#Not sure what to do for Reuben...

[feridilicious]

I CATIFIED YOUR CUBES.

[geminiwritten]

the plan ; robert 'bob' floyd

fandom: top gun

pairing: bob x reader

summary: the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

notes: i fear i may never again experience as much joy as i did while writing this... guys, it was so much fun! i know it's long, but it's full of tension and pining and heat, please give it a read! i actually love this so much, and i hope you do too, so please let me know what you think!!! i literally fell in love with bob while writing this, the lewis pullman spiral is spiralling

warnings: swearing, big dick energy, movie references (the princess bride, the ugly truth, star wars), bob's big dick, tension, lots of horniness (18+ ONLY MDNI), italics, huge dick energy, jealousy, bob is secretly cut, emotional warfare but it's fun, and did i mention bob's massive dick? (let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 21143

your callsign is sunny

It wasn’t long after the uranium mission that Dagger Squad was asked to stay on North Island and train as an elite, mission-focused unit under Maverick’s command. Not that anyone had to be asked—most of the squad was more than happy to be reassigned and stick together. 

Once everything was finalised and the official special operations squadron was born, the first thing most of you did was move out of the barracks. You needed more space—both physically, and from each other—and, frankly, something that didn’t reek of stale socks and floor polish. 

You and Natasha thought you’d hit the jackpot when you found a two-bedroom apartment right by the beach, with a spacious open-plan living area and not one, but two balconies. It was perfect. You could hardly believe it. Full of natural light, and just far enough from the boys you already spent too much time with—training, flying, doing push-ups every time someone pissed off Maverick. 

It was meant to be. 

Until the apartment across the hall went up for lease. 

And that’s how you failed to escape the boys entirely. Reuben and Mickey spotted the sign while helping you move in, and before you knew it, they were neighbours—closer than ever and almost impossible to get off your couch. 

A knock at the door draws your attention from the TV, and Natasha pauses mid-step on her way from the kitchen—bowl of popcorn in hand. 

“Ten bucks says it’s Fanboy,” she says, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

You know that Mickey is stuck on overtime tonight—punishment from Maverick for mouthing off during a fly drill this morning. Natasha, however, hadn’t been in the air with you and clearly wasn’t listening on comms. 

Your eyes flick to the door and back to her. “Deal.” 

She drops the bowl on the coffee table and doubles back, swinging the door open. 

“Ugh,” she sighs. “It’s you.” 

Reuben blinks, his smile faltering as his brow creases. “Nice to see you too, Phoenix.” 

She heads back to the couch, Reuben trailing behind. 

“Why’d you knock?” she asks. “It’s always open.” 

“Wasn’t the other day.” 

You sit up straighter, rolling your eyes. “That’s because it was two a.m. and I was home alone—sleeping.” 

Natasha drops onto the couch, a little closer to you than before to make room for Reuben. “Do we seriously not have boundaries anymore?” she asks him. “What could you possibly need at two in the morning?” 

He plucks the popcorn bowl off the table and settles it in his lap. “Fanboy really wanted to watch The Princess Bride, but Netflix logged us out and we couldn’t remember the password.” 

You lean across Natasha for a handful of popcorn. “Then get your own Netflix account, you fucking freeloaders.” 

Reuben gives you a wounded look. “Okay, rude.” 

You roll your eyes again and flop back against the couch, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asks, peering at you from Natasha’s other side. 

Natasha snorts but keeps her eyes on the TV. 

“Nothing,” you mutter. “My panties are perfectly untwisted.” 

Reuben chuckles and shifts his gaze to the screen. “Then maybe someone should twist them up—get some of that tension out.” 

You flip him off without even glancing his way, your scowl still locked on the TV. He just laughs again, and Natasha shoots you a sidelong, knowing smirk. 

Twenty minutes later—and after Reuben has all but annihilated the popcorn—the front door swings open and Mickey breezes in, making a beeline for the fridge. 

“Have you guys eaten?” he calls out. “Because I’m starving. I skipped lunch and Mav still kept me back.” He grabs a beer and spins to face the living room. “Isn’t that, like, illegal? Something about duty of care? I’m about to pass out, and it wasn’t even my fault I got held back. Hangman was the one mouthing off—I just told him where to stick it. But no, now Mav’s all professional, like he’s a real CO with a stick up his ass. Honestly? I liked him better before.” 

He yanks open a drawer, fishes out the bottle opener, and cracks the beer. “Anyway,” he says, glancing up at the three of you, “pizza?” 

A long beat of silence stretches through the apartment as you all stare at him. 

“Jesus Christ, Mick,” Reuben mutters. “Take a fucking breath.” 

Mickey just shrugs, heading into the living room. “What?” 

He drops onto the floor—figuring the couch is already squishy enough—and sets his beer on the coffee table before reaching for the remote. 

“No one’s watching this, right?” he asks—not that it matters. 

He doesn’t wait for a response—just clicks a few buttons and starts scrolling through Netflix. Frustration simmers under your skin, because yes, you were watching that, but you bite your tongue. You know you’re in a bad mood, and it’s not worth taking it out on your friends. No matter how irritating they can be. 

He finally lands on The Princess Bride and makes a satisfied little hum as he hits play. Then he tosses the remote back onto the table, picks up his beer, and leans back against the couch—his elbow jabbing your knee in the process. Your glass, balanced loosely on your leg, sloshes and spills cold liquid onto your lap. 

“Whoops,” Mickey says, glancing back at you. “My bad.” 

“Uh oh,” Natasha mutters, scooting slightly away from you. 

“Seriously, Mickey?” you snap, eyes narrowing. “Could you not act like a clumsy lapdog for five fucking seconds?” 

His eyes go wide at your tone. 

“How the hell did you even get into the navy?” you bite, rising from the couch. “You’ve got the spatial awareness of a drunk oaf and the grace of a newborn deer on ice.” 

