stay.”
He said nothing in response, just held your hand tighter as his blue eyes bore into yours, as if he was reading the very depths of your soul.
The air hung thick with tension as the two of you stared at one another, leaning in closer and closer until your lips had no choice but to meet, his mouth firm, but gentle as it closed over yours.
It was soft and sweet and chaste, but when the two of you pulled back, you were both stammering and blushing like a couple of schoolchildren.
The stillness of the moment was broken a moment later when your friends shoved open the door and spilled out onto the back patio.
“There you are!” Renee exclaimed, hands on her hips as she did her best impression of your mother. “You had us scared half to death!”
“I told you she was fine,” Shawna insisted, rolling her eyes and mouthing ‘Sorry!’ to you.
“See? Nothing to be worried about,” Kelsey added. “She’s with…” She let her sentence trail off, shooting you a look to make quick introductions.
“Um, Bob! This is Bob,” you quickly supplied, squeezing his hand and shooting him an apologetic look.
“She’s with Bob!” Kelsey said, poking Renee in the side.
“Floyd, there you are! We were wondering where the hell you got off to,” Hangman said, joining your group and wrapping an arm around Renee’s waist.
“I guess they did notice we disappeared after all,” you whispered to Bob with a knowing smile.
“Of course we did!” Kelsey butted in, smiling when Rooster stepped up behind her and slipped his hand into hers.
“We were all going to head back to my place for a midnight swim,” Shawna explained, beaming up at Coyote. Your friend’s apartment complex was the only one that had a pool, and her landlord was cool enough to allow residents to use it whenever they wanted, so long as they were mindful of the noise. “Invite your friend!”
Your cheeks grew warm as everyone stared at you expectantly. “Um, Bob, would you like to come swimming with us?”
“I’d love to,” Bob grinned, his eyes fixed on you and only you.
Your friends clapped and cheered, which made your cheeks grow all the hotter.
“C’mon, let’s go close our tabs. Jake’s paying for the Ubers,” Renee smirked, patting the blonde’s chest as she gazed up at him.
“Aww, thanks, Jake,” Coyote grinned, smacking his friend on the shoulder as he and Shawna headed back inside.
“Owe you one, man,” Rooster nodded, leading Kelsey back into the bar.
“Hey, wait a second—”
“That’s what you get for losing two rounds of pool,” Renee teased, planting a kiss on his cheek before dragging him back inside.
Once you and Bob were left alone in the blessed silence once more, you looked at each other and couldn’t help but crack up laughing.
“I think your friends have really met their matches in my friends,” you told him playfully, gathering your things and rising from the picnic table.
“I think so,” Bob nodded, rising as well. “But I think I really met my match in you.”
Smiling, you slipped your hand into his and beamed up at him. “I couldn’t agree more.”
And as you walked out of The Hard Deck hand-in-hand with Bob, catching the victorious looks and playful winks your friends were shooting your way, you found yourself very grateful for all the times it had never worked out for you before this. Because you were certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that Bob Floyd had been worth waiting for.
#robert bob floyd#bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#x reader#x female reader#top gun#top gun: maverick#lewis pullman
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