King of My Heart
title: king of my heart
rating: 16+
characters: robert ‘bob’ floyd x pilot!reader (callsign ‘siren’)
words: 5.8k
themes: friends to lovers, idiot in love, fluff, mutual pinning
warnings: alcohol, cursing, minor injury detail (bruises, cuts), plane ejection, use of petnames (sweetheart), mentions of illness and parental death, mentions of needles, making out, mentions of anxiety
summary: "and all at once, you are all I want, i'll never let you go"
An accident during training and a little liquid courage has Bob finally making his move
tags: @sebsxphia
a/n: part of the fly me to the moon universe.
Falling in love with Robert Floyd was like standing in the eye of a hurricane, the world around you being torn apart at the seams and yet there is calm, serenity in the way he holds your hand when he’s nervous, in the way his eyes never leave yours when your talking, in the way he always makes sure to smile at you when you enter the room as a small way to say ‘hey, i’m here’ because he knows that despite your outgoing personality you can get overwhelmed in social situations and he wants to remind you that he’s a safe space where you can just sit in enjoy each other presence without committing to a conversation, in the way that he can read your body language and knows you better than yourself.
Realising you were in love Robert Floyd was like walking through a soft spring rain, you don’t realise how intense it is until you’re soaked through to the core, until the feeling is so all consuming you can barely breath and you feel it seeping through your bones, setting every nerve on fire until it settles deep in your heart and you suddenly know that is love.
It was five months ago that you realised you were in love with Bob, well, five months since your sister came to visit you at Lemoore and practically scolded you for not snatching Bob up because he was the perfect man. Five months since you insisted that you were just friends. Five months since he held you in his arms and let you cry your heart out over the fact that your fathers health was getting worse and you couldn’t be there.
Five months since your sister looked at you watching Bob one night and said to you, “He looks at you like mom looks at dad” and you had never known a purer love than your parents. Five months since you looked over at Bob and saw him already watching you, that soft smile he reserved only for you on his face, and the realisation came crashing down that you were in love with Robert Floyd. Five months since you decided you were going to do absolutely nothing about it, afraid of ruining the close friendship you had developed over the years.
Bob thought the realisation that he was in love would be electric, like every nerve would be set on fire, he thought it would be like getting lost at sea and being swept under by waves over and over unable to catch his breath. He thought love should be wild and alive, coursing through his veins like it was adrenaline.
But it wasn’t. It was peaceful and soft, seeping into the very fibre of his being, it was like being wrapped in a warm hug, of warmth and safety, of coming back to a warm house after walking through an endless storm, it was the feeling of you.
Of holding you close to his chest when you curl up together during a movie night, of the sound of your laugh and the brightness of your smile, of how your hand slips into his and gives it a gentle squeeze to reassure him that you're there beside him during any event.
It was two months ago that Bob realised he was completely and absolutely in love with you, two months since Phoenix practically smacked him across the back of the head when he started moping around the hanger when you told him you had a date (one you were going on in a half-hearted attempt to get over him) and explained to him why he was so upset about you going on a date.
Two months since Bob looked over to you in the hanger, working on your own plane smiling and laughing with your wingmen, and he thought to himself that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen with the way the sunlight filtering through the hanger danced across your body and made you glow so beautiful Bob could have swore you were a goddess incarnate, a flush spreading throughout his entire body with his heart thundering in his chest and the only thought flashing through his mind being, “I’m so in love you”. It was two months since Bob decided that he was going to take the realisation and the feelings and bury them deep inside himself, the fear of losing you as a friend overriding his desire to pursue you romantically.
It was 12 hours ago that the world crashed down around Bob, 12 hours since he had last seen you. 12 hours since you had to eject from your jet after an engine failure and were admitted to hospital for a check-up to make sure you were okay, 12 hours since his heart almost beat out of his chest and anxiety swelled throughout his body to the point it was painful and he felt like he was going to throw up, bile forming in the back of his throat every time he thought of you being hurt and alone in the hospital. He knew you hated them, hated the clinicalness of it all, hated the fake smiles doctors and nurses held. But most of all he knew you hated the memories that came with them, of your grandfather and, most recently, your father hooked up to machines, their eyes and bodies lifeless as they finally lost themselves to their illnesses.