You storm into the kitchen, slam your half-empty glass on the counter, and tear off a wad of paper towels. 

“Very descriptive insults,” Reuben mutters. 

Natasha lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s how you know she’s in a mood.” 

“Why?” Mickey asks, cautiously glancing toward you. 

You shoot him a glare over the kitchen island, dabbing paper towel at the top of your thigh. 

“Bob didn’t talk to her today,” Natasha says. “Like, at all.” 

“Ohhh,” Reuben and Mickey sigh in unison, the sound laced with realisation. 

You toss the damp towel into the sink before turning toward the fridge and yanking it open, bottles rattling. 

“To be fair,” Reuben offers, “you two were on different drills today. He probably just didn’t get the chance.” 

You whirl around, beer in hand, glare sharp. “He asked Phoenix if she wanted to go for a run tomorrow morning—while I was standing right there.” 

You shut the fridge with more force than necessary, then yank open the cutlery drawer and grab the bottle opener. 

“Oh yeah,” Mickey adds. “He asked me too. Wants to do the Coronado Island Loop.” 

You pop the cap off your beer and let it clatter to the floor. “Great. That’s great. Thanks, Mick. Love knowing I was the only one not invited.” 

Natasha sighs, her eyes following you as you trudge back toward the lounge. “I told you—he probably just didn’t think you were interested. When have you ever wanted to go running?” 

Reuben nods. “Yeah, you hate when Mav makes us run laps. You’re always the first to complain.” 

You flop down into your spot and take a long pull from your beer, eyes on the screen. “Yeah, well,” you mutter, “he could’ve asked.” 

“You could’ve spoken up,” Natasha points out. 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and invite myself to something I deliberately wasn’t invited to? No thanks.” 

Mickey shakes his head. “Bob wouldn’t leave you out on purpose. He’s too nice.” 

“Exactly,” Reuben says. “It’s Bob. He probably just got awkward about it.” 

You scowl and gesture to Natasha. “He asked Phoenix.” 

“Yeah, but that’s Phoenix,” Mickey says. “They’re crammed together in the cockpit almost all day, every day. She doesn’t make him nervous.” 

You scoff and sink further into the couch. “I do not make him nervous.” 

Natasha sighs again. “Yes. You do. I’ve told you before.” 

“And I don’t believe you,” you say, despite the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “You’re always saying Bob has a thing for me, but I don’t see it. Wouldn’t he actually talk to me if he liked me?” 

“It’s Bob,” Reuben repeats. “He’s not like the rest of us.” 

“Exactly,” Natasha says. “He’s polite and respectful. Way better than the rest.” 

Mickey turns from the TV, shooting her a wounded look. “Ouch.” 

Reuben shrugs. “She’s right. That’s why we can’t tease him about it. We can’t even ask him if he likes you—though we’re pretty sure.” 

You roll your eyes. “How can you be sure when he’s never admitted it?” 

“Oh, it’s so obvious,” Mickey says with a giggle. “He gets all googly-eyed whenever you’re around.” 

You shoot him a sceptical look, brows furrowed. “I don’t see it.” 

“Well, of course he’s not going to let you catch him staring,” Reuben says, a smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s a gentleman.” 

“Yeah, and he’s not stupid,” Natasha adds. 

“But whenever you’re not paying attention,” Mickey continues, “his eyes are glued to you, like a magnet.” 

You roll your eyes, determined to seem unconvinced, even though you can feel the warmth rising in your cheeks. 

“Oh, and every time you’re brought up in conversation,” Reuben says, “he’s locked in.” 

“Unless we’re talking about you and another guy,” Natasha adds with a knowing look “Then he gets all huffy and weird.” 

You snort a laugh before taking another sip of your beer. 

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Mickey suggests. “Put us all out of our misery. Bob will stop being so awkward, and you’ll stop being so—” He stops when you shoot him a glare. 

“So what, Mick?” 

He turns his gaze back to the TV, muttering, “Moody.” 

You scoff. “Yeah, okay. So, I’m just supposed to believe you guys when I haven’t actually seen any of these so-called signs myself?” 

Reuben and Mickey nod, but Natasha just watches. 

“I’m not doing that,” you say flatly. “I’m not asking him out just to be humiliated.” 

The conversation dies as you turn your attention back to the movie, taking another generous sip of beer. Mickey pulls out his phone to order pizza, and Reuben heads to the fridge for another round of beers. 

You keep your eyes locked on the TV, even though you’re barely watching. Instead, your mind is replaying the day, wondering if you missed the part where it was ‘so obvious’ that Bob has a crush on you. 

It’s hard not to agree with Reuben when he says, ‘It’s Bob,’ because it just is. He’s nice, considerate, raised to respect women and the navy. He’s the perfect officer and the perfect gentleman, and that’s half the reason you’re so damn attracted to him. A gorgeous guy with manners and respect to spare? Yes, please. 

But, God, sometimes you wish he was just a little more basic. A little more in touch with his primal side, instead of always using the higher-functioning part of his brain that most guys don’t even know exists. You’ve never even heard Bob say a woman is attractive, let alone spew some of the caveman shit that comes out of Jake’s mouth. 

And yeah, sure, you could ask him out. He might even say yes, just to be polite. But you don’t want to put that kind of pressure on him or the squad. Him dating you out of pity would be worse than flat-out rejection. 

An hour later, full of pizza and halfway through your fourth beer, you’re curled up with your head on Natasha's shoulder while The Ugly Truth plays on the TV—Mickey’s latest pick. 

“Man, what’s with you and romantic comedies?” Reuben asks, nose wrinkling as he watches Katherine Heigl flail on-screen. 

Mickey shrugs. “Don’t judge. Maybe I’m feeling a little lonely lately.” 

