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happy 40 years of top gun everybody
ruin the friendship
bob floyd x fem!reader
summary: bob floyd was in a pickle. his ma and pa were expecting him to bring someone home for his older brother’s wedding. are you up for the challenge of being his fake girlfriend for the week? or will it ruin your friendship?
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral fem and male receiving (bob eating it from the back), male masturbation, roommates/friends to lovers (my fav trope sue me), no use of y/n
word count: 14.3k
a/n: bob is a total mama's boy in this, but in such a good way. can you guys tell i just love bob so much? i hope you enjoy!
masterlist
your call sign: bee
In a month, Bob was expected back in Montana for his older brother's wedding. But he stared at the most recent missed call from his Ma and grimaced. How was the wedding already so close? And how had he dropped the ball this badly?
A few months earlier...
"Ma, yes, I'm still coming," Bob spoke into the phone pressed against his cheek and shoulder. His hands were folding his fresh laundry as it lay out on his bed.
"And your older brother needs to know if you're bringing someone with you, honey. There's no shame in coming home alone again..." his mother said in a sweet voice, but Bob knew what the underlying tone meant. All his life, he never had anyone to bring home. It was like an ongoing joke inside his family at this point. No high school or college girlfriends seemed acceptable at the time, but now he was a Navy pilot and couldn't get a girl? Well couldn't get the girl he really wanted.
Before he even thought about what he was saying, he blurted out a response, "I'm bringing someone."
What.
"What?! Robert Floyd, you better not be messing with me!" his mother squealed over the phone. "Jim!" Bob had to pull the phone away from his ear with a grimace as his mother shouted for his father. "He's bringing someone!"
"About time," he could hear his father's gruff voice on the other end of the call. "Was gettin' worried about him out there in California. That boy's not built for the beach."
"Oh, you hush! Honey, I'll go ahead and let Mark know. I love you!" his mother's excitement could be felt through the phone, her voice all high and pitchy.
"Bye Ma, I love you," Bob huffed out. What did he just do?
"How's she doing?" Bob jumped at the sound of your voice, quickly turning to you. You lounged against the door frame of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a sports bra and some running shorts. He hadn't expected you to be home from your run with Phoenix so soon.
"Ma? Oh, uh, yeah, she's good. She's good, nothing new, y'know," he fumbled through a response, trying to not to look at the way the beads of sweat ran down your neck.
You hummed at him, "That's good. Are you still up for Thai food tonight? The new place on 4th?"
Of course, he was. When you first mentioned it last weekend, he had almost jumped at the opportunity. Sure, he liked Thai food, but sitting across from you and sharing a meal was what Bob really cherished. "Yep! Yeah, that sounds good. Ready in an hour?"
"You read my mind, Bobby," you said with a grin as you backed into your room across from his.
Present time…
“What’s wrong?” you saw the scowl on Bob’s face as he stirred the pasta like he had a personal vendetta against it.
“Huh? Oh, um, just thinking about my brother’s wedding,” he said like even the thought made him sick.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you said as you prepped the various vegetables on the countertop around you. “I love weddings. The outfits, the candles, the flowers! I can’t wait to get married. And I don’t want to have a big wedding, y’know? But like more of a backyard, summer barbecue type of vibe. Oh! And I want all my bridesmaids in different color dresses!”
Bob watched you as you described your perfect wedding, mentally taking notes. The way you had set down the knife to wave your hands around was adorable. You were always so animated, unafraid to show your emotions.
“But Bobby, the best part about weddings is…” you left the ending open for him, ushering him to fill in the blank.
“The cake?” he questioned. To be honest, he was trying to appeal to your sweet tooth.
“I mean, yeah, that’s pretty high up there. But no, it’s the look right before the first kiss. So many people say it’s the first look or the actual kiss, but for me it’s that moment where everyone knows what’s coming next and the purest emotions are on the bride and groom's faces,” you explained in pure joy and awe, like you had experienced this feeling yourself. It was sweet to watch. Your wonder and love for the simple things were something Bob loved about you.
“But, why is that moment better than the first look?” he asked innocently.
You sighed wistfully. "Just that moment when you can see the excitement on the groom's face, and he can barely contain himself. And the bride is usually so bashful, but always so excited. It's just so sweet, Bobby."
It did sound sweet. If Bob and you were getting married, he doubts he'd be able to contain his eagerness before the first kiss. No, he'd be way too focused on you to even listen to the officiant of the ceremony. Surely, he'd forget what to say, and he'd be a mess through his vows.
Bob was quiet for a minute or two, and you wondered what was going on in his head. You saw the way he had a small smile on his face, like it was hidden and just for him at this moment. And the way his shoulders relaxed, going more and more slack as time passed.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" you asked him with a teasing smile.
"Yeah, maybe," he chuckled and went back to stirring the pasta. Bob wanted to stay in this moment forever with you. It was so domestic. Cooking together in the kitchen you shared, laughing and throwing each other playful looks, talking about weddings. Maybe one day you'll talk about your wedding. Anything you wanted for the big day, Bob was sure to agree.
Living with you had been both the best and worst thing for Bob. A few months into the program, your lease was about to let up, and you were scrambling to find a new place. Bob hadn't known you prior to the mission that brought you all down to San Diego, but you had become close very quickly. Being two of only a few backseaters in the squad, you and Bob had spent a lot of time together in training and going over mission briefs. He had met a handful of WSOs in his time in the Navy, but knowing you was like a breath of fresh air. You never diminished your position or your knowledge, even when other pilots would question your place in the military. It was a learning curve for him to be around at first; seeing you go toe-to-toe with cocky pilots was daunting. He learned that's where your call sign came from, Bee. You were sweet, but could sting when you wanted. Soon, he got used to it, becoming more confident in himself in turn.
When you joked about bumming it on Phoenix's couch until you found a new place, Bob chimed in, "You can stay at mine. I have a spare bedroom, never really got around to using it."
"Wait, really?" you asked, fully turning your body towards him. You always did that, too, gave your full attention to whoever you were talking to. It was a bit intimidating. Bob was only now getting used to it, but still felt his heart beat pick up.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind having a roommate," he said with a soft smile.
"Oh, Bobby, I could kiss you right now!" you said with a big grin, squeezing his forearm. He wished you had.
It wasn't until you had fully moved in that Bob realized the full consequences of his actions. You were horrible to live with.
Not in the way that you left dishes in the sink to "soak" all week, or you forgot to switch your laundry out for hours on end, or even in the way that you would blast music loudly at 2 in the morning. No, you didn't do any of those things. In fact, you always cleaned up after yourself, and Bob too, taking his plate right from his lap before he could protest. You cleaned the whole apartment, top to bottom, on Sundays. Your music carried throughout the hallways as you moved from room to room. Best of all, you baked! Every week! Trying a new recipe and being a little messy was your favorite way to unwind from a hectic work week, and lucky for Bob, he was your taste tester. Sure, you brought in your treats for the entire squad on Mondays, but Bob got to sit at the counter and watch you work. You would always gravitate towards him during this time, either letting him try the new brownie batter before you added more sugar or asking him how many chocolate chips are too many.
You were a great roommate. Always so courteous and kind. Anyone would be lucky to share a space like this with you. But it was torture actually living with you.
Too many times, Bob has caught a glimpse of you walking around in nothing but a shirt and some panties. To be fair, it was almost always after you had showered and were walking to your room. But as Bob watched you track down the hallway, he cursed himself for offering up the room in the first place.
And since moving in and getting closer, you had become even more touchy than usual with him. You were quick to give out hugs and other normal affectionate gestures to everyone on the squad, Bob included, even when he had only known you for a few weeks. But now, it was like Bob's personal space was your personal space. You always pressed into him when maneuvering around the small kitchen. Bob always held his breath, feeling you up against him, reaching for the oregano or paprika. Recently, too, your hand would work its way into his windswept hair after long days at the beach. The way your nails would drag against his scalp made him want to groan every time.
But worst of all were busy nights at the Hard Deck. On multiple occasions, barstools would fill up quick, only leaving the squad with two or three seats. It was fine for most of the night, with everyone so invested in the latest match of pool between Bradley and Jake. But after a few hours, you needed a break and always found your way into Bob's lap.
"I can get up, so you can sit," Bob stammered out the first time you sat on his lap. The rest of the squad shared amused looks, careful to hide them from both of you.
"It's okay, Bobby, I know you wanna sit too. Plus, you're comfy," you said, wiggling around trying to find the best position like he actively wasn't about to combust.
A bump of your hip snapped the man back into your kitchen. "Everything okay over there, space cadet?" you asked, tilting your head to look at him better.
"Mhm, yeah. I'm okay," he said in a small voice, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes.
Furrowing your brows, you wondered what was making Bob so distant tonight. "You know you can always talk to me, right?" you offered with a small smile. People say that but rarely mean it. But you meant it, and you wanted him to know that. He just nodded his head and continued stirring the boiling pasta. "Okay, Bobby. I'm here when you want to talk," you said as you rubbed up and down his back. You swore you saw a chill run up his spine.
You watched the way his face continued to fall as you worked on dinner. Bob was always quieter than you, so gentle and sweet. But you hoped whatever was bothering him would go away, or that he would talk to you about it at least. As the night continued, he gave you those small smiles, and your worry just grew.
જ⁀➴
"Why don't you just ask Bee?" Phoenix questioned as she grabbed the drink Penny put on the bar top. The Hard Deck was busy with patrons in all corners of the joint.
"I can't just ask her!" Bob squeaked out; he felt his cheeks flush at the thought of it.
"Why not? Because you have a crush on her? Come on, Bob," she teased him with a shit-eating grin on her face. She watched him slump against the bar as if she had just punched him in the gut. "If you won't take me, then why not Bee?"
Bob sighed, given that they had this conversation almost every day. Before training, after training, and even during training. Even the clear blue skies weren't safe from Natasha's questions. "It's not like I don't want to take you. But my parents know you. They're expecting me to bring someone home, y'know."
"Someone to give them grandchildren," Phoenix cackled as Bob groaned loudly. Penny placed his fizzy soda on the bar with a smile, knowing all about the man's debacle. Natasha thanked her, and they made their way back to the squad.
"Don't say that! I don't even, I can't even think- Oh jeez, Phoenix. No more talking about this. I've decided." The pilot swore she had never heard his voice that pitchy before. Bob shook his head as he wove through the crowd of people.
Once they had settled back into the fray of the squad, Natasha finally took to giving actual advice, not just teasing her back-seater. "I think you should just be honest, tell her. It's Bee."
"Oh yeah, let me just tell her I've been in love with her for months on end now. She's gonna think I'm a creep! Luring her into my apartment, making her live with me," he half shouted, half whispered at her. "And I also said, I didn't want to talk about this. Especially with her right there." Bob glanced at you laughing freely with Bradley, head thrown back. Your energy was contagious to the people around you, as he saw Bradley and Mickey spotting matching smiles. Bob found himself smiling to himself, too.
"She wanted to live with you, idiot. And I'm not saying confess your love. Just ask for this favor. You don't have to give anything away if you don't want to," she said matter-of-factly. If only it were that easy. Within minutes of you being in his childhood home, Bob would surely fold and show all the feelings he's been trying so hard to hide. One conversation and approving nod from his mother, and he'd propose on the spot.
The pair were too entrenched in their conversation to see you making your way over. You didn't mean to snoop, but you couldn't help overhearing snips of their chatter.
"I just don't know what I'm going to do. I have to tell Ma I'm not bringing anyone," Bob muttered, dragging a hand down his jaw.
"To the wedding?" You whipped around and saw Bob's eyes almost pop out from behind his glasses. Phoenix, however, let a mischievous glint dance on her face as she watched the two of you. Directing your attention back to Bob, you continued, "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But if you need someone, I'll go."
Natasha let out the biggest cackle you had heard; it even caught a few of the other aviators' attention. She looked to Bob, who seemed to be frozen in time, and decided she would do her best friend a solid.
"His family is expecting a girlfriend. That's why Bob is having such a hard time," she explained. But you just furrowed your brows further at this.
"I'll be your girlfriend," you said. At this, Bob nearly fell off his barstool. "I mean, I can be your pretend girlfriend for a week. I'm really good with parents and family and stuff. And we know each other well, too! I'm sure we'd be a convincing couple. So, yeah. If you need someone." Suddenly, you felt awkward under his gaze. You definitely gave it away. Who just proclaims they'd be someones fake girlfriend?
You met Jake's gaze from across the pool table and saw him biting down on his bottom lip, trying to suppress the grin on his face. Flashing a 'Help me!' face in his direction, the blonde man made his way over to you.
"Offering your fake girlfriend services again, Bee?" he asked with a raised brow. Both Phoenix and Bob shot him quizzical looks. "Bee came out to dinner with my folks when they were in town a few weeks ago. They were on me about not settling down, but she quelled those fears. Swear I've never seen my mom fall in love faster."
"Really?" Bob asked, looking between both of you. "You met his parents?" A flash of hurt crossed his face. You had missed it completely, but both Hangman and Phoenix caught the distress on his face.
"That's perfect! Right, Bob? Bee would be great," she hit his arm, trying to snap him out of what Jake had just said. The three of you looked at Bob, waiting for his response.
He nodded slowly before responding, "Yeah, I mean, if you're okay with missing the full week. I'd love to take you." Natasha grinned at his recovery, mentally noting to pat him on the back about it later.
"I can talk to Maverick about it tomorrow. I'd love to come," you said bashfully. Jake smiled knowingly at your response. He locked eyes with Natasha and winked. The woman just rolled her eyes but got the signal.
"When was the last time I beat you in pool Hangman? I think my trophy needs a little dusting off," she challenged, gaining the attention of the squad and taking it off Bob and you.
"Looking for a rematch? I'm happy to oblige," Jake said in a sickeningly sweet tone. He stepped closer so only she could hear the next part of his sentence, "I'll win this game, just like I'll win our bet."
"In your dreams, Seresin," she scoffed. "Rack 'em!"
જ⁀➴
Jake's couch had become a second home to you at this point. Its cushions surely remembered the way you would slump into them every weekend. Being Jake's back-seater was a challenge at first; you were never one to back down, and neither was Jake. It wasn't until you both had figured out that instead of going up against each other, you could turn your focus on the pilots around you. So as time went on, you bonded over your love for college football, dad rock, and surprisingly, the Great British Bake Off.
"Oh come on, Tom! No one is going to win with a ganache like that," Jake exclaimed from the end of the couch. There was no quippy response from you, and Jake raised an eyebrow in your direction. You had been like this all week. Mopey and weird. Your usual trash talk to other pilots or Maverick was replaced with a stone-cold face. It was just as intimidating, but Jake knew something was up.
Clutching the throw pillow in your arms, you couldn't even focus on the monstrosity that was Tom's cake on your screen. No, all that ran through your head was how you were going to contain yourself around Bob and his family. In just two days.
With a whack, fabric came flying on top of your head.
"Ow! Jake!" you exclaimed, immediately putting your arms up to protect yourself from further attacks.
"Jake! Don't Jake, me," he sassed you, only making the pout in your lips grow deeper. "What is going on with you? Is this still about Baby on Board?"
"Don't call him that," you grumbled, taking your pillow and whacking him across the chest.