He wanted to be with you, god he wanted to but Maverick had informed him no one was allowed in to see you and that you would only be in for a few hours while they ran some tests, some bloods alongside a CT and MRI to make sure you didn’t suffer from any internal injuries because on the outside you seemed completely fine, a few cuts and bruises from the landing but otherwise fine. Bob should have felt relieved at the news, but his anxiety only grew, despite being one of the best naval aviators that top gun produced and one of the bravest people he knew, he knew of your fear of needles and medical testing, again associating them with the failing health of your family members.
The anxiety grew and grew throughout the day, turning from a sapling into a horrible monster that wrapped its claws around his heart and squeezed until he was sure it was going to stop, that wrapped a hand or tail around his throat and squeezed so tightly that he thought he was going to pass out because of his inability to breath. The worry planted itself in his heart and spread its roots throughout his veins until he could feel it in every fibre of his being, the heaviness of it making it hard to move until he suddenly couldn’t, as if the roots had spread from the veins in his legs and out through the soles of his feet and wormed their way into the ground beneath him, knotting over and over under the hardwood of the hard deck floors so it kept him anchored, unable to take even a step away from the bar where he currently sat, a bottle of beer in his hands and an empty whiskey glass to the left that he had finished within his first few minutes of entering the bar.
Phoenix could see the tension in her back seaters shoulder’s, the way he sat hunched over with his eyes trained onto the grains of the countertops and how he was gripping the bottle of beer with all his strength (to the point she was afraid it was going to break in his hands), and it worried her. She had never seen Bob like this, not even when they flew the uranium mission did he hold this much stress in his body and she was concerned. To the point that she was quick to abandon the game of pool she was playing (and winning) against Hangman to go and see if he was okay. Which he obviously wasn’t if the way he jumped out of his skin when she placed her hand gently on his shoulder was any indication.
“Hey, you okay?”
As Bob’s nerves settle a little, the scare from Natasha’s sudden appearance dissipating and mingling with the anxiety already overwhelming his body, he puts the beer to his lips and gives a gentle nod. A nod that wasn’t all that convincing as Natasha raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest, showing she wasn’t leaving until he spilled. As Bob places the beer on the counter he sighs and dips his head forward a little so he’s once again staring down at the counter tops.
“Jus’ concerned about Siren s’all.” As Bob speaks a little bit of his southern twang slips through, something he was usually careful about, but the small amount of alcohol seeping through his veins alongside the anxiety makes him long forget about hiding his natural accent, and if Natasha notices it she says nothing and just nods her head. Instead, she leans on the bar beside Bob, propping her chin in her hand as she does.
“Hmmm… and that’s just friendly concern, right?” Natasha’s eyes watch Bob from her periphery, and she smiles as a blush spreads across his cheeks and some of the tension eases a little at her teasing, she didn’t really know how to help. She had never had a friendship like the two of yours, never had a love like what Bob held for you, but if she could take his mind off it for just a little bit then she could.
“Of course… of course… just friendly concern.” Natasha smirks to herself as she watched Bob down the rest of his beer, it was one of only two times she had seen the WSO drink the other time being the celebration after the success of the uranium mission and even then he limited himself to just a couple beers over the many hours of celebrating but here he was a whiskey straight and a beer already finished in the space of 30 minutes.
“Right…right.” A deep sigh falls from Natasha’s lips as she fully turns toward Bob once again, her hand still propped on her hand though now it was by her cheek instead of her chin. “You should tell her.”
Bob eyes Natasha suspiciously, the tension eased a little bit more as he orders another whiskey and Natasha a beer, “Tell who what?”
“Tell (Y/N) that you’re in love with her”
Bob nearly chokes on his own spit at Natasha’s words, his face growing redder than it was before, though it's hard to tell if that was from the alcohol or his embarrassment. He knew that Phoenix knew he was in love with you, she had been the one to point it out to him after all, but this was the first time she had encouraged him to actually say anything. Clearing his throat, Bob begins to pick at the label of the empty beer bottle in front of him.