“Aww, Mick,” you coo, voice dripping mock-sympathy. “Better get used to it. You’re going to be alone forever.” 

His head snaps toward you, a scowl forming. “Okay, Miss-I-Refuse-To-Ask-Out-A-Guy-Who’s-Clearly-Into-Me-Because-I’m-Terrified-of-Rejection.” 

A smirk tugs at your mouth. “That was way too long to sting.” 

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re mean when you’re not getting laid.” 

“Hey!” you gasp. “How do you know I’m not?” 

There’s a beat—a static moment where you realise you’ve just fucked up—before they all burst out laughing. And even you can’t help joining in, despite the embarrassed flush crawling across your chest. 

Then suddenly, Natasha jerks upright, knocking your head off her shoulder. Her laughter halts as she stares wide-eyed at the screen, lips parted in a gasp. “Holy shit. I have an idea.” 

“An idea?” Reuben echoes, brows lifting. 

“Yes!” She turns to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I know how we’re going to get Bob to admit it.” 

Mickey swivels on the floor to face her. “Admit what?” 

Reuben rolls his eyes. “That he likes Sunny. Duh.” 

“Oh.” Mickey glances your way, then back at Natasha. “How?” 

“He’s only human, right?” she says, and both boys nod. “It’s obvious he likes her—he’s just too damn respectful. He probably thinks she’s out of her league. Or he’s worried about dating someone in the squad. But deep down? He’s still a guy. He has the same thoughts, the same... tendencies. He’s just better at hiding them.” 

Mickey snorts. “Oh yeah. If the way he looks at Sunny in a bikini is anything to go by, he’s definitely got those thoughts.” 

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t be gross.” 

“No, he’s right,” Natasha says quickly. “I hate it, but he’s right. Every time we’re at the beach and you’re half-naked, he looks like he’s barely holding it together.” 

You try to keep your face neutral, but your heart is thudding too fast against your ribs. 

“Wait,” Reuben says, leaning forward. “I think you’re onto something. Like when she squeezes into the booth at the bar and hovers over his lap for a second—he looks like he’s about to combust.” 

“Exactly!” Natasha exclaims. “That’s it. That’s what we need to do—we need to make him snap.” 

You narrow your eyes, ignoring the spark of adrenaline beginning to curl in your gut. “Okay... but how?” 

Natasha turns toward you, her eyes wide and full of focus. The same look she wears just before take-off. “You need to... tease him. Really make him suffer.” 

Mickey’s grin turns wicked. “Oh, this could work.” 

Your brow lifts. “Tease him how?” 

“Tempt him,” Reuben says, matching Mickey’s grin. “Push every button. Get close. Make him want you so badly he can’t hide it anymore.” 

You snort. “So, seduce him?” 

“Worse,” Natasha says. “You’re going to give this man the worst case of blue balls in naval history.” 

Both Mickey and Reuben flinch. 

“He’s going to end up in the hospital with a permanent boner,” Natasha adds, mischief blazing in her eyes. “Crying. On. His. Knees.” 

“Bob’s a good man,” Reuben says solemnly. “He’s respectful. Polite. Sensible. And we’re gonna have to break him.” 

“We?” you repeat, pulse racing. 

“Exactly,” Natasha nods. “If this were any other guy, you could get it done in a day. But Bob? Bob’s built different. If we want to unleash his inner caveman? It’s going to take a team.” 

Your stomach flips, anticipation stirring beneath your skin. 

“It won’t be easy,” Mickey says, his smirk returning. “But it will be fun.” 

“Sunny,” Reuben says, locking eyes with you. “Are you in or are you out?” 

That spark of adrenaline snaps through you like a live wire. 

You nod. “Okay. I’m in.” 

- 

The plan is simple. Straightforward. One objective. Everyone's clear on it. It’s been mapped out and set into motion—now all you have to do is play your part. Which is probably why your heart is hammering against your sternum like a damn war drum. 

“I don’t know, Nat,” you mutter as the two of you walk across the crunchy morning grass. “This feels wrong.” 

“What does?” she asks. “The thong or the plan?” 

You roll your eyes. “Both.” 

“Well, suck it up. There’s no backing down now.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. Then you release it and reel yourself in. She’s right. You can’t be a chicken forever—and it’s not like you’re doing anything overtly humiliating. Besides, you’ve got a team at your back, and they’re not going to let you crash and burn. 

Last night, Natasha had texted Bob to let him know she was inviting you on the morning run. He’d replied with a simple thumbs up—something you found a little rude, but the boys insisted he only sends that when he doesn’t know what else to say. Which, apparently, is a good sign. 

This morning, you’d dug deep into your underwear drawer for a lacy black thong you bought a few years ago—back when you were more optimistic about your sex life. You pulled it on, despite the discomfort, and borrowed a pair of light blue workout tights from Natasha. Yep, that’s a black thong under pale blue, skin-tight leggings. 

“Without being creepy,” Mickey says from a few paces behind, “the plan is looking really good from back here.” 

You shoot him a scowl over your shoulder as Reuben smacks his arm, even though he’s wearing the same mischievous grin. 

The four of you wait at a picnic table in the park where you’d agreed to meet, and it doesn’t take long before you spot Bob walking across the grass—dark grey sweats and an oversized U.S. Navy hoodie, his hands tucked firmly into the front pocket. Quite possibly the most innocent, basic outfit he could’ve worn—a ridiculous contrast to yours—and yet you still find yourself thinking wildly inappropriate thoughts. 

About what’s under those sweats. About how good they’d look on your bedroom floor. 

Even the soft smile on his lips as he approaches makes you want to scream. How is one man such pure, soft boyfriend material... yet still manages to awaken your most primal instincts? It doesn’t make any sense. 

“Hey,” he says, eyes skimming over each of you before settling on Natasha. “We ready?” 