He just rolled his eyes and continued, "Seriously, you need to get it together. Baby on Board and his family are expecting a perfect girlfriend, and right now, you're this."
You scowled at him as he chastised you. "Jake, that's mean. I just," you sighed before continuing. "I just don't know how I'm going to do this. A whole week? He'll know!"
Your dramatics were nothing new to Jake, but when it came to Bob, it seemed like you dialed it up tenfold. "This opportunity has been placed in your lap. I think you should take advantage of it, embrace it," he suggested.
"That's easier said than done," you mumbled.
This upcoming week made you queasy just thinking about it. It wasn't that you didn't want to go to meet Bob's family. No, you wanted all of it. But not like this. From the first day you met Bob, you knew you were in for it. His cute glasses and sweet smile almost had you confessing by the end of the first week.
When he asked you to move in with him, you had happily agreed. But as the arrangement unfolded, you realized what kind of agony would be in store for the near future. The way he always carried in all the groceries, not letting you lift a finger. How he always drove you, never letting you sit behind the wheel, no matter what kind of day he had. And he was so handy around the apartment, too. One day, the garbage disposal in your kitchen stopped working, and just as you were about to call someone, Bob brought over his tool kit and got down on his knees. It was way more attractive than it needed to be.
But these little daily pains were nothing compared to what you had walked in on about a month ago. You were about to go on your daily run with Phoenix when she called you from the car to cancel. Turning your keys and walking back into the house, you slipped off your sneakers and began padding down the hallway towards your room.
Just as you were about to head into your room, there was an odd sound. At first, you thought it was the apartment, settling, or something that people always say when a building makes noise. But as you paused, clutching your shoes and phone close to you, you knew it was something else. It was him.
His moans were unmistakable, so vocal and loud. And you froze. For a few seconds, you just stood there, listening. Listening to Bob falling apart. The schlepping of his hand against himself was unmistakable. The rocking of the bed, too. You had to peel yourself away from this. Away from his noise. So that's what you did.
You tried to forget it. But a part of you wanted to remember, as horrible as that sounds. You hadn't been able to look Bob in the eye for a few days after, and when you did, the heat in your tummy would start again.
The thought of sharing this week with Bob was more daunting than any mission you had ever faced.
"Hey! Are we going to watch this episode, or are you just going to sit and stew the whole night?" Jake's voice snapped you out of your thoughts.
"Sorry, just a little worried still," you said quietly. Jake had never seen you like this before, so in your own head.
He slid down the couch and placed an arm around your shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Everything will be okay, I promise. Your biggest worries right now should be if Tom can figure out his presentation for the judges."
You giggled at his teasing. "Fucking, Tom," you murmured under your breath.
"Yes, fucking, Tom! God, he's selling it!" Jake boomed next to you, throwing you into another fit of laughter. "Seriously, Bee. Don't worry too much about this week."
"I will be texting you live updates every hour, I hope you know," you said with a grin.
"Wow, only hour updates. I was expecting every 5 minutes," Jake teased, poking into your sides. You just swatted his hands away, fighting off a smile.
જ⁀➴
Stepping onto the packed dirt and smelling the fresh Montana air was a relief to Bob. The picturesque mountain ranges were illuminated by the strong moonlight, and the sky was lit up by thousands of twinkling stars. It was something to get lost in, and that's exactly what Bob found as he turned to look at you. "It's so beautiful," you said, eye going a little wide, and your voice was quiet. Bob figured it was from your hours of traveling, maybe partly from the awe of the view.
Without looking away from you, he responded, "Very beautiful."
Bob's moment of peace with you was interrupted by a swift closing of the front door and a cheery voice. "Bob! Oh, honey, you made it safe!" an older, but spry woman ran up to Bob. You looked at the pair as they embraced and caught a look at them, side by side. Bob was much larger than the woman, towering over her. His arms stood out against her frame as your eyes trailed across his large muscles and hands without even realizing what you were doing. And his nose, it was the same as the woman who stood next to him. The cute button was something you always caught yourself looking at when tracing the map of his face.
A squeal snapped you out of your daze, and you were quickly met with a tight hug and a rushed introduction of Bob's mother's name, Pam. "Oh wow! You must be Bee! You are so gorgeous. I don't know why Bob kept you hidden from us for so long." She leaned back a bit and took you in, dragging her hands across your frame and face. You giggled at her ministrations.
"Thank you for having me this week. I'm so excited to get to know you all," you said with a sweet smile.
"Oh, we are so happy to have you, Bee! Such a cute little nickname, you don't mind?" she asked, but continued on anyway. "We were a little worried about Bob for a while there. Honestly, never thought he would-"
Bob's eyes widened, knowing the long list of stories his mother could tell you. "Alright! Alright, let's not talk about all that just yet," he cut her off with a blush that dusted his cheeks.
"Honestly," you started, gaining the attention of both Bob and his mother. "Bob is the best thing that's ever happened to me. You raised such a kind and thoughtful man. I'm so thankful for him." Your eyes met his as you spoke, sharing a look of genuine care. Pam caught the way you looked at her son and smiled knowingly.
"Well, you two had better head on up to bed. Your Pa is sleeping, but he'll be up bright and early. And everyone will be over tomorrow night to meet you, Bee," Pam said, finally letting you out of her grasp. Instead, she placed a hand on your lower back to guide you inside.
You turned to grab some of your bags to take inside, but instead saw Bob balancing all of your luggage in his hold, just the same as when you left the apartment and at the airport. He shot you a look, telling you to head inside. You rolled your eyes, but mouthed 'thank you' as you kept walking with his mother.
She led you to a small bedroom upstairs in the rustic-looking house. It was cosy, a queen bed with golden colored quilt, a small adjoining bathroom, and a small window with lace curtains. She gave you another quick hug and whispered 'goodnight' before heading back down the stairs to bed.
Bob set down your bags and let out a deep breath.
"You okay? Wanna shower first? You had a long day," you said, a hand coming to his shoulder and rubbing it sweetly. He melted into your touch, unconsciously leaning into you.
"No, no. You go first, I'll be okay," Bob said softly, trailing off a bit towards the end. You had been traveling since that morning, and you could tell how tired the man in front of you was. Your flight was a few hours long, and since his family didn't live in Bozeman or Billings, Bob had to rent a car and drive 3 more hours out to the small town.
"Bobby, go shower and get ready for bed. I'll unpack and lay out the clothes for tomorrow." You took your hands and placed them on both sides of his shoulder, pushing him into the bathroom as he chuckled lowly.
Bob gave you a tired, but grateful look before he closed the bathroom door carefully. Today had been long, but seeing the way you interacted with his mother made it all worth it.
Stepping under the warm stream of water, Bob felt his muscles relax instantly. He didn't want to take long in the shower, knowing you were waiting for him, but he also needed a few moments to himself. Reflecting on your day together, Bob felt himself getting half hard at the thought of you.
On the plane ride over, you had fallen asleep against his shoulder, your body angling into his. With your odd positioning, your tits were pressed right up against him for the majority of the flight. It took everything in him to keep his gaze straight ahead on the action movie playing on the little screen in front of him and not your soft, full chest.
His right hand drifted down, gripping himself firmly.
And your hair. You had been tucked right under his chin, and the scent of your shampoo was overwhelming. Sometimes, Bob would catch a whiff of it floating down the hallway after your showers, but now it was coming at him in waves. He felt like such a creep, but what was he supposed to do? Push you away from him? Bob didn't know the next time you would get so close to him.
Now, his cock stood proud under the stream.
In the car ride over, you had made it a point to keep him company since it was so late at night. Finding a radio station that played old country music, you began to sing along to almost every song that played. After the fourth song, Bob knew it wasn't a fluke that you knew all the lyrics so well. You explained that your college roommate was from Wyoming and was constantly playing her music in the dorms.
Bob knew he needed to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn't help the way he looked over to your figure sitting beside him. Your lips moving along to whatever song was playing, your thighs pressed up against the leather seat of the truck, and the way your hand would occasionally find its way to his upper back, rubbing soft, smooth circles into it, all drove him to glance over at your sweet face.
His pace was steady now.
Bob felt so dirty, touching himself like this with you, only a thin wall away. But he knew if he didn't do it now, he wasn't sure when he would get a chance this week. So he hunched over the corner of the shower, trying to focus on anything but you. But like every time before this one, Bob's mind only wandered to thoughts of you.
What would you look like with water cascading down your tits? Or how your back would arch into the tile of the shower as he fucked you from behind. Best of all, how your face would twist with pleasure as he drilled into you, making you cum all over his thick cock.
That's what always got him to finish. Thinking about you, your pleasure. He caught the groan in his throat before it sounded, instead biting down on his free fist, whining lowly.
After cleaning up fully, Bob looked around the bathroom and realized he hadn't brought any clean clothes in with his. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out sheepishly.
At the creak of the bathroom door, you looked up from your place on the ground. You were met with Bob's nearly bare form. Water droplets from his hair were dripping down his shoulders, finding their way down his chest and waist. As you tracked one of the droplets, your eyes stopped when they met his waist. Bob's v-line was even better than you had imagined, and you had thought about it a lot.
He had an aversion to taking his shirt off around others, and that was reasonable. Especially in front of a bunch of macho, testosterone-fueled Navy men. But you had always wondered what he looked like under the kaki uniform he wore so often. Seeing it up close almost had you drooling.
"Forgot a change of clothes," he explained in a quiet voice. You just hummed, not trusting your voice. Pushing up off the ground and padding over to the dresser, you opened a drawer, and Bob found all of his clothes folded and set perfectly. His heart warmed at the thought of your delicate fingers working across all the clothing he had packed for the week. You had obviously taken care of his stuff first, as your luggage was still open on the floor.
Bob grabbed a change of clothes and kept his voice at the same quiet tone, "Thank you, Bee." You smiled up at him, staring a bit too long. But quickly, you fumbled to grab your nightwear from your bag and made your way into the bathroom.
Bob dropped the towel from his waist and began to dress. He didn't miss the way your eyes trailed down his body, and honestly, it made his stomach flip. Just as he was about to lie down and call it a night, he realized you hadn't discussed the bed situation. Bob would never want to make you uncomfortable, so he shuffled down the hall and found his way into the spare linen closet, grabbing a fluffy comforter and some blankets to lie down on the floor beside the bed.
Not too long after, you emerged from the bathroom and furrowed your brows at the sight of the empty bedroom, expecting to see Bob knocked out on the bed from such a long day.
"Down here," Bob's voice startled you as his hand shot up in a lazy wave from the other side of the bed.
"Bob? What are you doing?" you asked the man, walking over to see him laying down on the makeshift bed he had set up on the hardwood floor.
He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting your eyes. "Didn't want to make you feel like we needed to share the bed or anything like that."
"We've literally fallen asleep on the couch together," you said, narrowing your eyes as a teasing smile made its way to your face at his chivalry. "I don't mind sharing the bed at all, Bobby. And that can't be comfortable."
"No, no. Ma's got the best blankets. Feels like a cloud," Bob explained with a soft smile.
You narrowed your eyes at the man before speaking, "With you back? Do you remember earlier today when we got off the plane?"
Bob recalled the moment of weakness. He had stretched out a bit too far after sitting for hours on end and felt a tug throughout his body, wincing a little. You had fused over him for the next 30 minutes, almost refusing to get in the car if you couldn't drive. But Bob, of course, got his way.
He looked as if he was about to argue with you. Bob was hardheaded sometimes, but you knew just the right thing to say to knock him out of it.
"Plus, if your mom comes to wake us up and she sees you sleeping on the floor, everything would be ruined," you offered. Seeing a look of recognition flash across his face, he nodded slowly, like he was considering your words. "Come on, Bobby. I'll help you fold everything and put it back."
You giggled as he sprang up from the floor, a hand already coming down to his lower back.
"I knew your back was going to hurt! Comfy my ass," you said, smacking him lightly across the chest. He just smiled at you, joining in with some soft chuckles that warmed your heart.
Curling into bed, you felt sleep hit you almost immediately. Letting your eyelids droop, part of you wanted to stay up and think about tomorrow. To pick Bob's brain about who might show up. Worry about what they would think of you. But the sound of Bob's voice made your heart slow and breathing even out.
"G'night, Bee. Thank you again for coming with me," Bob told you, not even sure if you were lucid enough to hear him.
"Anything for you, Bobby. Goodnight," you said in the softest voice he thinks he's ever heard from you. Your words slurred a little and were definitely muffled by the pillow, but he still heard you. He saw your eyelashes flutter across your cheeks as you settled into sleep. The way your mouth opened slightly, lips parting so delicately. How your body seemed to curl into itself, making you look so small and fragile.
Wishing to hold you close to his chest like earlier today on the plane or to grasp your hand to hold in his sleep, Bob just stayed up for a few minutes longer to watch your sleeping form. Soon enough, his thoughts of you became muddy and distant as sleep took over, claiming you both now.
જ⁀➴
Bob had awoken to soft beams of sunlight streaming through the lace curtains. Everything was quiet, and Bob let himself lie for a moment, taking in the peace. Just as he was about to stretch and get up, he looked to his side and saw you.
Your cheek was still flushed up against the pillow, and your hair was in a bit of a mess as it rubbed on the fabric. It wasn't rare that Bob got to see you relax, but it was rare to see you completely void of all concerns. Usually, you were still holding some type of resistance in your shoulders or furrowing your brows slightly, even when lying across the couch at the end of the day. But now, you looked completely free. He smiled a bit at this.
Like you had sensed him mentally tracing the outline of your nose or the apples of your cheeks, suddenly your eyelashes fluttered, and you opened your eyes.
"G'morning, Bobby," you half mumbled-half whispered into your pillow. You weren't sure he understood you until hearing his telltale chuckle that was seemingly reserved for you.
"Morning, Bee," he said softly, voice a little deeper than usual. You chalked it up to the morning hours, but it still made your tummy flip. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mhm," you hummed. Bob saw that you made no effort to move from your comfortable position and chuckled again.
He often teased you for being so out of it in the mornings, but Bob had never seen you so unguarded. On the weekends you had off from training, you would usually pad into the kitchen, eyes still a little puffy and your movement still a little soft. There was one time Bob had to quickly intervene before you poured your coffee into your cereal bowl instead of your mug. But right now was different.
"Don't laugh," you grumbled. "Need like five more minutes. Or maybe ten."
Just as Bob was about to say okay and lie back under the covers with you, he heard a familiar pattern of steps making their way up the hallway.
"I'm afraid you're not going to get that, Bee," he spoke, seeing your brows fold in on themselves at his words. But soon, the bedroom door opened, and Pam was rushing to hug you good morning.
"I can see Bob has been soft on you, letting you sleep in," she joked as you shot up in the bed to meet her embrace. "We Floyds are early risers! Better start building the habit now."
"Oh, I know. Bob's up every morning at the crack of dawn, it feels like. Always hear him trying to be so quiet around the apartment," you said with a yawn as she drew away from you. Bob's cheeks heated at the thought of you being so in tune with his morning routine.
"Well, I won't rush you this morning, but breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes. Then we'll head into town afterwards, alright, Bee?" she said with a fond smile on her face. You nodded your head, saying a quick thank you as she closed the door and left.
The room was silent for a few seconds as you and Bob shared a small smile and knowing look at what had happened. "I'm only getting up early for her this week, Floyd. Don't expect any new habits when we're back home," you joked, a teasing smile on your face.