“I can’t do that…” Though his voice is quiet, Natasha still manages to hear him and she offers him a sweet smile and squeezes him on the shoulder gently. She knew his fears, knew he was scared of losing you but she also knew how you felt. Had seen the way you looked at Bobby (you were the only one allowed to call him that) like he placed the stars in the sky himself and was responsible for the rise and fall of the sun every morning and night, how you always looked at him like he was the most interesting person in the room even as he rambled on about the jets and his systems (something that put most people to sleep). She knew you were as hopelessly and desperately in love with him as he was with you.
“Can’t do what Bobby?” Your voice surprises them both as they whip around and see you standing just behind them in your civies, your bomber jacket on and your aviators slipped into the neck of your shirt.
The sound of your voice is like the whiskey he was drinking, warm and honey smooth as it warms its way into his heart and spreads a heat through his body that burns the roots of worry that had made a home in his body and the sight of you, healthy and alive with a smile on your face that is reserved only for him, turns the monster gripping his throat and chest into something soft and fluffy and warm and suddenly he can breath again and can move freely, feet taking him one step closer to you and then another and then another until he’s standing within arms reach and all he wants to do is reach out and pull you into his arms and never let you go until the world falls apart around him.
“C-can’t handle my alcohol.” Bob lets out a nervous chuckle as Penny sets his second whiskey down behind him and rubs at his neck as Phoenix steps forward and takes you into a hug.
“Glad to see you’re okay Siren.”
“Thanks Nat.” Your voice is soft and there’s a little bit of strain to it, like you had been crying and your throat was still tender. To anyone else, it was the only indication you had been crying, your eyes bright and clear,no redness or puffiness around them. But Bob knew better, looked closer and could see the streaks that stained your cheeks no matter how much you tried to wipe them off.
Natasha gives you one last squeeze and a peck to your cheek as she pulls away, eyes drifting between your form and Bobs with a small smile as she steps back, “We’re in the usual place if you're up for joining us.” As she turns to walk back towards the group crowded around the pool table in the corner, Phoenix mouths at Bob “tell her” and gives your shoulder a gentle rub as she passes by.
You both smile at her as she walks away, eyes following her until she’s back with the rest of the squad before turning back to one another. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, all the stress and anxiety you had been harbouring all day bubbling to the surface once again and threatening to overwhelm you with tears once again welling in your eyes as Bob opens his arms up to you to bring you into an embrace. One you are quick to take, arms wrapping tightly against his torso and burying your head into his chest, taking deep breaths to try and try and stop the anxiety welling inside you, as Bobs wrapped his arms around your shoulder and places his chin on your head.
As you took deep breaths through your nose, you’re overwhelmed with the scent of Bob. His cologne is almost over powering but underneath the sharpness is the smell of him, of engine oil from working on the jet all day and the lingering smell of cloves and cinnamon buried underneath the harshness of the engine oil. It was strange but it was grounding and in combination with Bob's strong arms around you, applying pressure in the right places, the anxiety inside you starts to slowly melt away.
It starts in your shoulders, the tension in them all but evaporating as they droop a little and then it moves down your arms, a feeling of warmth spreading underneath your skin and through your veins as you feel your muscles relax, to your hands which spread themselves against the panes of Bobs back, and down down your spine, legs, and feet, as if it was dripping through your soles and into the floorboards below.
You're so focused on your breathing, on erasing your anxiety and worries that you don’t notice Bob gently rubbing his hand down the column of your spine and him whispering in your ear that you were going to be okay, but that was more for his own reassurances than yours. The weight of you in his arms, the pressure of holding you against his chest, the scent of your perfume and shampoo invading his senses all serve as a reminder that you were alive, that you were standing in front of him and you were okay. It settled any anxiety that remained in his system.
If Bob was being honest, he didn’t want to let you go, wanted to hold onto you for the rest of time. But he couldn’t, so instead he lets you go but keeps a hand on your arm as he leads you to the bar and moves it so it's sitting just between your shoulder blades as you lean on the bar and order a (preferred drink) from Penny, who gives you a sweet smile that lets you know she’s glad your okay and offers Bob a questioning glance as she notices the closeness between the two of you.