Natasha nods, and the five of you start walking off the grass toward the footpath before breaking into a jog. She and Bob take the lead while you hang back, with Reuben and Mickey flanking you like a private escort. Exactly as planned. You might be trying to fluster Bob, but you don’t need half of Coronado getting a look at your underwear—hence the two-man protection detail. 

Two kilometres later, you all stop for a quick stretch. Bob wanders off toward a water fountain, and you seize the opportunity to move up beside Natasha, placing yourself at the front of the group. Again—exactly according to plan. 

When Bob returns and joins in on Reuben and Mickey’s conversation, you and Natasha shuffle a little closer. She props one foot up on the bench, leaning into the stretch as she gives a subtle nod—the signal to begin. 

You let out a shaky breath, then slip on your best cool-and-confident facade. 

“I’m never doing this again,” you say to Nat—loud enough for the boys to hear. 

“I’m just gonna get a quick drink,” Reuben announces, conveniently cutting off their conversation. Right on cue. 

Mickey busies himself with stretching, leaving Bob to ‘accidentally’ overhear what comes next. 

“What?” Natasha asks. “Running? I told you you’d hate it.” 

“No,” you reply, pretending to lower your voice—even though you don’t. “Wearing a fucking thong.” 

She snorts, the laugh surprisingly genuine. Either she’s a fantastic actress, or she’s thoroughly enjoying herself. 

“Why are you wearing a thong?” 

You roll your eyes, falling deeper into the role. “Because I forgot to do my laundry and it was all I had left.” 

She snickers. “Well, have fun on the next eight kilometres.” 

“Oh yeah,” you sigh, “can’t wait.” 

You glance casually over your shoulder—and bingo. Bob’s face is bright red. His lips are slightly parted. And he’s blatantly staring at your ass like it’s the final clue to finding the national treasure—and Nicholas Cage is depending on him. 

Beside him, Mickey looks like he’s about to lose it. 

“Ready to keep going?” Reuben asks, walking back up—perfect timing. 

Everyone nods, and Bob clears his throat, licking his lips quickly. “Yep. Let’s go.” 

You and Natasha take off first, keeping yourselves in the lead. 

Every few minutes, you glance back—and without fail, Bob is staring. Each time, it sends your heart skittering, your cheeks heating, and your thoughts wandering into very unholy territory. 

Maybe your friends have been right all along. Maybe he does like you. Maybe this will actually work. 

By the seventh kilometre—with only three more to go—Bob looks like he’s hanging by a thread. He ditched his hoodie about two k’s ago, tying it around his waist. His hair his clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his glasses are fogging up slightly near the bridge of his nose. 

You glance over your shoulder and give him a small smile. His lips pop open and he immediately averts his eyes, focusing instead on the pavement beneath his feet. You turn back, grinning to yourself, and that’s when he picks up his pace and jogs past both you and Natasha. 

Natasha nearly bursts out laughing, but she smacks a hand to her face, pretending to wipe the sweat from her upper lip. She shoots you a sideways look and a smirk—and the two of you push forward to flank Bob, jogging on either side of him. 

“Hey,” Natasha says, more than a little breathless. “You trying to make this a competition?” 

Bob shakes his head, eyes locked on the path ahead. “Nope. Just staying focused.” 

“What’s so distracting back there?” she asks, fighting a smirk. 

“Is Fanboy being a pest?” you add, giving yourself a layer of plausible deniability—just in case he starts to suspect anything. 

Bob’s gaze flicks to you, then drops briefly to your chest before snapping forward again. “Yeah,” he says, voice uneven. “He’s breathing like Darth Vader.” 

“Hey!” Mickey calls from behind. “I’m not deaf!” 

The five of you share a short, breathless laugh before settling into a comfortable silence. You’re thoroughly exhausted now and decide to give Bob a break for the last few kilometres—merciful, maybe, but also strategic. 

Soon enough, the group slows to a walk as the café marking the end of your run comes into view. 

“Thank God,” Mickey gasps. “I’m starving.” 

“You’re always hungry,” you mutter, shooting him a flat look. 

The café is busier than expected, and you’re about to start crafting a subtle excuse to avoid going in when Reuben steps up behind you and unzips his jacket. 

“Cover your ass up, Sunny,” he says, smirking. “For fuck’s sake.” 

You try—and fail—to suppress your grin as he hands you the jacket. You roll your eyes and tie it around your waist, grateful for the cover. 

Once you’re feeling a little more decent, the group heads inside to order breakfast and find a table out back on the patio. The food and coffee arrive quickly, and soon everyone is digging in, quiet with post-run hunger. Though judging by how often Bob’s eyes keep darting toward you, his appetite might not be entirely food-related. 

“So,” Mickey says through a mouthful of bacon, “are we finishing the Star Wars marathon this weekend, or what?” 

Bob perks up instantly, eyes going bright, the usual stormy blue softening into something more sky-coloured. “Yes. Tomorrow night?” 

Reuben frowns. “But that’s Sunday.” 

“Mav gave us Monday off,” Natasha chimes in. “Weekend rotation, remember?” 

“Oh, right.” Reuben nods. “Yeah, I’m in.” 

“How many are left?” Natasha asks. 

“Six,” Mickey replies. “Not including spin-offs.” 

“We’re not getting through six in one night,” you point out. “We’ll be lucky to finish the prequels.” 

“Unless…” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief as they flick between everyone at the table, “we had a sleepover.” 

You snort into your coffee before taking a sip, expecting someone—probably Natasha or Reuben—to shut the idea down. But instead, their faces light up with the same devious smirk that Mickey is wearing. 

“We could,” Natasha says casually. “I think it’d be fun.” 

Bob blinks at her. “You do?” 

She nods. “Yeah. Why not? We could play some drinking games and not worry about getting home.” 