"Oh, I know. Wouldn't want to disrupt your morning routine of inside-out jeans and backwards shirts," Bob said with full seriousness as he pushed the covers off his body.
"Whatever that happened like one time," you said, pursing your lips. Hearing his laughter fill the air made your face flush with embarrassment. "One time! It was one time!"
Your protests at his teasing had no effect. Instead, Bob's laughter seemed to increase ten-fold as he doubled over in the bed.
"Bob, stop! It was one time!" you whined now. "You said it wasn't that bad."
His laughter subsided as he began to speak, "I know, I know." There was a silence that lasted for a few seconds until he spoke again, "But it was so funny, Bee." With that, Bob burst out laughing again as you half groaned, half laughed loudly.
From the kitchen, Pam smiled to herself, hearing her son's laughter carry throughout the house.
જ⁀➴
That night, like Pam had promised, Bob's extended family was over. Honestly, Bob was a little worried for you. His family could be a lot, and given that this was the first time he had brought anyone home, he expected everyone to poke and prod at you. But as his family filed into the house, your bright smile had never faltered.
Sometime after dinner but before dessert, Bob had lost you in the crowd of Floyds. He had walked through the house about ten different times at this point, looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found. Seeing the worried look on his face, his father gently grasped his son's shoulder to gain his attention.
"She's outside," he said lowly. Bob nodded and walked with purpose towards the back porch. His mind racing, thinking of all the possibilities that would've pushed you to escape outside. Were you crying? Was this all too overwhelming? Did someone ask you a rude question? Had you finally gotten sick of him? Sick of this role you were playing?
Right as he was about to push the door open, Bob paused. He saw you outside, but you weren't alone.
Gathered around you in the grassy field was a gaggle of small children, all laughing and smiling. Bob couldn't tell exactly what you were playing with the children, but after one of his younger cousins ran up to you and tapped your hip, he understood immediately. Bob smiled to himself, seeing you take off into a run as all the children screamed joyfully.
"She's sweet. Reminds me of your mother." Bob was snapped out of his trance as his father spoke. "Good job, son," he added, hand coming to clap softly on Bob's back.
Bob felt his heart race watching you. He knew you were perfect, living with you and being best friends had proven it to him. But he had never seen you like this, so carefree and thoughtful. Sure, there were nights when Jake or Bradley would get a bit too carried away at the Hard Deck, and you would be right by their side, taking care of them. But it wasn't even close to this.
Bob saw you chase around the children, never gaining too fast on the younger kids, but still giving the older ones a run for their money. He watched as all the kids gravitated towards you, all of their smiles and laughs being thrown your way. And Bob understood this feeling deeply. He had always felt a pull towards you. It came out in various ways, like always finding your eyes when Coyote would say something outrageous during training. Or bursting out into synchronized laughter whenever Jake would ultimately lose another game of pool to Nat. And his favorite was the way you would find your way over to Bob whenever you were in a large group. You could talk to Jake or joke around with Bradley, but whenever the full Dagger Squad was together on a crowded night at the Hard Deck, you were glued to Bob's side. These moments let him know that you were undeniably in each other's orbit.
Finally, Bob pulled open the door and walked out to you and your new friends.
"Uncle Bob!" one of the children exclaimed. You whipped around, seeing Bob walking up to you with a small smile on his face.
"Thought I lost you in there," he joked. You smiled, not speaking but walking closer to meet him in the middle. He met your kind eyes, but upon looking into them further, he squinted a little at you. Just as he was about to step back, you lunged forward.
"Tag! You're it!" you blurted out, giggling as you sprinted in the opposite direction. The children seemed to follow your example, all shrieking and laughing as Bob took off.
Suddenly, you heard little cries of your name. Turning around, you saw Bob gaining on you. Before you knew it, his hands grasped your waist, picking you up a few inches off the ground, bringing you into his chest.
Tucked close into him now, you felt his breath on the back of your neck. The heaving of his chest against your back had you squirming. "Can't get away that easily," his voice close to your ear. Biting down on your lip, careful to not let the whine out, you felt your tummy flip at the position he had you in.
You had come outside to escape, yes. But not from Bob's never-ending list of uncles or aunts. From him.
During dinner, he had been nothing but kind to you. Caring. Attentive. And it had been like that all day. From when you left the house and went into town with him and his mother, you hadn't as much as blinked before Bob made sure you didn't have to lift a finger. Sure, he had done this to a certain extent back in California, not letting you open the door or always opening glass jars for you when in the kitchen together. But today was a different level.
Pam insisted on getting you a pair of real, genuine cowgirl boots. She marched you into "Jesse's Boots & Shoes" and immediately sat you down on one of the little benches. After gathering what seemed like half the merchandise in the store, she came back to you with stacks of boxes full of different types of boots.
As you began to bend down to untie your shoes, Bob suddenly appeared in front of you. On his knees.
"I got it, don't worry," he said, before delicately unlacing your shoes. His large, warm hand flew up underneath your calf, and the other shimmied off your shoe. Then he looked up with that sweet smile and repeated the whole process on your other foot. You could've sworn you saw Pam snap a picture.
Later in the day, you made it back to the house and were helping Pam fix up some lunch. She handed you a big yellow onion and a kitchen knife, but before you could even take hold of the wooden handle she had outstretched to you, Bob had rushed into your view. Stealing the onion out of your right hand and gently pushing you out of the way of the cutting board, you looked at him incredulously.
"I know how watery your eyes get. I got it, just go sit down," he offered with that same sweet smile.
"I can cut one onion, Bobby," you said, playfully trying to grab the onion from his hand. He just raised his hands above his head, ensuring you wouldn't be able to reach him.
"I got it, Bee. Don't try to argue," he challenged, raising his brows. Huffing, you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the small smile that was creeping on your face.
Pam once again snapped a picture. This time, giggling to herself a bit like she knew this was going to happen.
The third time was right before everyone had arrived. You were upstairs, checking your hair one last time and making sure your outfit looked okay, when you noticed you had forgotten to put your necklace on this morning.
After retrieving the delicate piece from the bathroom, Bob had seemingly appeared. Seeing the jewelry in your hand, he walked forward with purpose, holding out his palm. You raised an eyebrow at his actions.
"Seen you do it a million times," he started. "Let me."
You nodded, not trusting your voice once again, dropping the piece into his hand. Softly, his free hand came down to your hip, guiding you to turn around.
Then, you felt his arms go around your shoulders, not touching, but there. It was so quiet in that moment. The only noise you could hear was the creaking of the old house and Bob's soft breathing close to your ear. It was distracting. Maddening, after the day you had.
Clasping the necklace around you, his hands dropped. Turning back around, you were met, once again, by the same sweet smile.
"You look beautiful, Bee," he told you before backing out of the room. "I'll be downstairs whenever you're ready."
Driven outside, you had wanted to sit on the porch for a bit. Think about what this weekend really meant for you. For Bob. For your friendship. But your plans were quickly interrupted after feeling a little tug on your leg and hearing a quiet invitation to a game of tag.
"Robert Floyd, you'd better let go of that girl! We've got apple pie coming out the oven!" Pam's voice drew you back into the heart-racing position you were in. Bob was quick to set you down, smoothing his hands over your hips in an effort to fix the creases in your dress that his hold had caused. But you saw the raging blush that crossed his face and burst out into a fit of giggles, and soon, all of his younger cousins were doing the same thing.
"I think this might be your inside-out jean moment," you teased with a smile, seeing the blush turn to a darker shade.
"Not funny," he said sternly, but you could tell he was trying to hold back a laugh.
"Mm, I recall saying something earlier this morning like that." You grinned at him, walking closer to the house, but your body was still fully facing the man in front of you. "But Bobby, it's so funny!" you laughed, throwing your head back. Bob couldn't help but smile, even if it was at the expense of his own actions.
What neither Bob nor you realized was the crowd of onlookers peaking through the windows, watching as Bob Floyd was struck with a look of love.
જ⁀➴
You had been right. The look before the first kiss was the best part of a wedding. Bob doesn't remember the last time he'd seen his older brother so giddy.
You, on the other hand, had missed it completely. Looking at the man who sat next to you instead. You saw the way the corners of Bob's mouth pulled upwards, smiling brightly.
The week had gone smoothly, both of you getting away with touches that were a little more lingering than usual or looks that called for a deeper conversation. To Bob's family, this looked like restraint, manners, and control. To you, this was torture, heartache, and suppression. You didn't know how many more instances of Bob's big hand on the small of your back you had in you before you broke completely. His gentle guidance and care throughout the week had been something that you reveled in. Returning to California, returning to normalcy, it all seemed so distant.
Sipping some champagne, you sat with Bob at the reception. Stringed bulbs lit up the night. Bright colors popped from all of the flowers that seemed to be placed on every table. And sweet music filled the air, inviting everyone to dance.
Bob studied your face under the night sky and limited lighting. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Dread filled his heart, though. The thought of this week just being a glimpse into what life would be like if he got up the courage to ask you to be with him weighed heavily on his heart.
Going to bed with you every night was something Bob didn't even know he was missing, but now he craved it so deeply. Being able to talk to you and share his thoughts with you right before bed. Getting to hear you ramble on, either about your worries or joys, was something he began to love more than anything. The way your voice would begin to taper, become gentle, when you were truly tired and ready for sleep. How you supported your face under your small palm while talking with him in the dark. How your eyes would become glassy and glazed over as you finally hit the pillow. These moments became precious to him.
"All couples! Head to the dance floor now! Tell your partner how much you care about them, and let's dance!" The DJ's voice broke Bob's train of thought. Without thinking, he rose out of his seat and offered you a hand.
Sheepishly, you took it, letting him guide you.
A soft, slow melody filled the air as you began to take your place with Bob. His hands brushed your hips, stiff, like he was in middle school, and it was his first time slow dancing. You chuckled a little under your breath.
"What's got you laughing now?" he asked, soft and sweet. Eyes searching yours with intensity you had only seen from him this week.
You looked at him for a moment and just grinned, like you knew something he didn't.
"Just so stiff, Bobby. Relax," you told him, pushing into his space a little more. Your hands found their way around his shoulders, palms settling on the broad plain of his back. Now, your face met his chest, and you melted into him.
Bob felt the sway of your hips and the light movement of your feet. If it wasn't for you, he would've stood still, not knowing what to do with you like this. Sure, he had danced like this before. But it was never this intimate. This deep. This connected.
At any moment, Bob felt like he was going to let the words spill out of him. Tell you how he was really feeling. It seemed so easy.
The way you interacted with his family. Cooking with his Ma, talking about college sports with his Pa. Even the way you talked with his brother and sister-in-law. Though it was brief, you made an immediate connection. You and his sister-in-law, chatting away like you had grown up together. And he didn't miss the way his older brother shot him a look of surprise, but approval.
But it wasn't just about them. It was also about the way you just fit so well into his life. Sure, you weren't an early riser, and Bob had learned this weekend that you weren't the best with large animals, but he didn't mind. If being with you meant slow mornings where you would coax him back to bed, hands grasping for him to come lie with you beneath the sheets, he'd be okay with that. More than okay. And if the biggest animal you owned was a chocolate lab, that would be okay by him, too.
Slowly, his large hands came around your waist, more secure and grounded. And Bob closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. Taking in this moment with you was the most important thing to him.
You danced under the twinkling lights and stars, no concern for the people around you. No concern that this was fake, that it was all pretend. Because right now, it felt real.
Hearing the thump of Bob's heart calmed you. It was grounding you, just like the gentle guitar in the background. You swayed like that for a while, but eventually the pounding of his heart and the steadiness of his figure became all too much. While the music swelled, so did your chest. Heaving up and down at a much more rapid pace.
Bob, feeling the sudden shift in your energy, pulled back, but just slightly. Still close enough to hear the hitch in your breath, to see the quiver of your bottom lip.
Your eyes blinked rapidly. Looking up at Bob seemed like an impossible task. But with a gentle touch to your chin, you did.
"Bee?" he asked softly. Concern written across his face.
"I'm sorry," you said, even quieter. With slow moments, you pressed your lips to his.
Your lips were softer than he imagined. The way your lips slotted between his was like second nature. And before you could pull back, he learned in deeper. Taking the hand that was under your chin and pressing it into the back of your head. Meeting you in the kiss, he pressed closer to you, and you felt the strong hold he had on your hip.
Bob wanted so badly to lick into your mouth, to mix your spit. But he restrained himself upon feeling the slight jump below his waist.
The solid kiss made your tummy turn in a way you didn't think was possible. Something deeper took hold of you as you melted, once again, into the man in front of you. The heaving of your chest was still present, but now it was fueled by want rather than anxiety.
Pulling away slowly, your breathing was heavy. Your eyes searched his, trying to see what he was thinking. What would his reaction to your impulsivity be?
Before your question could be answered, you were being pulled by one of Bob's cousins, urging you to go line up for the bouquet toss.
Bob watched as you were ripped away from him. His hand came up to grab onto you, but his fingers slipped against the fabric of your dress. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to look at him. But just as quick, you broke your gaze.
જ⁀➴
As soon as the door to the guest bedroom clicked shut, you immediately began apologizing.
"Bobby, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, and I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking," you said, hands coming up to your face in an attempt to hide from him.
"Bee," Bob tried to cut in, but you could barely hear him over the sound of your racing heart and rambling words."
"I didn't mean to ruin this. Ruin this weekend and make you feel uncomfortable. Ruin what we have. Our friendship," you kept going, stomach now turning at the thought of losing Bob from your life.
"Bee," he started again, but still you weren't hearing a thing he said.
Your hands now rubbed nervously down your dress, like you were trying to wipe off what had happened earlier that night. "I'm gonna go take my stuff and sleep in the bathroom or something. You don't have to share a bed with me tonight. And if you want me to move out, I will. I'm sorry, I just, I don't know-"
"Bee!" Bob's voice startled you into silence. He stepped closer to you, reaching for your hands, trying to quell your nervous energy.
Bob's hand closed around your wrists. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you looked at your best friend.
"Tonight," he started, hand rubbing softly against yours. "What did the kiss mean?"
He took a deep breath as you just stared at him.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," you said, feeling tears well up in your eyes.
"I'm not mad, and I'm not uncomfortable. I just," he took another deep breath before continuing. "I just want to know what it meant to you. Why you did it."
A tear slipped down your cheek at his soft-spoken words.
"I love you," you said quietly as more tears fell from your eyes. "I kissed you because I love you. Because I'm in love with you. I'm sorry, Bobby."
You felt your world crumbling around you. Years of friendship, laughter, and good memories all seemed to blur past you. Surely, when you got back to California, Bob would ask you to move out. The thought made you sick to your stomach.
Bob stared at you, silent. He felt like he was dreaming. All week, he had been trying to tell you how he felt. Been trying to get the words out. And here you were, saying everything he was thinking.
His hands quickly came up to your face, wiping the tears away. You couldn't look at him, eyes closed and body closing in on itself.
"Bee, will you open your eyes, please. I just want to talk to you," Bob pleaded. "I need to tell you something. Need you to look at me."
You shook your head, starting to feel like everything was all too much. Of course, he was still being sweet to you. After everything, after all of what you said and did. The thought made more tears come to your eyes.