It wasn’t unusual for you and Bob to be close, unless your training or on base the two of you were never too far from one another but you were usually the one to initiate any kind of affection, be it a hug or having a hand on his arm or shoulder as you stood next to him, and the affection from Bob wasn’t unwelcome, you relished in it and enjoyed it every time he initiated it. But something about this was different.
It was soft and warm, and yet you could almost feel the desperation and fear behind it, almost as if you were going to disappear in a cloud of smoke between his fingers if he wasn’t touching you, if he couldn’t feel the sensation of your heart hammering against your ribcage (even if it's muted through your back). And if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t so sure you wouldn’t disappear, even if it was just to an unwelcome headspace, if Bob wasn’t there grounding you to reality.
Bob wanted to ask how you were, if you were okay, what the hospital said, but one look at the slight dissociation in your eyes and he drops the thought, not wanting to distress you any further, instead her lifts his glass of whiskey and downs it one go which causes your eyebrows to shoot up as you looked at him.
“You okay Bobby?” The genuine concern lacing your tone sends butterflies coursing through Bob's body, his nerves tangling in his stomach until it felt like it was flipping over and over. You had your personal day of hell, and yet still found yourself worried about little old him. Bob loved your caring personality, he just wished you focused on yourself for once instead of other people.
Bob is quick to nod his head and place the glass back down on the counter, the burn in his throat and the heat of the alcohol coursing through his veins a welcome distraction from how he had previously been feeling, as Penny places your own drink down on the counter in front of you, accompanied by a shot courtesy of Maverick which you are quick down. The burning sensation is welcome and your body already feels lighter as it makes its way through your bloodstream.
“I’m good sweetheart” A blush spreads across your face, Bob had never called you sweetheart before and it felt so good coming from him, you associated the word ‘sweetheart’ with condescending men who thought they knew better than you or thought you owed them something, with them it was a weapon. A word sharpened at the edges and used to dig under your skin to cause annoyance or cause you to bleed for compliance. But with Bob, it was like whiskey, honey sweet and smooth, spreading a welcome warmth through your entire body.
You wanna question him, wanna know why he called you it, but he’s ordering another drink before you can, seemingly doing it by complete accident, just a slip of the tongue brought on by the whiskey he had downed, so you leave it. Instead lift your drink, taking a small sip as you turn and lean against the bar while waiting for Bob's third whiskey to arrive before you join the rest of the crew.
It's easy to find the rest of the dagger squad in the room of full of khaki uniforms, the tall forms of Rooster and Hangman easily standing out amongst the other aviators in the room, even if they weren’t the booming laugh of Rooster is loud enough for you to follow. You watch in amusement and the disbelief on Hangman's face and the pride on Phoenix’s as she stands from the pool table, she had obviously beat the tall blonde and you could see his mouth moving already demanding a rematch because there was no way in hell he was gonna let Phoenix have her win.
You smile to yourself and take another sip of your drink, jumping a little as Bob places his hand on your shoulder to let you know he’s ready to head over to the others. Though he’s quick to remove it given your response, but you can still feel the warmth of it even through your bomber jacket almost as if it was scorching your skin. You shake the feeling off though and instead follow behind Bob as you head towards the usual pool table with a smile on your face, giving everyone a tight hug as they greet you.
It’s three hours later that you move away from the crowd of aviators and towards a little corner to just watch them. You were a social person, enjoyed a good get together but sometimes things got a little overwhelming, a little too loud, a little too much and suddenly anxiety would crawl its way up your throat and take root and you would panic. You didn’t want that. Didn’t want to ruin people’s nights, especially with Maverick bringing his daughter in, just because you were a little anxious. So you took a step back, moved away from the source of the anxiety and attempted to soothe yourself.
Bob sees you’ve moved away from the crowd, he seems to be the only one who has noticed, the rest of the team too preoccupied with getting to know Mavericks daughter and so he was able to slip away and join you in your little corner. As he joins you, he notices your eyes are glazed over slightly and you look like your mind is floating a million miles away. He offers you a small smile and leans against the wall opposite you, content not to speak but be able to offer you some company, keeping you grounded to reality.