“Drinking games!” Reuben echoes with excitement. “You’re a genius, Phoenix.” 

With the way their eyes keep bouncing between you and Bob, it’s clear now: they’re scheming again. Plotting the next phase of Operation Bob's Blue Balls—and your pulse is already quickening with anticipation. 

“We could do it at my place,” Bob offers, earnest as ever. “I’ve got a spare room. Plenty of space.” 

Reuben grins. “What a great idea, Bob.” 

Bob glances around at his grinning friends, the smile on his face tinged with uncertainty. He has no clue what he’s just agreed to. 

- 

“Did you pack sexy PJs?” Natasha asks, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel. 

You roll your eyes. “I don’t own any sexy PJs.” 

She shoots you a sly smirk before her gaze flicks back to the road, her silence thick with something unspoken—as if she already has a plan to remedy your lack of Victoria’s Secret-worthy sleepwear. 

Bob’s apartment isn’t far from yours. In fact, none of you live all that far from each other, but tonight, the distance doesn’t seem to matter. No—the real reason for tonight’s sleepover is something far more sinister. 

You know you’re the last to arrive, not just from the cars parked along the street, but from the group chat where Mickey has been demanding you hurry up so he can order dinner. Your heart beats in your throat as you ride the elevator up, and the ding when it reaches Bob’s level startles you more than it should. 

Natasha’s smirk stays plastered on her face until she knocks on the door, and the second it swings open, with Bob standing there, she’s all business. 

“Hey,” she says casually, walking past him like she’s been here a thousand times. 

A stab of jealousy twists in your stomach—completely unwarranted but sharp nonetheless. Has Natasha been here a lot? 

“Hi,” you mutter, offering Bob a small smile as you follow Nat inside. 

There’s a chorus of hellos from the squad scattered around the living room. Bradley lounges across the two-seater couch furthest from the door, and Mickey is sprawled in a bean bag beside him, grinning like a kid in a candy store. Jake and Javy are tangled together on one end of the three-seater couch, probably having just finished fighting over the remote. And then there’s Reuben, sitting in the middle, with Natasha plopping down beside him. 

“Guess I’ll take the floor,” you mutter, dropping your bag beside the pile of everyone else’s stuff. 

“That’s alright,” Jake says with his usual cocky grin, “You can sit on Bobby’s lap for a bit of comfort.” 

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to let him see the effect of his words. Instead, you roll your eyes and flip him off, then plop down onto the makeshift nest of cushions and blankets on the floor. 

Bob reappears from the kitchen with another round of beers, while Mickey takes orders for dinner. Then Bob settles down beside you, his arm brushing yours just enough to send a sparks crackling across your skin. A moment later, Jake hits play on The Phantom Menace, and the room settles into a comfortable, albeit charged, quiet. 

It doesn’t take long before Jake groans that he’s bored, and Reuben’s eyes immediately flick toward Natasha—like they’d both seen this coming from a mile away. 

“We could play a game,” Mickey offers, all too innocently. 

“Yes,” Jake grins, already invested. “Let’s play a game.” 

“What game?” Javy asks. 

Reuben opens his mouth, but Jake beats him to it. “Truth or Dare, obviously.” 

Natasha snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, but not before you catch it. That was exactly what Reuben had been about to suggest—and Jake is walking right into whatever scheme they’ve cooked up. 

“How old are you?” Bradley asks Jake, brows furrowing. 

“Not as old as you, Grandpa,” Jake fires back. “But you could at least pretend to enjoy fun.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes but shrugs. “Fine.” 

Everyone else falls in line, shifting around until you’ve all formed a lopsided circle on the floor, your back half-angled toward the movie. Jake claps his hands together like the ringmaster of a circus—which might not be far off from what this night is about to become. 

“Alright. If you’re a chicken and won’t answer the truth or do the dare, you drink. Simple. I’ll go first.” He zeroes in on Bob—poor, unsuspecting Bob, who clearly just wanted to enjoy some Star Wars in peace. “Bob. Truth or Dare?” 

“Truth,” Bob says, almost too quickly. 

Jake leans forward with a shit-eating grin. “Who would you rather go on a date with—Phoenix or Sunny?” 

You choke on nothing, smothering the sound behind your hand and pretending it’s just a casual cough. 

Heat blooms across Bob’s cheeks and starts creeping up to the tips of his ears. He glances your way—just for a beat—then over at Natasha, and your stomach knots. Is he seriously having to think about this? Have your friends been totally misreading Bob this whole time? 

Then, after a moment of hesitation, Bob simply lifts his beer and takes a long sip. 

Jake groans. “Ugh, lame.” 

“Don’t worry, Bob,” Javy says with a laugh. “That was a trap. There was no right answer.” 

Bob chuckles—a low, rough sound right next to you that sends goosebumps up your arms. “I know,” he says, voice deceptively casual. Then he shifts his gaze toward Mickey. “Fanboy. Truth or Dare?” 

Mickey’s face lights up. “Dare.” 

Bob smiles—and for the first time tonight, it’s almost a smirk. There’s something sharp beneath the usual softness, and it makes your stomach flip. 

“Text the last person you hooked up with ‘thinking about you’—no context. And you can't reply until tomorrow.” 

Mickey’s grin drops. “What the fuck, man?” 

Bob just shrugs, raising his beer like it’s a toast. “You picked dare.” Then he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a generous swig. 

And holy shit—you might actually combust from the sight alone. Bob being just a little cocky. Bob utterly destroying Mickey with zero remorse. You know there’s a darker edge beneath that quiet, boy-next-door act. You know he’s got a mean streak. And God, you want to find it. Pull it out of him and ask—beg—for him to do things you can’t even say out loud. 

The group erupts into cackles as Mickey reluctantly pulls out his phone, Reuben peering over his shoulder to make sure he follows through. 