"Please, please look at me," he asked again, thumbs now stroking your cheeks. Bob could see the internal debate you were having as your lips pushed deeper into a pout.
But after a few seconds, you opened your eyes. Blinking away the last bit of tears, you tried to look at the man in front of you.
As soon as your eyes met his, Bob smiled at you sweetly. "I love you. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. And I'm sorry about this week. I should've told you how I was feeling, but I thought everything would go okay. That we could just go back to being normal after all this."
Your shoulders relaxed with his admission, your mouth opening just a bit to look at Bob in awe.
"But we can't," you said, voice still small. It made Bob's heart ache thinking about all that you were feeling this week, knowing he was feeling the same way.
"No, I don't think we can." His eyes dropped to your lips for a split second. If you weren't watching him so closely, you would've missed it.
Something in your stomach turned at the thought of kissing him again. Your chest began to rise and fall much like it had earlier.
Still holding your face in his hands, Bob leaned in slowly. Slow enough to let you pull away if this was something you didn't want. Slow enough that seconds felt like minutes.
Finally, your lips met for the second time that night. Less rushed than before and softer. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.
The kiss was sweet. Bob's heart was racing out of his chest, having you like this. He was content letting your lips brush up against each other in a soft manner. But each time you kissed, he got hungrier. It wasn't until you let a soft sound slip past your lips and into his that he pressed into you harder.
Suddenly, Bob was walking you backwards into the bed. You felt one of his hands leave your face and come down to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him.
"This okay?" he asked breathlessly as you nodded, not trusting your voice.
With that, Bob got to work on the zipper at the back of your dress. He felt your hands in his hair, on his arms, pulling him in closer. Finally, the dress dropped and you let it fall to the floor.
Bob's eyes scanned your body. Wearing the prettiest set of black lace underwear and a matching bra, he felt his stomach turn. You were perfect.
Quickly, his hands were all over your body as you fell back with him on the bed. Feeling his hard length grind down on your barely clad heat had you biting down on your lip. Bob worked his mouth against your neck, looking for the spot that would make you moan against him. His licking and biting made your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him even closer if possible.
"Please, Bobby. Need you," you whispered. His head shot up to take you in. Your eyes were blinking quickly, like you were struggling to keep them open. Your mouth parted slightly, like you couldn't take deep enough breaths. Your hair splayed out around you, like you were an angel come down from heaven.
"Want me to touch you?" Bob asked as you whined, head nodding. "Gonna have to be quiet for me, okay? I wanna help you."
"Okay, I'll be good. Promise," you said, eyes searching his. Waiting for his movements to change. Waiting for him to help you feel good.
His hands moved from your hips down to your heat. Only one hand cupping it at first, while the other worked at the back of your bra. Pushing into your underwear, Bob's big hand began to feel you everywhere. His thumb quickly found your clit, and you thought you were seeing stars as he rubbed it softly.
You felt the tightness of your bra loosen, and Bob's other hand quickly moved to take it off you completely. Seconds after, his mouth came down to your pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it, sucking it into his mouth.
Your jaw dropped at the feeling. His kisses and ministrations made your hips jump up into his hand. "Need more, wanna feel your fingers," you said softly, trying to keep your promise to him.
Popping his lips from your tits, Bob looked at you with darkened eyes. "Being so good for me. I can feel you, so wet for me," he praised you, but still, his hand made no effort to move further into your heat.
Your brows furrowed at this, and you propped yourself up to look at the man lying above you. "Bobby, please," you whispered, kissing his cheek sweetly.
There was no way he could resist you when you asked so sweetly. His hand made its way towards your opening, stretching your underwear a bit. Bob played with you a bit more, and you whined into the pillow next to you.
"Sorry, honey," he whispered into your ear. "Just love your little pussy so much."
Your jaw dropped at his dirty words and at the feeling of two of his fingers stretching out your heat. They felt so thick, and Bob knew exactly what he was doing, moving them with expert precision. Pushing in slow and deep, reaching your spot almost immediately, your back arched off the bed into his touch.
Bob watched as you crumbled at his touch. It had to be a dream. The way your tits heaved up and down made him dizzy. Your face, now driven into the pillow next to you, silencing your noises, made his cock jump from beneath his trousers. You lying on the bed, almost completely naked, and he still fully dressed, made him bite down on his lip hard.
He was trying to take his time with you. Be gentle. Get to know your body. But every noise that escaped you and every look of longing you shot him made his resolve crumble. He could spend hours like this, with you at his disposal to play with. But sweat beaded down his forehead in restraint. Bob had to know what your tight pussy felt like around his cock.
A hand on his bicep pulled Bob from his thoughts. He felt your pussy clench up at his fingers, and he instantly moved his thumb back up to your clit. The reaction was immediate. Your body curling off the body and into him, Bob leaned into you, taking one of your tits into his mouth again, sucking harshly this time.
"Oh, fuck," you whispered as your orgasm ran through you. You never knew your orgasms could be so intense, but with Bob's constant attention to your body, you had never felt better.
Delicately, he pulled his fingers from your entrance and leaned down to kiss you sweetly.
"You're so beautiful," Bob said breathlessly. Then he brought his fingers up to his mouth, and you felt your pussy throb all over again at the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers. "Taste so good, too," he said, popping his fingers from his mouth. "Can I taste you?"
You nodded, but apparently, this wasn't enough for him anymore.
"Wanna hear you," Bob spoke softly. "Killing me, not being able to hear all your cute noises."
"Sorry," you said bashfully. "Yes, please."
"Don't gotta say sorry. Doing so good for me, my beautiful girl." Bob leaned in to kiss you again, making you feel his want and warmth as he licked into your mouth. His mouth traveled down your body, stopping to suck dark marks into your throat and all over your tits. But you didn't stop him, not really caring about how you would cover them up in the morning. His nips and licks were much more convincing than anything your brain told you.
Finally making his way down to your heat, Bob pushed your underwear to the side. Licking a broad stripe with his flat tongue, he tried to feel all of you. Your thighs worked to close around him, but his strong hands came up to grip them just hard enough to remind you of his strength, but not hard enough to hurt you. Continuing, he kissed all over your heat, much like he had just licked into your mouth. The movements made you dizzy.
Focusing on your clit, you felt one of his hands leave your thigh and dive into your heat again.
"Bobby," you whined. Quickly slapping a hand over your mouth, remembering what you had promised him. He looked up at you, chuckling a bit at your movements. But the vibrations against your heat only made you squirm and cry out more.
Removing his mouth from your heat, he kissed your thighs sweetly.
"Need me to help you, honey?" he asked, voice low and eyes dark as they looked at you.
"Mhm, please," you whispered, still moving your hips against his fingers.
He smiled at your movements. "So needy," he whispered more to himself than anything. "Didn't think you'd be that way."
Your tummy flipped at his admission. Even if he hadn't explicitly said it, just thinking about Bob touching himself to the thought of you made your pulse race like crazy.
Pulling your underwear away from your heat, Bob tossed them across the room. His hands now moved to your waist, picking you up effortlessly, flipping you on your tummy softly.
Your neck craned back, a puzzled look on your face. But he was already meeting you half way, coming up to kiss you again and ask a question.
"This okay, honey?" Bob asked, one hand coming to raise your hips. Another guided a pillow beneath them. Your stomach turned at the thought of what he was about to do.
"Yeah, it's okay," you whispered. He smiled at this, placing a sweet kiss on the crown of your head. But soon, his hand was pushing your head into the pillow, tucking your hair behind your ears, making sure you were comfortable. But still, his hand came down to guide you into the plush surface beneath you.
Not seeing Bob and only feeling him was something you never thought you would love. But the way his hands dragged down your body, fingers toying with your body, and firmly kneading your ass made your breathing sharp and shallow. Bob made his way down to your heat once more, licks more confident and sure now.
Sure enough, you whined into the pillow underneath you, pushing your hips back into Bob as he continued to work at your entrance. His tongue pushed in and out of you, sucking harshly. Hands spreading your ass, allowing him to kiss you better, get deeper.
It was quick for you to feel the familiar tug in your tummy return, ready to snap at any moment. Snaking a hand under your tummy and to your clit, Bob worked diligently to make you feel good, rubbing tight, small circles.
Your hand flew back, trying to grasp at anything you could. Your fingers found his golden locks, and you gripped them tightly as you came for the second time that night.
After a few last licks, Bob kissed up your back, letting his body sink into you a bit. It wasn't until his kisses reached your neck that you felt his hard length straining against your ass.
"So good, honey," he whispered, placing sweet kisses against your hair once more. "Gonna go get a towel to clean you up, okay?"
Soon, he moved to shift off the bed. But you shot up, grabbing his forearm.
"What's wrong?" Bob asked, concern evident on his face as he looked at you. He wondered if it had been too much. He had indulged a little bit, but he thought that you were feeling good. Or maybe he was pulling away too soon, maybe you wanted to cuddle a bit more before he got up. But what you said next made his heart jump.
"Wanna feel you. Do you not want to?" you spoke softly, forehead creasing in on itself.
Bob smiled at your question, coming back into your space, pressing his lips to yours. You smiled into the kiss, too. Something about them was so sweet and gentle, but so deep and longing at the same time.
"Course I do, just didn't want to push anything," he spoke, pulling away a bit. "And, I don't have anything here. I didn't bring any condoms," Bob whispered the last bit, like it was a secret.
"I'm clean and on birth control," you offered with a small smile that Bob swore would be the death of him.
"Me too," he said, immediately backtracking at the sound of your giggles. "I mean clean. No birth control."
Your smile grew wider at his words. Even when Bob didn't mean to, he made you laugh, always making you feel good.
"Can I see you? Think it's a little unfair you're still dressed," you teased him. Even with the faint glow of the moon and the soft bedside lamp, you were able to see the way Bob's ears turned pink.
Without a word, he began to unbutton his shirt. Scooching toward him on the bed, your hands made quick work of his belt, button, and zipper. Bob would've laughed at your eagerness if he weren't feeling the exact same way. Kicking off his pants and underwear and whipping the shirt off over his head, Bob stood before. Your tongue peeked out a bit at the sight of him.
His abs are sculpted and molded to perfection; you were able to gawk at them more openly now than a few nights ago. As your eyes traveled further, you saw his V-line, prominent and defined. And his length stood proud in front of you. Chills ran down your spine at the thought of taking all of him. You leaned down, falling on your elbows before him. Kissing his pink tip, your tongue began to kitten lick at his head.
Bob groaned audibly at the sight in front of him. Your ass up, mouth working against his length, and eyes looking up at him for approval. This wasn't real, surely. Any minute now, he would wake up in bed, spoiled underwear once again. But as you moved to take his length further in your mouth, Bob couldn't deny what he was feeling.
Knowing that if you sucked his length much longer, he wouldn't last, Bob softly grasped your head in his hands, moving you away from his length and instead onto the bed like you once were.
Lying back on the bed, you watched as Bob moved over your body. Settling on top of you, you found yourself face-to-face with him. Smiling at him, your eyes met, and you couldn't help but laugh a bit to yourself.
"What's got you so happy?" Bob asked, leaning down to kiss your neck as you let the giggles flow freely. He smiled at you, the kisses sweet rather than searing like they were before.
"I just love you," you whispered. Bob's head shot up, dopey grin now on his face.
"I love you," he whispered back. Leaning down to kiss you again, you thought about how you would never get used to this. Just a few hours ago, you were anxiety-ridden with thoughts of losing your best friend to a dumb mistake. Now, all your nerves were still on fire, but for a different reason. Bob's lips worked against yours until you felt your tummy flip again, and it seemed he felt the same way; one of his hands moved down to grip his length. Guiding himself to your heat, you felt Bob shudder in your embrace, but his lips never left yours.
Bob groaned against your lips as he pushed into you. Only a few inches at first, seeing the way your body would react to him. Your chest heaved, and your eyes screwed shut at the unfamiliar feeling. But your hands pawed at his chest and back, trying to bring him closer to you.
"Doing okay, honey? Feel good?" Bob asked, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.
You whinnied a little as you answered, "Feels good. So good. You're so big."
"You can take it, can't you, honey?" Bob asked, pushing a bit more into you as your jaw dropped at the feeling. He was now kissing up and down your throat again, unable to keep himself away from your soft, dewy skin for too long.
The man felt you pulsed around him. Your heat seemingly needing more from him. Before Bob could ask, you spoke in a breathless whisper.
"More, please. I can take it."
With that, he pushed into you fully. Balls settling against your ass, pelvis meeting yours. His arms came around under your back, bringing you tight into his embrace. Bob made sure to hold onto you, made sure he was taking care of you.
When he started moving, it was filthy. The sounds couldn't be masked as he moved in and out of your heat at a steady pace, deep enough to be hitting your spot in just the right way. Your bodies began to sweat and shine under the soft bedroom light.
You tried biting down on your lip, tried to not let the sounds escape you, but it was no use. The way that Bob moved above you drew out soft, airy noises. Bob saw that you struggled to control yourself and fully feel pleasure, so he took matters into his own hands.
Placing a large hand over your mouth, Bob met your eyes. They shot wide open at first, maybe a flicker of embarrassment, but soon they became droopy again as you focused more on his thrusts into you.
"It's okay, honey," he leaned down to talk near your ear. "Know it feels good. Just gonna help you a little."
You nodded at his words, clenching around his length again. Your moans were now muffled behind his big hand. The feeling of Bob asserting himself over you made you dizzy. You knew he was confident and could take charge if need be, but this was something else. Bob worked with precision, seemingly adjusting to your every move. It wasn't long until his other hand left its spot on your hip and made its way down to your heat once more, circling your clit in what you now learned was your favorite way. His big thumb moved in tandem with his thrusts, and you opened your eyes to look at the man above you.
Bob, seeing the way your eyes glossed over, kissed your lips, briefly moving his hand before placing it back and speaking, "It's okay, I got you. Wanna feel you cum around me."
With that, the knot in your tummy unraveled. Shaking against Bob, you pushed your body as close to his as possible. Still working into you, Bob felt the way you squeezed his length and couldn't hold back anymore, coming to his high with you.
Slowly, Bob moved his hand from your mouth and instead stroked your hair, placing a kiss on your hairline. You smiled at his actions, despite being exhausted from your rigorous activities.
"I love you," Bob told you. He watched as you relaxed against the bed, shifting slightly to hold you better.
"I love you, Bobby. Thank you for inviting me this week," you said sweetly, sharing another kiss with him as he was still nestled inside you, neither of you moving to get up just yet.
He smiled at your words. Thinking back to this week and all that had happened, Bob was grateful you were by his side. From his rambunctious family to the quietness of rural Montana, you fit in perfectly. Bob couldn't wait to bring you back, properly this time.
જ⁀➴
Like always, you and Bob went along with the squad's outstanding Saturday night plans at the Hard Deck, not caring that you had just gotten back to California a few hours prior. Jake grinned at the sight of you walking into the Hard Deck, hand in hand with Bob. He watched as Bob carefully guided you through the crowd of people, delicately holding onto your waist and shielding you from the rowdy patrons.
"Well, well, well," Jake teased as soon as you had both made your way over to the pool table full of aviators. "Looks like my plan worked."
Bob's brows furrowed at this, immediately looking to you.
"No way, Bagman, you aren't getting the credit for this," Phoenix chimed in, abandoning the game of pool.