You offer Bob a soft smile and tilt your head towards the ceiling, taking a slow deep breath as you do to try and calm the anxiety that was threatening to boil over the surface. Bob reaches a hand out and runs it down your bare arm (your bomber jacket long abandoned and under the bar away from where it could get ruined), hands wrapping gently around your wrist before moving to lock his fingers with yours.
The feeling is grounding, bringing you back down to reality before your mind can spiral completely and you're lost in the waves of anxiety. Your skin feels warm where Bob’s touch lingered and you can feel your palm heating up and almost becoming clammy as he brings it up and holds it against his chest where you can feel the gentle beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in and out.
What you don’t know is a similar feeling is brewing inside Bob, his thoughts spiralling a little as the thoughts from earlier returned. About how he could have lost you, how absolutely terrified he was over the fact he could have lost you, how his heart got closer and closer to shattering into a million pieces the longer he went without seeing you and how all the cracks seemed to heal over the minute he laid his eyes on your form when you arrived at the Hard Deck that night.
You come back to reality, moved so you were no longer staring at the ceiling but instead looking at Bob only to see he was now floating away in his thoughts. You untangle your hand from his, placing it flat against his chest and giving it a gentle tap to draw his attention to you, “You’re floating away Bobby, everything okay?”
Bob cleared his throat and shook his head a little as if that would help dispel the thoughts swirling around them before he replies. “I-I… fuck” With the way you were looking at him, eyes all soft and full of adoration he hadn’t seen before and how you moved your hand away from his chest and down his arm to take his hand in yours and give it a gentle squeeze to ground him much like he did you, he knew he needed to tell you.
Bob was never poetic and he wasn’t very good with his words, with telling people how he felt about them. He knew what he was feeling, his mama made sure he was emotionally mature enough to identify his feelings, he just had a hard time vocalising them. This was no different, he knew he was in love with you. Had been for god knows how long before he realised it himself and he wanted to tell you. God, he wanted to tell everyone, wanted to climb to the highest mountain and shout it for the world to hear.
But fear ate away at his heart. Fear that you would think he was weird, that you would withdraw from him, that you would hate him, most of all he feared losing you completely. He would much rather have you in his life as just a friend than lose you completely. But with the alcohol coursing through his blood stream, the fear ebbed away and what was left was an overwhelming desire to let you know. He wasn’t sure where it came from, if he was to rationalise it in his sober mind it would be the fact that you could have died when you ejected from the plane and then you would have ever known, your ejection serves as a reminder that seeing the next sunrise wasn’t promised and he didn’t want to die, or see you die, without you knowing how he felt.
Bob's eyes dart from the floorboards to your face, your usual soft smile gracing your lips as you look at him questioningly, but never prying. You knew what Bob wanted to say was important, could see it in the tension forming in his shoulders and how the vein running along his jaw jumped, but you weren’t going to push. No, you trusted Bob and he trusted you, so you knew that it would come out eventually, be that five minutes or five years from now.
As Bob's eyes reach yours, for a second he thinks he can see the love he has for you reflected back at him, the same love Phoenix had insisted you felt for him, and it spurs him on as he steps closer to you. Your breath hitches as he does, a flush spreading across your cheeks as he stops so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“(Y/N)...I’m in love with you” The silence that followed Bob's declaration seems to go on forever, a pregnant pause as you let his words sink in. Your heart starts to flutter and your every nerve lights up, making you feel like you’re vibrating, heat spreads throughout your body as a flush turns your cheeks red. You're stunned, you never thought you would see the day where Bob Floyd loved you back, had convinced yourself it was impossible no matter what your sister had told you, but yet he does.
As you stand in silence, letting the shock course through your system, you search Bob's eyes for any hint that he was lying. That it was the alcohol in his system making him say things he doesn’t mean, but all you find is truth and love. The same love you had seen in your dad's eyes any time he looked at your mom, the same love your sister had spoken about when she met Bob all those months ago.
Bob takes your silence as a negative, the previous flame of confidence dwindling until it was nothing but embers burning in the pit of his stomach, suddenly he starts to stammer. Starts to say “You don’t-” going to tell you it was fine, you didn’t have to reciprocate his feelings that he just needed to tell you, but you’re quick to cut him off.