“There,” Mickey mutters, tossing the phone face-down on the floor. “You better watch your back.” 

But Bob doesn’t flinch. He just sits there, calm and collected, with that damn smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

When you finally tear your gaze away from him, you find Mickey’s eyes locked on you—an evil grin stretched across his face. “Sunny,” he says, voice smooth as silk. “Truth or Dare?” 

You steel your nerves, unsure of what’s coming but already sensing the trap. “Dare,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. 

Mickey’s grin widens, tipping his head forward like some sinister villain—and you just walked straight into his web. “Google a dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey... and whisper it slowly in Bob’s ear.” 

Jake snorts, his face twisted with amusement, and the rest of the group follows—dissolving into fits of laughter. All but Bob, who’s already choking on his beer, turning an even deeper shade of red before you’ve even touched your phone. 

You blink, eyes going wide. “Are you serious?” 

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Mickey replies, practically vibrating with excitement. “And no laughing. You have to sell it.” 

You lock eyes with Mickey, your death-glare sharp as your hands shake slightly while you pick up your phone. Then, you reluctantly tap the search bar and type in ‘dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey.’ Before you realize what’s happening, Natasha leans over your shoulder. 

“Ooh,” she giggles, pointing at the screen. “That one.” 

You glance up at Bob, your expression a mix of apology and warning. He looks much less confident than before, his lips parted, cheeks flushed, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. His throat bobs as he swallows, and a small part of you—one that feels dangerous—stirs with excitement. 

The room falls into eerie silence, and you realize that Jake has paused the movie. All eyes are on you as you shuffle closer to Bob, getting onto your knees beside him. You plant one hand on his thigh to steady yourself, and you feel the muscles in his leg twitch at your touch. 

His breath hitches, his whole body going rigid. 

You lean in close, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear as you murmur, “I want your hands on me. Your mouth. I want to feel you everywhere until I forget my own name.” 

A beat of silence stretches, and then Bob exhales sharply, his hand tightening around his beer bottle as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jake mutters under his breath. 

“Holy shit,” Reuben says, breaking into laughter. 

Mickey is howling, pounding his fist against the beanbag. “Worth it! So worth it!” 

You slowly pull back, biting back a grin as you settle back into your spot like nothing happened. Bob, however, is still stuck in the mental tailspin you just launched him into, blinking hard and adjusting his glasses like he needs a whole system reset. 

You meet his eyes, and for the briefest second, you see it—buried beneath the shock and heat—that glint of hunger. 

God help you, you're not making it out of tonight alive. 

The game moves on, but you can’t quiet your mind. You’re stuck on the way Bob’s thigh had felt beneath your palm, the way the muscles shifted under your touch. You can’t stop replaying the brush of your lips near his ear, the hitch in his breath, or the way he’d smelled—clean, warm, intoxicating. You don’t just want to fuck this man—you want to ruin him. You want him panting and wrecked, bruised and breathless, oversensitive and spent. There are things you want to ask of him that would guarantee you a one-way ticket to hell. But if he said yes—if he gave you those things—it’d be worth it. 

You’ve never wanted a man the way you want him, and it’s starting to feel like a genuine threat to your well-being. 

“Bob,” Natasha says, her voice snapping you back to reality, “Truth or Dare?” 

You’re not sure how many turns you’ve missed, but Bradley and Reuben seem to have swapped shirts, and there’s a bottle of tequila on the table that definitely wasn’t there earlier. 

“Dare,” Bob replies, seemingly recovered from your whispered indecency. 

Natasha grins. “I dare you to pick someone in this room to do a body shot off of—excluding me.” 

Your heart stutters at the last part. Did she say that because she thought he’d pick her? Would he have? Out of comfort, knowing it wouldn’t mean anything—or for some other reason? 

You shake the thought off quickly and join the group’s laughter, mentally scolding yourself for the jealous spiral. 

“Seriously, Phoenix?” Bob sighs, his brows knit. 

She just shrugs, laughing. “You picked dare.” 

He tips his head back and groans, giving you a perfect view of the long line of his throat, the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“Come on, man,” Jake chuckles, “There’s only one clear choice.” 

Your cheeks flush as Jake nods toward you, green eyes sparkling like he’s the one about to do the dare. 

“As if you’re not going to pick Sunny,” Javy adds, watching as Bob’s eyes slowly scan the room. 

Then his gaze lands on you—soft, but laced with something heavier. Something simmering. 

He licks his lips, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining them on your skin. Imagining his tongue dragging over your body, slow and deliberate. The salt from your collarbone, your abdomen… or maybe lower—right above the waistband of your pants. Would he use the glass? Or would he press his mouth to your stomach, lips sealing around your navel, tongue lapping up the tequila while you tremble beneath him? 

Then the lime—between your lips, waiting for him. His mouth brushing yours as he leans in, breath mingling, tasting more than just the fruit. You imagine the sharp burst of citrus, the tease of contact, tequila heat still slick on his tongue. He’d bite down, lips grazing yours, and it would wreck you more than any kiss ever could. 

“Hangman,” Bob says suddenly, his gaze locked on the man across the circle—who now looks a lot less smug and a lot more stunned. 

Jake’s brows shoot up. “Me?” 

The room erupts into laughter. Bradley throws his head back, already fumbling for his phone to record whatever chaos is about to unfold. Mickey nearly falls over, gripping the bean bag for dear life, and Javy is doubled over, laughing so hard he can’t catch a breath. 

“Why would you do this to me?” Jake gasps, eyes wide. 

“You said there was only one clear option,” Bob replies evenly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I agree.” 

“You bitch,” Jake mutters. 

“Oh, this is so much better than what I thought was going to happen,” Natasha says. “Shirt off, Bagman. Let’s go.” 

“This could be considered assault,” Jake mutters as he sits forward on the couch. 