Now it was your turn to look at Bob with confusion on your face.
"I was the one who sold Bee about the parents thing," Jake argued. You felt your face flush at his admission of your white lie.
"Well, I was the one hyping Bob up for weeks about getting her to come," Phoenix fought back. Bob closed his eyes, not thinking he could survive the look of amusement on your face.
Suddenly, both of your pilots turned to you.
"So who did it?" Phoenix asked. Both you and Bob looked at each other, puzzled.
"Oh come on," Jake said exasperatedly. "You know what were talking about. Who made the first move?"
The squad was silent, watching both you and Bob under a microscope, it seemed. A slight tilt of Bob's head in your direction made Jake cry out triumphantly, pumping his fists into the air.
"I knew it! I knew it! Suck it, Phoenix," Jake whooped as onlookers watched with amusement at his antics.
"Knew it?" Bob asked, almost scared for the answer.
Jake grinned at the both of you. "Yup!" he said, popping the ending syllable in a way that made Nat's eye roll even farther back into her head. "I knew Bee would make the first move. She's gutsy! No offense, Baby on Board."
"Jake," you chastised, but knew the nickname was all in good fun now.
"Where's my twenty dollars? My wallet seems to be missing something," Jake faux-questioned, turning his attention to Phoenix.
Digging into her back pocket and sifting through her wallet, she slapped a crisp twenty-dollar bill into Jake's outstretched hand with a groan. Jake almost giggled in delight, a sound you had only heard come out of him once or twice.
"I just want to say," he started, raising his glass to the group, "that I, Jake Seresin, best pilot among us, was instrumental in ending our suffering. That is, watching these two dance around each other forever like little lovesick puppies."
The group groaned at his statement, but raised their drinks nonetheless. You giggled into Bob's shoulder, and he smiled widely at the sound. His eyes found yours and saw a playful look on your face. Before he knew it, you leaned into his space, pressing your lips to his.
The group watched as he melted into your touch, half-cheering and half-whistling.
Pulling away slightly, you smiled at the man next to you. Bob's cheeks were now dusted with pink, but he still wrapped a hand around your waist, bringing you close into his hold.
Top Gun Silliness
for what it’s worth
pairing: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader summary: you’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, so nobody expects you to move back home to north island. what you’re not ready for is your childhood friend bradley, who slips back into your life so easily it makes you wonder why you ever left. tags: mitchell/maverick’s daughter!reader, opposites attract, free spirit x straight-laced, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining warning(s): avoidant attachment style (ish?), reader tucks hair behind ear, wears a bikini, drinks alcohol, and is four years younger than bradley, suggestive content word count: 11.9k note: did i write this instead of doing my mountain of grad school readings? why yes i did. anyway, this has been such a long time coming and i’m so excited to get my first rooster fic out!! also there are no mentions of your mother/you being maverick’s biological child for inclusivity xx
masterlist
You reached the coast just before sunset, the kind of golden hour that made everything look idyllic. The air blowing through the open window tasted faintly of salt and home.
You turned up the radio, letting the familiar guitar riff of a Fleetwood Mac song cut clean through the noise. You were prone to drowning things out with music; it was a great way to avoid your own thoughts.
The car wasn’t new. You couldn’t afford new. But she had personality—a red 1970s convertible you’d found through a guy in Venice who insisted she “ran like a dream,” which was only true if that dream involved the occasional stutter uphill. You named her Cherry because subtlety was overrated.
Your whole life fit neatly inside Cherry: two suitcases in the trunk, a stack of half-filled notebooks on the passenger seat, and a battered guitar case in the back seat.
You’d spent the last few years chasing inspiration across cities like it was a full-time job with no benefits. You’d written songs in shared kitchens, poems on bar napkins, and once had an Oscar-worthy breakdown in a Portland laundromat when someone stole your clothes and left you with nothing but the denim shorts and old Top Gun sweatshirt you were wearing.
Life experience, you called it. Character development, if you were feeling generous. But after your last roommate tried to start a kombucha brewery in the bathtub, you decided it was time to come home.
Once you passed San Diego, the road curved inland toward the base. You slowed down, mostly because you always did here. The air had that sharp metallic tang of jet fuel that never quite left your memory.
You didn’t mean to look up. But then you did, and that was your first mistake.
Four jets cut across the sky in formation, sunlight bouncing off their wings. The sound reached you a few seconds later, deep and thunderous, vibrating straight through your chest. Your breath caught before your brain could even register why.
It always made you think of Bradley.
You wondered if one of those pilots was him. Seeing those jets reminded you that he’d stayed while you’d run.
You forced your eyes back to the road, heart doing that inconvenient nostalgia thing you pretended not to notice. You told yourself you were older now, grounded, emotionally evolved.
By the time you pulled into The Hard Deck’s parking lot, the sky was washed in peach and gold. The sign out front was still a little crooked, still sun-faded, and the gravel crunched under your tyres exactly the same way it had last summer. You turned off the engine and let the quiet sink in.
Your reflection in the rear-view mirror looked tired, but you could pass it off as intentional—messy eyeliner, bitten lips, wind-swept hair.
You got out and stretched, legs stiff from the drive, and reached into the back seat for your patchwork shoulder bag. The strap was a little frayed where it rubbed against your shoulder, but you liked it that way. It was the one thing you took with you to every city you’d called home.
Inside, the bar hummed with life in that low, comforting way you’d missed. The clink of glasses, laughter, the faint buzz of a jukebox humming in the corner. You could have closed your eyes and known exactly where you were.
The Hard Deck hadn’t changed since you’d visited your dad last summer. The same scuffed floorboards. The same pool tables that leaned slightly to the left. The same smell of salt and spilt beer baked into the walls.
Penny’s touch was everywhere. The neon sign over the bar gleamed a little brighter. The old jukebox, once half-broken and temperamental, now glowed in the corner like it had been restored within an inch of its life.
Eight years ago, it had been different. Louder, rougher around the edges. A full-on Navy haunt when Bradley was just another new aviator at Top Gun, eager to show you his favourite spots.
Bradley had taken you straight to the piano.
You could still see him there, sleeves rolled, hair too long, grin wide enough to make you forget how to speak. The room had been packed, people shouting, drinks sloshing, but he’d been completely lost in the song. You’d tried to keep up, but your hands knew guitar strings, not piano keys.
Bradley had only laughed, covered your hand with his, and pressed your fingers into the right chord. His touch had been light, sure, and entirely unfair.
“See?” he’d said, still grinning. “You’re getting it.”
You hadn’t been. You’d been too busy trying to remember how lungs worked.
Now, the jukebox played something jaunty, and you blinked as the memory desolved. The Hard Deck had changed since your first visit, and so had you.
“Well, look who it is!”
You turned toward the voice, already smiling. “Penny!”
Penny Benjamin was making her way around the bar, sun-kissed and grinning, all warmth and disbelief. She pulled you into a hug that smelled faintly of citrus and salt air.
“Pete wasn’t kidding,” she said, holding you at arm’s length. “He told me you were moving back for real this time. I didn’t believe him. He’s been saying that for, what, two summers now?”
You laughed. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure I believed me either. But I think I’m ready to stay in one place for a while. Maybe even put down some roots.”
Penny’s smile softened. “Music to my ears. And if you need something to do while those roots take hold, I could always use another pair of hands behind the bar.”
You blinked, pleasantly surprised. “You’re offering me a job?”
“Only if you’re not too good for us locals now,” she teased. “Pete says you’ve been living the free spirited artistic dream. But I remember those drinks you made at the barbecue last summer. You’ve got some serious skills.”
You grinned, warmth blooming in your cheeks. “I could start once I’ve unpacked, assuming you’re serious.”
“Dead serious.” Penny ducked behind the counter, filled a glass with Coke, and added a wedge of lime. The ice clinked as she slid it toward you. “On the house. For my favourite Mitchell.”
You picked up the glass, hiding your smile behind the rim. “Don’t let my dad hear you say that.”
“Oh, please,” she said, smirking. “He already knows.”
You took a sip and let the comfort of being home settle in your chest. For the first time in years, you weren’t just passing through.
You were people-watching, entertained by the group of pilots playing darts and arguing about whose landing had been cleaner that day, when someone slid onto the stool beside you.
He was broad, blond, and cocky. The kind of man who probably practised his smirk on reflective surfaces. The service khakis gave him away instantly; neat, pressed, and impossible to mistake for anything but Navy. You knew more about pins than the average tourist, and the ones over his pocket told you everything you needed to know.
This man wasn’t just Navy. He was an aviator. Judging by the overconfident lean and movie-star grin, you’d bet good money this was the infamous Hangman you’d heard about from your dad.
“Well, hello there,” he drawled, flashing a grin that you could tell had a high success rate. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You visiting?”
You tilted your head, giving him your best imitation of a curious outsider. “Something like that.”
Hangman leaned closer, elbows on the bar, radiating charm. “Let me guess. You’re a tourist. Beach trip, maybe? Or did you come to watch the planes?”
You widened your eyes just enough to sell it. “Planes? You mean the Navy ones?”
Penny briefly caught your eye from behind the counter, her mouth twitching like she was desperately holding in a laugh.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Hangman said, grinning wider. “The Navy ones. You ever been on base before?”
You shook your head, sipping through your straw with deliberate innocence. “No, can’t say I have. But I’ve always heard the pilots around here are impressive.”
He straightened a little, grin turning self-satisfied. “That’s one word for us. I could show you around sometime, give you the full experience.”
You leaned in, mirroring his posture, voice just soft enough to make him listen closer. “The full experience?”
“Strictly professional,” Hangman said, not even pretending to mean it. “Though, fair warning—once you’ve flown with a pilot, nothing else really compares.”
You blinked up at him innocently, hiding your grin behind your straw. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely.” Hangman rested a hand casually against the back of your stool, confidence oozing from every pore. You were about to give in a little and see how far he’d go when a familiar voice cut in.
“Hangman, step away from my daughter.”
You’d never seen a man pale so fast. Hangman froze, his grin disintegrating as he turned toward the source. “Sir?”
You spun on your stool, already smiling. “Dad!” You jumped up to hug your dad, laughing against his shoulder while Hangman looked like he was praying for a time machine.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Maverick looked entirely too pleased with himself when you parted. Calm, casual, just enough smugness in his voice to let you know he’d seen the whole thing. “You two know each other?”
“Not officially,” Hangman said tightly, posture stiffening like he’d just remembered how to stand at attention. “I was just, uh, welcoming her to town.”
“Sure you were,” Penny said, sliding Maverick a beer down the counter without missing a beat. “Very hospitable of you, Hangman.”
You grinned, unable to resist chiming in. “Such a gentleman. It’s generous of you to offer to show me around my hometown, but I think I’ll manage just fine.”
A loud laugh burst from the pool table. Payback, naturally. “Hangman, you hitting on the boss’s daughter?”
The reaction was instant. Phoenix nearly dropped her cue, doubled over with laughter until Bob caught her arm to keep her from tipping forward. Coyote choked on his beer.
Fanboy muttered something that sounded like “Oh, dead man walking.”
Hangman went very still. “I don’t know that I would call it ‘hitting on’ her,” he said faintly, but the damage was done.
You turned toward the group, the picture of composure despite the glee bubbling under your ribs. “Nice to meet you all,” you said sweetly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Bet you have,” Phoenix said, still giggling. “Didn’t think I’d ever see someone wipe the smug off Bagman’s face, but damn, I owe you a drink.”
Bob smiled shyly from where he stood beside her. “It’s nice to meet you,” he offered.
“Same here,” you said warmly. “You must be Bob. Dad’s mentioned you. All of you, actually,” you added, motioning to the group. “I’m really excited to finally meet you.”
“Damn, Hangman,” Coyote said, laughing as he clapped Hangman on the shoulder. “At least you went down swinging.”
“Yeah, straight into the ground,” Payback said, grinning. “Classic Bagman.”
Hangman groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “You all done, or should I start digging my own grave?”
“Don’t worry,” Maverick cut in, clearly enjoying himself. He clapped Hangman on the back with mock sympathy. “You’ll have plenty of chances to rebuild that ego in training tomorrow.”
That sent another round of laughter through the group, and you couldn’t help it. You reached up to hug your dad again, squeezing him tightly. “I miss you.”
No matter how far you’d run from his career, his shadow, or the kind of roots that terrified you, you always came back to this. Your dad had been the one steady presence in every stage of your life, the compass that never stopped pointing you home.
“Missed you too, kid,” Maverick said quietly, squeezing back before leaning away with a proud smile.
When you turned again, the rest of the squad had gathered around, curiosity replacing their laughter. Phoenix leaned her hip against the bar, Coyote nursing a beer beside her.
“So,” Phoenix said, studying you with a spark of amusement, “you’re Maverick’s daughter. Explains the confidence.”
You smiled. “Confidence or trouble?”
“Both,” Coyote said immediately, and everyone laughed again.
Phoenix tipped her bottle toward you, still smiling. “So what brings you back? Visiting, or…?”
“Actually,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m moving back home. Figured it was time. I’m crashing with Dad until I find my own place.”
“That’s brave,” Payback said. “Living with your old man again? You must really love him.”
Maverick just smirked. “She’s always had excellent taste.”
That drew another round of laughter and groans, and you rolled your eyes affectionately. “He’s already trying to recruit me as his new copilot.”
“Don’t tempt him,” Phoenix said, grinning. “You’d probably be better than half the guys in this room.”
You laughed, then nodded toward her. “I’ve been dying to meet you! How’s life in an elite squadron treating you?”
Phoenix lit up, leaning one elbow on the bar. “Aside from putting up with these idiots, it’s been great.” She broke off mid-sentence, gaze darting past you. “Bradshaw!” Phoenix waved him over with unfiltered enthusiasm. “About time.”
Your pulse stumbled.
Bradley paused in the doorway, tall and sun-browned, the golden bulbs casting a warm glow across his shoulders. The bar’s hum seemed to fade, or maybe it only did for you.
Phoenix glanced between you, her grin softening into curiosity. “You two must know each other, right?”
You tried to keep your tone light, though your smile wavered at the corners. “Yeah. We know each other.”
When you finally turned to face Bradley, his eyes were already on you—warm, surprised, a little disbelieving. Eight years apart, and it still hit like free fall.
You’d kept in touch for a while, after things between him and Maverick had soured. But life stretched the distance until texts faded to yearly birthday wishes, and visits stopped altogether. Maverick had moved off North Island, Bradley had been deployed more often than not, and you’d convinced yourself that growing apart was just the natural order of things.
Now, standing here, it didn’t feel so natural at all.
Bradley’s mouth curved, soft with disbelief. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
“Guess I’m full of surprises,” you said softly.
The corner of his jaw ticked, just the smallest flicker of something you couldn’t read.
Phoenix glanced between you again, realising she’d just stumbled into something layered. “Okay,” she stretched the word out, raising her hands.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Bradley smiled, small and genuine and a little dazed, and closed the distance.
“Come here,” he said, and you were already stepping forward.
Bradley pulled you in without hesitation, his hand warm and solid against your back. The scent hit first: soap, sun, and that clean cotton smell that always clung to him. His shirt was rough with salt and sweat, the kind of texture that reminded you he lived half his life on tarmacs and flight decks.
His breath was close in your ear, even and steady, until you realised yours wasn’t.