“Bob! You place a hand to his chest, just over his heart and you can feel the beat of it against your palm and it feels like it's ready to break out of Bob’s ribs. Bob shuts his mouth tight, lips turning into a straight line, it had been a long time since you called him by his name, usually sticking with Bobby or even Robert when you wanted to tease him, keeping the name ‘Bob’ tucked away for when he was in trouble or you wanted his attention.
You step back a little, letting go of his hand in the process but keeping one on his chest, and throw your head back against the wall with a little huff of laughter. An action that leaves Bob speechless and confused, his mouth hanging open almost comically. Your quick to regain your composure and you tilt your head forward once again to look at him, tilting it to the side almost innocently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh”
Bob shuts his mouth and gulps at the sincerity of your words, adam’s apple bobbing as he does.
“I just… I have been dreaming about you saying those words for so long that it feels almost surreal to actually hear them” Bob swears his heart stops as he listens, you had been dreaming about this? The confusion must have been clear on his face, so you continue on.
“I’ve been in love with you since our first days at Top Gun Bobby.”
Bob stands like a gaping fish, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the words to match your confession. After all he never thought he would get this far, thought you would run away at first mention of the ‘l’ word and yet here you are, loving him back. He’s drawn out of his thoughts once again by your voice.
“Bobby?” Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, and with how you have a hand on his chest with the other behind you to take your weight, you look the picture of innocence and sweetness and Bob can’t help but think about how he wants to absolutely ruin you, but that would be for another time. A new found sense of confidence, born from a compilation of your confession and the whiskey in his system, previously not experienced by yourself and the other pilots left behind at the pool table drives him even closer to you.
His hand reaches to grab at your waist, giving the flesh a gentle squeeze which forces a small whimper to fall from your lips, and the other ghosts against your jawline before settling on the corner of your neck. His chest presses against yours, he’s as close as he possibly could be and yet you want, no need him closer to you.
Yeah sweetheart?” His voice is husky and just that little bit deeper than normal, the southern twang he tries so hard to hide slipping through and sending desire flooding through your bloodstream to the point you have to hold back the whimper that is desperately trying to make its way past your lips.
“Kiss me…please,” your tone is pleading, almost begging and Bob swears it's the prettiest sound he’s ever heard and it sends desire fooding through his system. He wants to hear it again.
Instead of making you beg further, he tilts your chin up with the hand that was on your neck and slots his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. It's so soft and featherlight, leaving you desperate for more and after spending so long pining and wanting, you think you have the right to be greedy and demand more. So you remove your hands from behind your back and instead twist them around Bob’s shoulder, one hand tangling in the little baby hairs at the base of his neck as you push him in closer to you and deepen the kiss. Bob nearly moans at your eagerness.
The kiss is all tongue and clashing teeth, years of pent up frustration and wanting finally spilling over and showing itself, and Bob is gripping your waist so tightly you're sure there's gonna be some bruising tomorrow.
You pull away from Bob, just barely with your lips still ghosting over his and your noses bumping into one another as your foreheads touch, with panting breath and lust blown eyes. Your hands travel down from the nape of his neck and across the expanse of his broad shoulders to lightly grab at the flesh of his upper arms that are exposed in his service uniform.
“Take me home.” Your breathless from the kiss and adrenaline coursing through your system, with your words coming out barely above a whisper but Bob hears you and he moves his hand from your hip and neck to take your hand in his, using it to guide you through the sea of people now gathered at the Hard Deck. He stops at the bar and closes out both your tabs as you order an uber, not wanting to be driving even with the small amount of alcohol in your system. He guides you outside and pushes you against the exterior of Hard Deck, hands moving under your shirt to grab at the soft flesh of your waist as yours wrap around his neck and pull him down into another kiss and this time you don’t stop until the uber pulls up.
As the two of you make your way out of the Hard Deck, you miss the smiles from your fellow pilots (especially Phoenix) as they watch the two of you leave, giddy smiles on your faces and hands tangled with one another, happy to see you two finally getting together, and miss Hangman handing money out Phoenix and Rooster with a grim look on his face.