“Then press charges,” Bradley says, half-choking on a laugh. “But let him finish first.” 

Natasha bolts to the kitchen for lime and salt, and the rest of the group scrambles to clear space on the lounge like they’re prepping for surgery. Jake peels off his shirt with the theatrics of a martyr, glaring at each of his cackling friends. 

Bob, meanwhile, looks cool as ever—far more composed than Jake. And maybe that’s the point. Picking you would’ve set the room on fire. Picking someone else would’ve gotten laughs. But picking Hangman? That’s just cruel and perfect—and from the slow curl of a smirk on Bob’s lips, he knows it. 

“Let’s go, Seresin,” Natasha says, reappearing with lime in one hand, salt in the other. 

Jake lies back with exaggerated misery, like a man about to be sacrificed at the altar. “I swear to God, Floyd, if you do anything weird with your mouth-” 

“I won’t,” Bob says, calm and unbothered. “Unless you want me to.” 

Your stomach somersaults. He didn’t even look at you—but somehow, it still feels like the line was meant for you. Like he knows exactly what he does to you, without even trying. 

Bob Floyd is fucking smooth when he wants to be. 

The room falls eerily quiet as Bob kneels beside the couch, one hand braced on the cushion beneath Jake’s body, the other holding the tequila bottle. He looks serene—like he’s preparing for a sacred ritual rather than licking salt off another man’s chest. 

“This is happening,” Mickey whispers, wide-eyed. “This is actually happening.” 

“Focus, Bob,” Natasha says solemnly, holding the shot glass as he pours the tequila. “We believe in you.” 

Bob sets the bottle down and leans toward Jake slowly, both hands now braced on the couch as he lowers his head to the other man’s chest. The room is absolutely silent, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the charged hush of everyone holding their breath. 

Jake stares straight up, completely stiff. “Don’t look at me while you do it.” 

“I’m not,” Bob says, deadpan. 

He dips his head and licks the salt clean off Jake’s skin. Jake jerks like he’s been hit with a defibrillator. 

“Oh my God,” Javy whispers, clutching his chest. “This is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.” 

Natasha hands Bob the shot, and he tosses it back like he’s sampling a fine whiskey. Then he turns to the lime Natasha has jammed between Jake’s clenched teeth. 

“Don’t you dare,” Jake warns. 

“I’m just following instructions,” Bob replies calmly, and leans in. 

There’s a ridiculous half-second where it looks like they’re about to kiss—and everyone knows it. You bite your fist to keep from bursting out laughing… or something else entirely. Because Bob? Cool as ice. Smooth as ever. He doesn’t even flinch as his mouth brushes Jake’s, teeth clamping down on the lime and tugging it free. 

Jake makes a choked sound halfway between outrage and existential crisis. 

Then the room explodes. 

Bradley nearly falls off the lounge, still recording, laughter shaking his whole body. Natasha collapses into Javy’s lap, practically wheezing. Mickey is making noises like he’s being exorcised, and you’re on the brink of tears, shoulders shaking with laughter as Bob calmly returns to his seat, lime in hand, mouth twisted slightly at the tartness. 

Jake bolts upright, wiping his mouth. “I need therapy.” 

Bob frowns. “You needed therapy before that.” 

“Yeah,” Jake spits, yanking his shirt back on. “Well, now I need more.” 

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt it before—and you definitely don’t plan on voicing it—but right now, you are incredibly fucking jealous of Jake Seresin. 

It takes a while, but eventually the group settles down and the game fizzles out—mostly thanks to Jake’s relentless sulking. Not long after, Mickey gets a notification that the food is nearly delivered, and everyone jumps into action to clear the table and grab what’s needed for dinner. 

Less than ten minutes later, you’re all crowded around the coffee table, shovelling Chinese food into your mouths and stealing bites off each other’s plates. Jake’s sour mood has mostly vanished, and everyone is focused on the final battle of the movie playing out on-screen. 

By the time the credits start rolling, most of the food is gone. You and Natasha start carting plates, bowls, and empty containers into the kitchen while the guys finish polishing off their meals, scraping the last of the food off their plates and into their mouths.  

“Did I mention I brought dessert?” Reuben pipes up, eyeing you as you stack a few plates in one hand. 

You raise a brow. “Are you about to make a gross joke?” 

“No,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You know Barb, down the hall?” 

“Neighbour Barb with the yappy chihuahua?” 

He nods. “Yeah. She bakes, like… the most amazing stuff.” 

You narrow your eyes, plates now balanced in both hands. “Do I even want to know how you know this?” 

Mickey answers for him, talking around a mouthful of Mongolian beef. “Because we’re nice to our neighbours.” 

You give him a disgusted look before turning back to Reuben. “Okay. Get to the point.” 

He grins, a smug twist playing at the corner of his mouth. “She made a huge batch of cream pies—I mean, puffs. So she brought some over, and I brought them here. They’re to die for.” 

Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly—but Reuben catches it, and you can see the spark of amusement flash across his face. 

“Have you ever had a cream pie, Sunny?” Mickey asks, beaming up at you with sauce smeared on his face. 

Jake and Javy snort, and behind you—you swear you hear Bob snicker. 

“Yes, Mick,” you bite out. “I’ve had a cream puff.” 

You turn sharply back toward the kitchen, but not before catching the small smirk on Bob’s lips, his cheeks pink as he spoons another mouthful of kung pao chicken into his mouth. 

“That’s not what I asked!” Mickey calls after you, giggling like a grade-schooler. 

You roll your eyes and drop the plates by the sink, where Natasha and Bradley are already washing up. 

“Lookin’ a little red there, Floyd,” Reuben teases, his voice carrying from the living room to the kitchen. 

It’s the chicken,” Bob replies quickly—but there’s something in his voice that makes a stupid, lovesick grin spread across your face. 