“I didn’t believe Maverick when he said you were moving back,” Bradley murmured.
You smiled against his chest, trying not to inhale like someone deprived of oxygen. “Surprise again.”
When you stepped back, the air felt thinner. His hands lingered a beat too long, brushing your arms before he dropped them like he’d only just remembered how intimate it was. His gaze flicked briefly to your mouth, then away, and you pretended not to notice.
You both pretended a lot of things.
“Still playing?” Bradley asked, his voice a little rougher than before.
“Guitar? Yeah. You still ignoring my playlists?”
He laughed, and the sound made your heart tighten. “Only the ones labeled ‘for when you’re feeling emotionally constipated.’”
You tilted your head. “So, all of them.”
That earned you a real grin. You hated how quickly it short-circuited your brain. He looked good—too good.
“You look…” Bradley trailed off, as if the word was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to go. “Different.”
You raised a brow. “Good different, or ‘emotional crisis’ different?”
“Definitely good.” His voice dipped lower, softer. “You were always beautiful, but you’re glowing now.”
And there it was again: the pull. The quiet, magnetic thing that never really went away, no matter how much time or distance tried. You found yourself leaning closer without thinking, caught between instinct and caution, until your hand brushed his where it rested on the bar.
The contact was brief but enough to send a quick jolt through your body before you both instinctively pulled back, hiding behind awkward smiles.
“So,” you said lightly, thumb swiping at the condensation on your glass. “How’ve you been, Rooster?”
He smirked, eyes glinting. “It’s so weird to hear you say my call sign.”
You gasped theatrically. “Rude!”
“You can call me whatever you want,” Bradley said, quieter now. “But you’re the only one who still calls me by my name.” Something flickered behind his eyes, unguarded and dangerous. “I guess I missed the sound of it in your voice.”
Before either of you could say something you couldn’t take back, a voice cut through the moment.
“Hey, nerds!” Fanboy was waving from across the room, grinning like a man who had just spotted a plot twist. “Come join us! We know you’re childhood friends, but we want a chance to get to know Maverick’s daughter.”
You smiled, eyebrows arched at your so-called childhood friend. “What do you say, Bradley?”
Hearing you say his name brought another wide grin to his face. “I wouldn’t want to deprive your adoring fans,” he teased.
When Bradley gestured toward the booth, you followed. His hand brushed the small of your back as you passed; light enough to seem accidental, but enough to make your heart trip over itself.
When your dad invited you to a beach day with Penny and the squadron, you’d said yes before he could finish the sentence. An afternoon of dog-fight football, popsicles, and sand in your sunglasses felt like the kind of chaos you used to live for in childhood summers with Maverick and Iceman.
The afternoon sun brushed the waves with golden glitter. When Maverick called everyone over, you knew exactly what he was about to do. After the usual warm-up theatrics and fake groaning, teams were picked, and everyone persuaded your dad to join in.
Phoenix hooked your arm, already grinning. “Come on, you’ve got to see this circus up close. Hangman’s in peak insufferable form.”
You laughed, brushing sand from your shorts, and followed her. Bradley was already leaning back, shoulders flexed under the sun, tossing the ball to himself with that effortless control that made your stomach flip.
He looked like he belonged in a recruitment ad for hot, emotionally unavailable Navy pilots.
Bradley caught your eye, winked, and sent the ball your way like a dare you weren’t ready for. You jumped, barely keeping it from hitting your chest, and stumbled back laughing.
“Careful,” he called, jogging closer. “Wouldn’t want you spraining anything important.”
“Does my pride count?” you shot back.
“Absolutely,” Bradley said, grinning, and you had to fight the urge to glance at his hands. Lately, they had developed a suspicious habit of finding you. “I’m very thorough.”
Phoenix snorted, but gave no other commentary on his double entendre. You decided to ignore the very specific flutter that word sent through your chest. Thorough. Great. Fantastic. You were doomed.
You joined the team opposite Maverick and gave him the universal two-finger I’m watching you warning. The squadron hollered happily, and you could hear Fritz and Omaha exchanging bets on which Mitchell would be victorious.
Phoenix filled you in on the unspoken rules: always dive like it’s life or death, and never—under any circumstances—let Hangman get a free pass. It was easy enough to remember, especially with the Texan cackling at you from the other side of the beach.
The game started officially, Penny refereeing from the sidelines with exaggerated seriousness. You fell into a rhythm quickly, laughing harder than you had in years. Sand flew everywhere, the sun warmed your shoulders, and Bradley kept finding reasons to brush past you as you ran. He always seemed to be exactly close enough for your brain to short-circuit.
Every accidental touch made your heart skip.
“Hey, Mitchell,” Hangman called, standing close enough that you could smell his sunscreen. “You think you can take me down?”
“Cute,” you said flatly, flicking sand in his direction. “I may not be in the Navy, but don’t forget who raised me. I don’t do anything halfway, and I don’t lose.”
He raised both hands in mock surrender. “You’re scary. I’ll admire you from a safe distance.”
Phoenix groaned. “Emphasis on ‘distance,’ Bagman. She’s busy kicking your ass, not dodging your pickup lines.”
“Well said,” you declared, grinning and offering Phoenix a high-five.
“It’s nice to have you around,” she said earnestly. “Everyone’s already decided you’re one of us. Rooster’s obviously obsessed with you, but that goes without saying.”
Your eyes flicked to Bradley, who was laughing at something Bob had done. You told yourself you weren’t constantly glancing his way and dragged your eyes back to the game. You weret, of course, but denial was your favourite coping mechanism.
Hours passed in a blur, and you managed to avoid breaking anything. Hangman teased relentlessly, but with Phoenix and Bob around to back you up, you felt like you belonged. Bradley stayed close, subtly protective, saving you from catastrophic falls.
Eventually, Penny called out, “Snack and water break. You’ve earned it!”
Everyone collapsed onto towels in the setting sun. Bob handed you a towel, and Hangman leaned back, sunglasses low, pretending to evaluate your performance.
“Not bad,” Hangman said, pointing. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” you said dryly, wiping sweat off your forehead. “Your compliment is noted.”
You headed toward the coolers, only to realise the tie on your bikini top had loosened in the chaos. You made your way over to Bradley, your arm contorted behind you to keep the strings from coming undone.
He was sitting on a towel near the coolers, arms resting on his knees, watching Yale and Harvard fight over the last rocket-shaped popsicle.
“Bradley?”
He looked up, eyebrows lifting like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yeah?”
You shuffled a fraction, smiling unsurely. “The tie on my bikini came undone, and I can’t quite reach it. Could you fix it for me?”
Bradley’s eyes went wide. You caught the faint hitch of a breath before he tried to mask it. You sat in front of him with your back turned, showing him how you held the strings together.
He froze for a beat. Then another. His shoulders tensed, fingers twitching, too aware of the bare expanse of your back. Bradley shifted forward carefully.
You felt him before he touched you. His hands hovered near the strings, uncertain, cautious, as if he could break something with a wrong move. Your shoulders tensed when his fingertips brushed the skin of your back.
“Okay,” Bradley murmured. His voice was quiet, not commanding or joking. You caught the slight hitch in his breathing. Not fear, exactly; more like anticipation.
He looped the strings slowly, once, twice, adjusting. Gentle. So slow it felt like he was measuring time against your pulse. You were hyper-aware of the way his fingers pressed, the careful tilt of his wrists, how his arms flexed slightly with the tiniest tension.
You tried to keep your breathing quiet, but his shallow inhales gave him away. It felt like Bradley was holding everything back, keeping his distance in every movement, even while he was behind you.
His thumbs brushed the dimples at your lower back and a shiver zipped up your spine.
“There,” Bradley said quietly. His knuckles grazed your back again, lingering just long enough for heat to bloom where he touched you.
You felt every shift of his weight, every slow exhale that brushed your neck. The rest of the squad and your dad were chatting nearby, but you weren’t thinking about them. You were thinking about Bradley’s hands; how careful they were, how he couldn’t quite seem to stop touching you.
You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his eyes. He swallowed, his pupils dark, wide, and attentive. He was mesmerised by the shape of your shoulders, the tilt of your head, and the way you were biting your bottom lip subconsciously.
You wanted to say something clever. Something that wouldn’t make your knees fold. What came out was a whisper-soft, “Thanks,” which was neither clever nor steady.
Bradley didn’t move. He let his hands hover, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate lines into your skin. For a long moment, all you felt was the light drag of his fingertips.
You let yourself shift, just enough to meet him, just enough to let your bodies acknowledge what neither of you was saying. Not with words. Words would make this interaction real, and you weren’t ready to face that reality yet.
Bradley started to say something, but Phoenix’s voice cut through the air. “Who wants chips?”
You cleared your throat and stood, brushing sand off your legs. “Me,” you said, pretending your voice didn’t wobble.
You had been in town for a month, long enough to get sand permanently stuck in your shoes and afford a deposit on a nearby apartment. You had Penny’s generous customers to thank for that one; they tipped better than any bartending job you had in bigger cities.
The new apartment wasn’t much, just one bedroom, a minuscule kitchen, and the world’s most dramatic plumbing—but it was yours. And you loved it, even if the previous tenant had painted the bedroom a colour best described as the dark blue of an existential crisis.
You wanted sage green; something calm that didn’t make you feel like you were sleeping inside a sad thought.
The squad had all promised to help paint, because apparently manual labour was their version of team bonding. You’d stocked the fridge with drinks and ordered enough pizza to feed your notoriously hungry friends. Then the texts started. Bob had “a thing.” Phoenix’s “errand” mysteriously lasted four hours. Hangman sent a single thumbs-down emoji, which you assumed meant “no chance in hell.”
So when you opened the door and found only Bradley standing there, you weren’t surprised. He stood holding up a six-pack like a peace offering. His shirt was faded and soft-looking, hanging loose over his jeans in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a second.
He raised the beers. “Looks like it’s just us.”
You pretended to find that funny instead of vaguely panic-inducing. “Lucky you.”
Bradley’s eyes flicked past you into the apartment. “You sure about that? That’s a lot of wall.”
You stepped aside to let him in. “Well, your cowardly pilot friends backed out at the last minute. I’m filing a formal complaint with their superior officer in the morning.”
“Getting Mav involved,” Bradley said, brushing past you. “Bold choice.”
“Desperate times,” you muttered.
You’d already tried to scrub the old navy-blue paint off the walls, but the result looked like an avant-garde crime scene.
Bradley took it all in with an amused glance. “You started without supervision.”
“I’m an independent woman,” you said, reaching for a can of paint with exaggerated confidence. “I don’t need supervision.”
“You’re holding the can upside down.”
You looked down. “…That feels like an opinion.”
Bradley laughed under his breath, low and warm, and picked up a roller. “Come on, Picasso. Let’s paint ourselves a masterpiece.”
He crouched and opened the can for you, forearms flexing as he stirred the sage green paint and poured it into the paint tray. You tried not to stare and failed miserably.
The first few minutes were quiet except for the squeak of rollers and the hum of classic rock playing from your Bluetooth speaker. The playlist was mostly your doing: Tom Petty, Springsteen, and a few guilty pleasure tracks you hoped Bradley wouldn’t notice. If he did, he didn’t say anything.
Bradley painted like a man on a mission: slow and careful strokes, all precision. You, on the other hand, were a little more abstract. Less plan, more chaos with flair.
That had always been the difference between you. Bradley had his life plotted like a flight path, every box ticked and corner squared. You were impulsive, chasing whatever caught your interest in that moment. That probably explained why he was in the Navy, and you were affectionately known as the “anywhere but here” girl.
“Yours looks better,” you admitted eventually.
Bradley didn’t look over. “Years of repainting Navy housing.”
“Of course,” you said. “All those government-issued beige walls really sharpened your technique.”
He chuckled, rolling another line of paint. “Yes, I’m very well-rounded. Wait till you see me fold laundry.”
You pretended to swoon, voice all old-Hollywood and dramatic. “Oh, Rooster, your talent is simply too much for a girl to bear! Do you also do your own taxes?”
Bradley rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Keep your pants on, Grace Kelly.”
You fought a grin and lost. “Actually, I was going for Katharine Hepburn, but thank you!”
It was ridiculous how easy it was, how quickly you fell back into this rhythm; the back-and-forth, the teasing. The kind of ease that made you forget how long it had been since you’d really laughed like this.
You both reached for the paint tray. Bradley’s fingers brushed yours, touch, but it set off a spark in your stomach. Neither of you pulled away. You blamed the beer, the heat—anything but what it actually was.
“You missed a spot,” you said, because your brain was desperate to fill every silence.
Bradley leaned in to look, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “No, I didn’t,” he said, squinting at the wall.
“You did. There.” You pointed, mostly to distract yourself.
Bradley sighed, mock suffering in his voice. “You’re bossy when you’re right.”
“And yet you love that about me.”
That stopped him for just a second too long. Bradley looked at you, smiled, and nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Something like that.”
You tried for casual, reaching for your beer. “You’re getting sentimental, Bradshaw. Careful.”
He wiped a streak of paint off his arm with a rag, the muscles in his forearm becoming taut. “Don’t tell Hangman. He’ll make it weird.”
“He already makes everything weird. What’s one more?”
Bradley laughed, that low, familiar sound that always seemed to settle somewhere in your chest. You couldn’t tell if the room was warmer now or if it was just you. Probably just you.
The next song that came on made you pause. It was your favourite Otis Redding song, a soulful track that made everything feel too close, too soft around the edges.
Bradley stilled, putting the roller down to admire his painting progress. “I love this song,” he said, smiling faintly. “You really went for the classics.”
He hummed a few notes under his breath, low and rough around the edges. Then he sang along to the chorus, and you stilled like your body had turned to stone. Bradley’s voice fit the song perfectly; unpolished but warm, a little like arriving at home after a long trip.
“Still showing off, I see,” you teased to hide how your heart was doing double backflips.
Bradley shrugged, eyes still on the wall. “Occupational hazard.”
“Yeah, right. I think you just like reminding people you’ve got range.”
He laughed, the sound soft and deep. “Well, I did say I was well-rounded. I’m just living up to expectations.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, even though your voice came out thinner than you meant. Bradley’s singing was doing something to your insides that you didn’t particularly feel like acknowledging.
Bradley must’ve noticed your silence because, without warning, he started singing along louder, like he couldn’t help it. His voice filled the room, easy and lazy and heartbreakingly good.
You rolled your eyes fondly, grinning. “Okay, rockstar, you’re ruining my productivity.”
Bradley dipped his roller, smirking. “You weren’t very productive to begin with.”
“Excuse me,” you said, gesturing to your wall. “I did this one all by myself!”
“Uh-huh,” Bradley said, mimicking your tone. “Meanwhile, I did the other three.”
By the time the playlist ended, the walls were painted a soft sage green. The room looked lighter, like it could finally breathe. Bradley stepped back, hands on his hips, inspecting the walls. A smear of green paint streaked his jaw, and somehow that made him even more endearing.
“Not bad,” Bradley declared. “Could almost pass for professional work.”
You pretended to inspect your section. “Yeah, I feel bad. I’m too broke to pay you.”
“I’ll settle for the pizza that’s definitely cold by now.”
You huffed a laugh. “Big spender.”
He shrugged, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. “It’s the company I’m here for, anyway.”
You blinked at that and were suddenly too aware of how close he was; of how his shoulder brushed yours as he turned to look at the wall again. You caught the faint scent of his cologne—warm, clean, maddeningly familiar.
Just like that, the room fell away, and you were transported back eight years.
After showing you all his favourite Navy spots on North Island, Bradley had driven you home in the same Bronco he’d driven in high school. The radio was tuned to a classic rock station that kept losing signal, and every few minutes, he’d reached out to fix the dial.
At the time, you hadn’t seen him in eight years.
Bradley had cut you out alongside Maverick when you were both teenagers, and it wasn’t until your twentieth birthday that you finally reached out. By then, he’d been twenty-four, two years into his Navy career, and hoping you’d call.
There’d been a lot of phone calls, the occasional letter, the postcards you’d sent him from wherever you happened to be that month. But none of it had felt quite real until you were sitting beside him again, the windows rolled down, the salt air blowing through the cab.
Bradley looked older, of course. Broader through the shoulders, quieter in his movements. The loud boy who used to tease you about your terrible driving had been replaced by someone who carried himself differently—steady, restrained.
You’d tried to hide how much that unsettled you.
“Still got the same car,” you’d said, nodding at the dashboard.
Bradley smiled, eyes still on the road. “She’s reliable. Thought about upgrading, but I couldn’t do it.”
“Too sentimental?”
“Too broke,” he’d corrected, grinning.
You’d laughed, and the sound surprised you. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed the way Bradley looked at you like he was storing the moment away for later.
He’d finally achieved his dream and been sent to train at Top Gun, and when he told you, you hadn’t hesitated to drive down from Santa Barbara to see him. You’d told yourself you were only catching up, but the truth was impossible to ignore now.
“How’s Mav?” Bradley had asked after a while, voice careful.
You’d inhaled sharply.
You and Bradley had reconnected a few years ago, but you’d never once talked about your dad. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend the distance was because Bradley had devoted his life to following in his father’s footsteps, and you’d devoted yours to getting as far away from your father’s career as possible.
The truth was messier. Maverick had set Bradley back four years, pulled his papers to the Academy, and they hadn’t spoken since.
You’d shrugged. “Still flying. Still impossible to live with.”
Bradley had nodded. “Guess some things don’t change.”
“Guess not,” you’d said. “I’m just lucky Dad was too sentimental to sell the house, so I don’t have to pay for an overpriced hotel whenever I’m home.”
The silence that had followed hadn’t been uncomfortable. It had been the kind of silence you only had with someone who already knew most of your stories.
When Bradley had pulled up in front of your childhood house, the porch light flickered on automatically. You’d forgotten how small it had looked, how the paint had peeled from the railing where you used to sit and talk with Maverick for hours on end.
Bradley’d cut the engine and turned to you.
“Thanks for the ride,” you’d said, because it had felt like the safe thing to say.
He’d nodded. “Anytime.”
You’d unbuckled your seatbelt but didn’t move. Bradley hadn’t either.
“So,” you’d said, “Top Gun.”
Bradley had smiled faintly. “Yeah. Guess I finally made it.”
“You always were the overachiever,” you’d teased.
“One of us had to be,” he’d teased you right back.
You’d rolled your eyes. “Hey, I got into college! I just decided not to go.”
Bradley had chuckled, and for a second, you’d seen the boy who used to sit on that same porch with you every summer. He and Carole used to make their way down from Virginia every year when you were growing up, and the two of you were always thick as thieves.
The memory had tugged at something in your chest. You’d cleared your throat. “You look good, Bradley.”
“Thanks,” Bradley had said quietly. “You too.”
You’d meant to leave it at that, but the way he’d said it had made your pulse jump.
He’d leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the steering wheel. “You ever think about those summers? The ones before—everything?”
“All the time,” you’d said before you could stop yourself.
Bradley had nodded once, eyes flicking down, then back to yours. “I missed you,” he’d said simply.
The words had hit like a wave. You’d imagined Bradley saying them for years, but now that he had, you hadn’t known where to put the feeling.
“You didn’t have to disappear, you know,” you’d said. “When Dad pulled your papers, he didn’t mean for you to disappear from our lives.”
Bradley had exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat. “I know. But I couldn’t call you. Not then. I was so angry; at him, at myself, at the universe. I didn’t want you caught in the middle.”
“You didn’t even give me a choice.”
His jaw had tightened. “You were still in high school. I was eighteen and angry at the world. You had your own life to figure out. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
You’d laughed softly, without humour. “You always think you’re doing the right thing.”
Bradley had looked at you then, and for a second, you’d seen every year that had passed between you. He might have looked the same, only broader and tanner, but Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t the naive eighteen-year-old he’d been ten years ago.
“Let me walk you to the door,” Bradley had said, because no matter how much time had passed, Carole had raised him to be a gentleman.
He’d got out of the truck and come around to your side, opening the door for you. It had been such an old-fashioned gesture that it made you laugh, but the sound broke halfway out of your throat. You’d stepped out and headed for the porch together.
The boards had creaked softly beneath you, and Bradley had come to a stop as you’d fished your keys out of your bag.
“Well,” you’d said, “this is where you say goodnight and make me regret every life choice that led to this moment.”
Bradley had smiled that familiar half-smile you’d heard through the phone every few days. “Something like that.”
He’d taken a step closer. The space between you had seemed to shrink without either of you deciding it should. For a second, neither of you had spoken.
When Bradley had reached out, his hand hesitated in midair before finding your face. His thumb had brushed along your cheekbone, the touch feather-light, almost reverent.
Bradley’s voice had dropped, rough at the edges. “For what it’s worth, you are the most amazing person I know.”
You hadn’t answered. You couldn’t. You’d only tilted your chin up, and he’d leaned in at the same time. No hesitation now.
The kiss had been slow, too careful, like you’d both been afraid to break whatever fragile thing had survived all those years apart. Bradley’s hands had found your waist—tentative at first, then sure—and you’d sunk into the warmth of him.
When you’d finally pulled back, your heart was pounding so hard you could barely hear yourself think.
Bradley had looked a little dazed. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“Two years?” you’d said.
That had been when you’d noticed a shift in your phone calls. You’d been travelling the world, Bradley’d been trying to prove he deserved to be sent to Top Gun, and things didn’t feel so platonic anymore.
He’d grinned, soft and knowing. “Two years.”
You’d smiled back. “Go before I talk you into staying.”
“I’ll bring you coffee and pastries tomorrow morning,” Bradley had promised, still grinning.
Then he’d walked down the path to his truck. You’d watched him go, his figure lit briefly by the headlights as he started the engine. He’d waved once through the open window before pulling away.
The sound of the engine had faded, leaving the street quiet again.
And for a second, you saw another version of him in the same spot—a year later, walking away from the same porch, but with his jaw set and his eyes red from crying.
You’d watched him go then, too. But that time, he didn’t look back.
You blinked, and it was gone. Just Bradley again; older now, standing in your newly sage green room. He was still the person who’d known you when you thought you had the whole world figured out.
“Hey,” he said quietly, tilting his head. “You okay?”
You nodded too fast, trying to play it off. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Bradley smiled a little. “Dangerous habit.”
“Tell me about it.”
You both stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the wall like it held the answers to things neither of you was brave enough to ask.
You had never been the type to throw a housewarming party, but a ladies’ night felt doable. Low-stakes controlled chaos. You unpacked the last of your boxes that morning and figured it called for celebration.
So you texted Phoenix and Halo. By eight o’clock, there were two bottles of wine open, pizza boxes on the counter, and a shuffling indie playlist in the background.
Halo sat cross-legged on your rug, her hair in a messy bun and her phone halfway across the room because she kept getting work calls. Phoenix had claimed the end of your couch and was already halfway through her second glass of rosé, shoes kicked off, legs tucked under her.
Your little apartment smelled faintly of pizza and garlic bread. You’d lit a candle on the coffee table for ambience, but now the wax had melted into a crooked puddle.
“So,” Phoenix said, pointing her wine glass at you, “how’s it feel being back? You’ve been here what, five months?”
“Six,” you said. “And surprisingly not miserable.”
“‘Surprisingly’?” Halo echoed, grinning.
You leaned back into the cushions. You could feel the wine in your cheeks, warm and loose, making honesty come too easily. “I’ve always wanted to get out of North Island. Like, the second I was old enough to dream about leaving, I was halfway gone in my head.”
Phoenix arched an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“Not bad,” you said quickly. “Just… limiting. My dad’s great, he really is. But his great love has always been the sky, you know? Flying, teaching, all of it. And that comes with a certain lifestyle. Constant motion, waiting on calls, never really belonging to yourself. I spent my whole life watching him break the rules and still have to bend to someone else’s orders, and I swore I’d never do that.”
Halo poured herself another glass and nodded slowly. She shifted closer, her knee brushing your leg. “So you ran.”
You smiled. “Constantly. I was the ‘anywhere but here’ girl. New cities, short leases, jobs I didn’t care about. I convinced myself that if I kept moving, I’d eventually land somewhere that felt right.”
“And now?” Phoenix asked.
You hesitated, swirling your wine like it might spill if you said too much. “Now I don’t want to run. For the first time ever. Which is… weird.”
Halo tilted her head. “Weird how?”
You thought about it for a moment. “It’s kind of a relief, honestly. I like my job, I like my apartment, I even like that I can walk to the beach in under ten minutes. But it’s also a little scary. If I’m not running, what am I doing?”
Phoenix gave you a look that said she’d already guessed the answer. “Maybe you’re staying for a reason.”
You caught her smirk and groaned. “Oh, don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” Phoenix said, all mock innocence. “Certain people seem to be one of the reasons you want to stick around.”
“‘Certain people’ who go by chicken-related callsigns?” Halo added, and Phoenix snorted.
You groaned. “Not this again.”
Phoenix grinned into her glass. “Come on, it’s so obvious! You and Rooster have been orbiting each other since you arrived. Everyone sees it.”
“Everyone?” you asked.
“Everyone,” Halo confirmed. “He looks at you like he’s trying not to. Which, honestly, makes it so much more obvious.”
You laughed softly, though something in your chest tightened. You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, your stomach fluttering with nerves. “You’re both reading too much into it. We’re friends.”
Phoenix leaned forward. Her voice dropped, low and sure, her eyes steady on yours. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. Friends don’t fix your shower head without being asked, or volunteer to pick up IKEA furniture over an hour away. I think the two of you are more than friends.”
You smiled, a little sadly. “Not so much. We, uh, used to date, though.”
For a second, both women blinked at you like you’d spoken in a foreign language. Then Phoenix choked on her wine, coughing into her hand as Halo’s eyes went huge. Her hand shot out, gripping Phoenix’s arm like she needed something to hold onto.
“I’m sorry, what?” Phoenix said once she recovered.
Halo’s jaw dropped. “You dated Rooster?” Her voice came out an octave higher than usual, and she squeezed Phoenix’s forearm for emphasis.
“Back when he first got sent to Top Gun,” you said. “I moved into my childhood house for a year, got a job waitressing in the next town over, and… yeah. We dated. I must’ve been twenty-four, Bradley twenty-eight.”
Phoenix straightened on the couch, her glass halfway to her lips and forgotten. “Hold on. That year? I was at Top Gun with him. He never said a word.”
You shrugged. “We weren’t exactly shouting it from the rooftops.”
Halo let out a scandalised gasp. She twisted toward Phoenix, and the two of them started hitting each other’s arms out of excitement.
“Oh my god,” Halo exclaimed. “That’s why he used to skip out on bar nights?! We thought he was just being old and boring.”
Phoenix let out a snort, shaking her head. “You’re telling me I sat across from that man every day for months and he never once mentioned he had a girlfriend?”
You nodded, smiling a little at the memory. “He’d drive out to see me after training. We’d grab dinner or sit on the porch and talk for hours. Sometimes he’d stay the night if he didn’t have early drills. We decided not to tell anyone.”
Halo blinked, her expression softening as the air shifted. Her hand fell from Phoenix’s arm. “Why not?”
Your throat was tight, the words catching halfway up. Phoenix’s gaze softened when she noticed. Her hand settled over yours. You took a sip of wine before answering.
“My dad was still a taboo subject back then,” you confessed. “And I’m not a local celebrity, but being Maverick’s daughter means I’m a familiar face on North Island. We knew word would get back to him if people found out—or at the very least back to Uncle Ice. Besides, Bradley was in the middle of Top Gun, and I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. It was supposed to make things simpler.”
Phoenix snorted. “Sounds simple,” she said sarcastically. Halo gave her a nudge, a silent reminder to be gentle.
You smiled. “Yeah, we really nailed that part.”
The humour in your voice faded a little. “It was a good year, though. He was the perfect boyfriend—thoughtful, steady, stupidly chivalrous. He’d make me coffee in the morning and kiss my hand before he left for work. He’d tell me about flying without realising his whole face changed when he talked about it. I really loved him. But…”
“But?” Halo prompted hesitantly. Phoenix exhaled quietly beside her.
You sighed. “But he was always going to belong to the sky. And I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be someone waiting for the next deployment or living by his schedule. I wanted to travel, to work, to not feel like I was stuck in my childhood house lying to my dad about who I was dating. We were in completely different places. So I left.”
Phoenix watched you for a moment; her usual sharpness softened. “Did he know you were going to?”
You nodded. “We both did. We just didn’t say it out loud. One day he dropped me off after dinner, and that was it. He hugged me one last time, and we pretended we weren’t both crying. He walked down the path, got in his truck, and drove away. I was in Nevada by sunrise.”
For a long second, none of you spoke. The music hummed quietly from the speaker, a slow song.
Halo reached out, her hand resting briefly on your knee. “Hey,” she said quietly. “That sounds brutal.”
You shrugged, though your throat felt tight. “It was a long time ago. Now we’re friends again. Or something close to it. We painted my apartment—thank you for abandoning me, by the way. I know a set-up when I see one,” you added, giving them a meaningful look. Phoenix and Halo didn’t even pretend to be ashamed. “We still hang out in group settings, and we never told my dad what happened between us. It’s easier than I thought it would be.”
“Except you still look at him like you used to,” Halo said, tilting her head and grinning.
You gave her a small, helpless smile. Your chest ached, a soft pull just beneath your ribs. “Yeah, maybe. But we’ve both changed. Things are different now.”
Phoenix set her glass down on your coffee table. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s still completely in love with you.”
You laughed softly. “You think everyone’s in love with everyone.”
“Maybe,” Phoenix said, grinning. “But I’m right about this one.”
The conversation drifted after that, back to work gossip and whether Halo should see her ex while she was in town.
You could still feel the warmth of their closeness long after the laughter faded. But the subject of your history with Bradley lingered long after they’d gone home, and the apartment was quiet.
You stood by the sink, washing wine glasses. You’d spent years convincing yourself that staying meant settling. But now, standing there in your own little kitchen with three empty glasses and an ache in your chest, you weren’t so sure.
Your dad’s house still smelled the same. You’d expected it to feel different now that it wasn’t yours, but it didn’t. Just more lived in. There were photos on the mantel that hadn’t been there before, a new coffee mug beside the old ones, a few of Penny’s things scattered across the counter.
You heard them before you saw them, their voices mixing with the sound of the stove fan. Maverick was chopping tomatoes, Penny stirring something on the hob, both laughing at a story you couldn’t quite catch.
You leaned against the doorway for a second and watched them. Your dad looked lighter than he used to, and so did Penny. A quiet warmth crept in and you were happy the two of them finally figured things out.
When they noticed you, you were smothered with hugs and affection until you pulled away, laughing. Penny finished up the pasta, Maverick opened a bottle of wine, and conversation flowed the way it always did when the two of them were together. You didn’t have to fill any silences or think too hard.
Then there was a knock at the door.
“Can you grab that?” Maverick asked, wiping his hands on a towel.
You went to open it and stopped short when you saw Bradley on the porch.
“Hey,” he said, his voice even.
“Hey,” you said finally, your voice softer than you meant it to be. You smiled, because that’s what you’d always done around Bradley. “Didn’t know you were coming.”
Bradley shrugged, eyes flicking past you toward the kitchen. “Mav invited me. Guess he forgot to mention it.”
“Right.” You stepped back to let him in, trying to ignore the faint smell of his cologne mixing with the sea air. “Come on, they’re in the kitchen.”
He nodded, but his smile never reached his eyes. There was a tightness to him that hadn’t been there the last time you saw him. You told yourself it was nothing, but your pulse didn’t slow as you followed him inside.
Dinner didn’t go badly. If anything, it went almost too well. The four of you talked and laughed, the kind of easy rhythm you could fall into without thinking. You and Bradley had done this dance before; pretending you were just old friends, nothing more, nothing less.
He sat across from you, relaxed enough to look natural. He passed you the parmesan, smiled when Penny teased Maverick, and joined in when your dad told stories from the hangar. You found yourself smiling back, and for a while, it felt like old times.
After dinner, you and Bradley both tried to stand, but Penny waved you down.
“Absolutely not. You’re guests,” she said, already stacking plates. Maverick backed her up, grinning at your protests.
So you and Bradley ended up outside on the porch, on the same old bench that had been there since you were a kid. The wood creaked under your weight.
You sat with your hands clasped loosely in your lap. Bradley leaned back, one ankle crossed over the other, silent in a way that wasn’t quite comfortable.
“So,” he said eventually, his tone careful. “You told Phoenix.”
You turned your head toward him. “Told her what?”
Bradley gave you a look, eyes narrowing just slightly. “About us.”
You blinked, surprised. “Oh. Yeah, it came up.”
He let out a short laugh, but there wasn’t any humour in it. “You didn’t think to give me a heads-up before dropping that little piece of history into squad gossip?”
You frowned, sitting up. “It wasn’t gossip. It was just a conversation.”
“About something between you and me,” Bradley said, voice low but edged. His arms crossed over his chest like he needed somewhere to put the frustration.
You shifted slightly, mirroring the gesture without meaning to. “Bradley, it’s been eight years. It’s not like I was giving them details or spilling your secrets. We were talking; we’re friends.”
Bradley turned toward you fully now, eyes catching the light from the kitchen window. “You think I want everyone looking at me like some guy who couldn’t hold on to Maverick’s daughter?”
You stared at him, caught off guard. “That’s what this is about? What other people think?”
His jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me sound shallow just because I care how it looks.” Bradley’s tone was clipped, defensive.
You exhaled, trying to keep your voice even. “I didn’t tell Phoenix and Halo to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t,” he said. His voice cracked a little on the words. “But it still did.”
That stopped you for a second. “Why?” you asked quietly.
Bradley looked at you for a long moment before answering, his fingers tapping once against his knee. “Because you didn’t just leave town back then. You left me too.”
You felt your throat tighten. “You were never really here, Bradley.”
His mouth pressed into a line. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” You turned toward him, heat rising in your voice. “You were always chasing the next posting, the next mission, the next step. I couldn’t even get you to slow down long enough to talk about what you wanted for dinner without it turning into logistics.”
Bradley pushed a hand through his hair, eyes flashing. “I was trying to build something—to have a plan. That’s what people do when they care.”
You let out a short, sharp laugh. “You cared more about the plan than me.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You didn’t know what you wanted.”
“I was twenty-four,” you said, your voice rising. “I was still figuring it out.”
“And you decided you couldn’t do that with me around!”
“That’s not true!” You were on your feet now, before you realised it, pacing a few steps toward the railing. “I loved you, but I couldn’t keep being the girl waiting for you to come home.”
Bradley stood too, his voice rougher now. “You could’ve told me that.”
“I did,” you shot back. “You just didn’t want to hear it.”
Bradley let out a sharp exhale and turned away, hands on his hips. “You think it was easy for me? I had no one, alright? My mom was gone, Mav and I weren’t talking, and you—” He broke off, jaw tight. “You were supposed to be the one person who didn’t walk away.”
You stared at him, your chest tightened. “You’re kidding.”
He frowned. “What?”
“You think it was easy for me?” you said, your voice shaking. “Lying to my dad? Pretending I didn’t still talk to you, didn’t still—” You stopped, swallowing hard. “Don’t put it all on me.”
“I’m not putting it on you, I’m telling you how it was!” Bradley’s voice cracked with something raw. “You had a home here. You had Maverick—wherever he was deployed that year. You had people who actually gave a damn. I had empty apartments and transfer papers.”
“Yeah, I ‘had Maverick,’” you echoed. “Some relationship we had that year, what with me lying to him every day.”
Bradley’s mouth opened, then closed again. His jaw flexed. “I didn’t think you wanted to tell him.”
“He’s my dad,” you said, voice rising. “The only parent I’ve ever had. Deciding to lie to his face every time he asked if I’d heard from you wasn’t something I did lightly. But we agreed to keep it quiet, remember? You didn’t want anyone to know.”
“I was protecting you,” he said quickly, taking a step closer.
You gave a short, incredulous laugh. “No, you were protecting yourself. Protecting your perfect image, your golden-boy career, your chance to prove you weren’t just Goose’s son dating Maverick’s daughter.”
Bradley’s eyes flashed. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not,” you said, your voice shaking. “But it’s true.”
He groaned, frustration sparking again. “You think you were the only one carrying something? You had your dad—someone who was always in your corner. I had to do it all on my own.”
Your throat burned. “You had me!”
“Until I didn’t,” Bradley shot back. “Until you decided you couldn’t handle it anymore and ran.”
That one hit deep. Your arms crossed instinctively, a weak sort of shield. “You make it sound like I didn’t even try.”
Bradley’s voice rose. “You didn’t stay.”
You inhaled sharply, feeling your eyes sting. “And you didn’t even notice I was falling apart!”
He froze, chest rising and falling fast.
“I couldn’t breathe, Bradley,” you said quietly, voice breaking. “Do you know what that felt like?”
His expression softened for half a second, but then his shoulders straightened, defensive. “You were always the ‘anywhere but here’ girl,” Bradley said. “I should’ve seen it coming. You’ve been running your whole life.”
You took a shaky breath, blinking hard to keep your eyes clear. “And you’ve been chasing ghosts,” you said, voice low. “Your father, your career, whatever version of yourself you think you owe him. I wasn’t going to stick around and become everything I was scared of growing up—living life according to someone else’s orders.”
The words hung between you, heavy and hot. Neither of you moved for a long moment.
Bradley finally exhaled, his shoulders dropping. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered. “That you ran. That’s not fair.”
You didn’t answer at first, watching the way his hand flexed at his side, like he didn’t know what to do with it.
“I was the one running,” Bradley said finally, quieter now. “From everything. Every mission, every deployment, every new posting—whatever kept me busy enough not to think.” He gave a small, tired laugh. “I thought if I just kept working, I’d never end up like my dad.” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “But I was scared all the time. Terrified, actually. Of chaos, of losing control, of you seeing me come apart.”
You turned toward him, your voice softening. “Bradley…”
“I didn’t want you to go through what my mom did,” he went on, voice rough. “The waiting, the worrying. I thought keeping it quiet would protect you. But maybe I was just protecting myself. Because if something happened to me, and you were still—” He stopped, clearing his throat. “I couldn’t live with that.”
You stood still for a moment, feeling the wind shift, the scent of salt in the air. “I knew all that,” you said quietly. “I knew why you did it. Why you pulled away.”
Bradley looked at you then, searching your face.
You gave a small, sad smile. “You weren’t the only one who was scared. I felt stuck. Living in my childhood home again, pretending I wasn’t lying to my dad every day… it was like being sixteen all over again, except worse, because I actually had something to lose.”
You shook your head, the motion small. “Growing up with Maverick taught me to rely on myself, to move fast, to never get too comfortable anywhere. So when things started getting real with you, I panicked. I didn’t know how to sit still.”
Bradley’s expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. “You thought if you kept moving, you wouldn’t need anyone.”
“Yeah,” you said, voice low. “And then you ruined that theory completely.”
That drew the faintest ghost of a smile from him. “You think I meant to?”
You huffed a small laugh, the tension easing between you. “Pretty sure you didn’t. You just existed, and that was enough.”
Bradley ran both hands over his face, dragging them down to his jaw. “You know, I thought I’d made peace with it,” he said. “I told myself I was over it. Then you moved home, and suddenly it all came flooding back like it never ended.”
You let out a slow breath, your heartbeat still loud in your ears. “Tell me about it.”
Bradley huffed a quiet laugh, then went still again. “You really didn’t mean to tell Phoenix?”
You shook your head. “No. I wasn’t thinking. It just came up, and I trusted her not to tell anyone. I guess I didn’t think she’d bring it up to you.”
“She told me we were being dramatic,” Bradley admitted, chuckling.
“She’s not wrong,” you said, a small smile tugging at your mouth.
That earned you a smile back—tired, but real. The tension between you eased, but it didn’t fade completely. Bradley looked at you again, softer this time. “You look different.”
“So do you,” you said, the corners of your mouth twitching. “In a good way.”
His brow lifted just slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you.
You took a slow breath. “You know, I’m proud of you.”
Bradley blinked, caught off guard. “Of me?”
“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady. “You worked so hard for everything, and you did it without a safety net. Without anyone really holding you up. You built the life you wanted from nothing, and that’s—” you exhaled softly, searching for the right word, “that’s brave. Doing it scared, doing it alone, is a hell of a lot braver than doing it with the kind of confidence someone like my dad has.”
His expression flickered, somewhere between disbelief and something warmer.
“I know your parents are proud of you,” you went on. “You did all the things you used to talk about when we’d sneak onto the tarmac and you’d point at the sky like it already belonged to you.” You smiled faintly, eyes unfocused for a moment. “You made me want to find somewhere that actually felt like home. And the only place that’s ever even come close was North Island, that year I was here with you.”
Bradley stared at you, silent for a long time. Then he leaned back slightly, shaking his head as if trying to get a handle on whatever was building in his chest. “You always did know exactly what to say.”
“That’s not true,” you argued softly.
He smiled at that, small and rueful. “You know what I always admired about you? How easily you fit in anywhere. You could move halfway across the country, not know a single person, and by the end of the week you’d have a new routine anda new friend group. I used to think that was your version of magic.”
You laughed under your breath. “It was survival.”
“Maybe,” Bradley said, eyes lingering on you. “But it’s also something I wish I had. I still have all your postcards. Philly, Austin, Chicago. I keep them in the top drawer of my desk, like little reminders that there’s more to the world than checklists and orders.” He hesitated, his thumb rubbing along the edge of his jaw. “You never settled for anything less than what felt right for you. And I think that’s what I learned from that year: if I could be just a little more like you, I’d be a much happier man.”
You smiled, small but real. “You do look happier. I’m glad I got to be a tiny part of that.”
Bradley looked at you for a long beat, eyes softening in the golden porch light. “For what it’s worth, you’re still the most amazing person I know,” he said quietly. “You were always so beautiful. You still are, more than ever.”
You smiled sadly, your shoulders lowering. “You’re the most amazing person I know too, Bradley.”
He laughed under his breath, then after a beat, said, “I missed you.”
You froze, every nerve in your body alert. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” His voice was low now, quiet in a way that felt dangerous.
“Because it’s not fair,” you said, breath unsteady. “You can’t just say that now.”
Bradley shifted closer, eyes flicking to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “You think I planned this?”
“I think you always have a plan,” you said. “That’s the problem.”
He smiled, small and tired, running a hand along his thigh. “Maybe this time I don’t. Maybe I’ve learned that not everything has to be perfect. That life with the people you love isn’t about checklists and timelines.”
You blinked at him. “You really mean that?”
“I do,” Bradley said, voice softening. “Being with you showed me I could let go a little. So, I’m taking the chance to tell you I still love you.”
The space between you shrank. You could see the faint crease between Bradley’s brows, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you and didn’t know if he should.
“Bradley,” you said quietly.
He reached up anyway and brushed his thumb along your cheek. You tilted your head slightly, closing the tiny gap, your pulse pounding in your ears. His fingers slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your face closer, and you inhaled sharply.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this,” Bradley murmured before connecting your lips.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. The kiss started slow, tentative, but the second your lips moved, Bradley’s restraint shattered.
His hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and the rest of the world—the ocean breeze, the light streaming in from the kitchen window, the creak of the porch—faded out.
He groaned low in your mouth, and it made your knees weak. Teeth caught briefly on your lower lip, and you parted just enough for him to deepen the kiss, tilting his head so your mouths fit perfectly together. Every touch, every brush of skin against skin, was electric.
You could feel the tension of the last eight years unravelling between you with every press, every gasp, every tiny, desperate shift closer.
Bradley’s hands moved to your waist, gripping the curve of your hips with a hunger that mirrored your own. You pressed against him, leaning into his warmth, letting yourself melt into the familiarity of him. It was reckless and indulgent and everything you’d wanted for ten years without ever saying it out loud.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bradley whispered between kisses.
You laughed, a soft, shaky sound, and kissed him again, harder this time. “I’ve been waiting—”
“For far too long,” he interrupted, nipping your jaw, then pressing his forehead to yours. “I know, gorgeous. But we’re here now.”
Bradley’s mouth moved over yours again, teasing then demanding, hands everywhere you wanted them. Your fingers tangled in the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him close, shocked at how easy it felt to lose yourself in him again.
His lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He whispered your name against your skin, and it made something inside you shatter and mend all at once.
“You’ve been mine all along,” Bradley murmured, voice urgent. “Even when we weren’t together, I still loved you. You were all I thought about, every single day, for ten years.”
“I love you,” you breathed, cutting him off with another deep, desperate kiss. “I always loved you.”
When you finally broke apart, gasping, you rested your foreheads together, both of you laughing breathlessly. Bradley’s hands stayed on your waist, yours on his chest.
“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, voice ragged.
“I’ve missed you too,” you breathed back, and it was impossible to say whose smile was brighter.
Inside, Penny froze mid-step, dish towel in hand, staring out the window.
“Are they—” she started, eyes wide as she watched you and Bradley tangled together on the porch. “Are they kissing?”
Beside her, Maverick leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a grin slowly spreading across his face.
“Did you—?”
“Of course I knew,” he said smugly. “Ice and I had a long-running bet about when they’d get back together.”
Penny tore her gaze away from the window to stare at him. “You’re kidding.”
Maverick shook his head, smile softening, voice low and fond. “Can’t believe he got the exact month right.”
being into top gun is so embarrasing because how do i explain that this military propaganda movie has dynamics that rom-coms wish they had