Once everything is washed up and everyone has returned to the living room, Jake hits play on the next film. You’re back on the floor, this time with your back pressed to the couch beneath Natasha, who’s curled up with her legs tucked beneath her, leaving you space to lean. Bob is further away now, sprawled on his back across a fluffy blanket, a cluster of pillows beneath his head, hands folded neatly over his stomach. 

You try to keep your eyes on the screen—it really shouldn’t be that hard with both Hayden Christensen and Ewan McGregor to enjoy—but your gaze keeps drifting to Bob. He looks so content, so cute, his lips tipped into a soft half-smile and his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. There’s something about him that turns your brain to absolute mush, and you still can’t figure out what. 

Maybe it’s the dichotomy of him. How sweet and quiet he is—some might even say shy, but you know better. He’s just overwhelmingly nice, with a pretty face to match. And yet, you have to remind yourself that this man is in the navy. He’s not spineless—in fact, he’s the total opposite. He’s sharp and quick-witted, strong both mentally and physically. There’s not a single thing about him that’s weak, yet he lets people assume otherwise. 

Maybe it’s confidence. The kind that doesn’t need to be loud. He doesn’t care what people think or say. Not that he isn’t awkward sometimes—he definitely can be—but that’s more about being introverted. He doesn’t need to show off or run his mouth like Jake. He doesn’t need to fly like an idiot to prove himself. He’s just Bob. He knows who he is, and he’s not apologetic about it. 

What is it they call that? 

Oh yeah… big dick energy. 

Your eyes drift down his torso, lingering briefly on his hands—the way his long fingers are laced together—before continuing down to the waistband of his dark blue joggers. There’s a bulge in his lap. A notable one. And a slight outline continuing down the left leg of his pants… 

Wait. That’s like… kind of huge. 

A hard nudge to your shoulder startles you, and you whip around to see Natasha staring at you. Her eyes are wide, her lips pulled into a smirk—half disbelieving, half smug. 

Stop staring, she mouths. 

You press your lips together to hold back a laugh, a little giddy from your fourth—or maybe fifth—beer. Your face feels warm, and you know if you keep looking at Nat, you’ll start laughing, so you quickly turn back to the movie. 

“Okay,” Mickey pipes up, scrambling out of the beanbag and to his feet, “who wants cream puffs?” 

“Only if you serve them warm and full,” Jake shoots back. 

The room erupts—half groans, half childish laughter. Mickey just snorts and disappears into the kitchen, Reuben trailing behind him. A few minutes later, they return, each holding a heaping plate stacked with warm, golden cream puffs. 

“Fair warning,” Reuben says, setting one down on the table, “these things are insane. Like... dangerously good.” 

You grab one without hesitation—soft, golden, still warm to the touch. It’s dusted in powdered sugar and practically bursting with cream. You bite into it and—holy hell—the taste explodes in your mouth. Sweet. Rich. Ridiculously creamy. You moan without meaning to, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Oh, wow,” you say around a mouthful. “That’s... actually insane.” 

The group hums and laughs in agreement, but you barely notice. You take another bite—bigger this time—and it squishes a little too easily in your hand. Cream oozes out the side, trailing down your chin and, with an audible plop, lands squarely between your breasts. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, trying to swipe the cream away—but all you manage to do is smear it further. 

There’s a beat of silence, and even the movie playing in the background seems to go quiet. 

“Jesus Christ,” Reuben says, somewhere between impressed and scandalised. “You sure you don’t need a minute alone with that thing?” 

Laughter rumbles around you, and only when you look up do you realise how provocative that just was—the heat in your cheeks deepening. But then your eyes catch on Bob. 

He’s not laughing. He’s not even blinking. 

The lazy smile he wore earlier? Gone. He’s sitting upright now, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. His gaze is locked on you like he forgot what movie is playing, what day it is—hell, maybe even his own name. 

“Floyd?” Mickey nudges his leg with a foot. “You good?” 

Bob jolts slightly, as if waking from a trance. He coughs, shifts, and yanks the blanket from the floor to cover his lap—too quickly to be casual. 

“They, uh...” he clears his throat, voice rough. “They look really good.” 

Your stomach swoops as he leans forward, still holding the blanket tight in place, and reaches for a cream puff from the plate right in front of you—still avoiding your eyes entirely. 

Natasha leans in from behind, her voice low. “You are killing him.” 

You press your lips together to hide your grin, eyes flicking back to Bob—who’s now doing everything in his power not to look in your direction. 

The cream puffs disappear in what has to be a record amount of time. You’re pretty sure you watched Javy inhale at least four, and there was an unnecessarily loud argument between Mickey and Bradley over the last one, which ended in a begrudging decision to split it. 

The rest of the movie plays out without incident, and afterward, everyone decides to change into their PJs for the final film of the night. You’re honestly surprised everyone has made it to movie number three, but you’re not complaining. 

The boys start rummaging through their bags, swapping out jeans for boxers or stretchy pajama pants while Natasha grabs her bag and disappears into the bathroom. You keep your eyes glued to your phone screen to avoid catching a glimpse of something you definitely don’t want to see—because these boys? They have no shame. 

“You can change in my room if you want,” Bob offers. 

You glance up, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on him, because just a little to the left is where Jake is still mid-change. 

“Yeah?” 

Bob nods, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gestures down the short hallway past the kitchen. “It’s the door just after the bathroom.” 

“Thanks,” you mutter, pushing to your feet and grabbing your bag as you slip past the others—now teasing Mickey about his choice of boxers. 

The door is open just a crack, and your heart thuds a little harder than it should as you ease it the rest of the way. The smell hits first—clean and warm, with a twist of vanilla that makes you want to wrap yourself in it and never leave. 

You flick on the light and shut the door behind you, dropping your bag to the floor. You know you should just get changed, but… you can’t help it. You’ve only been to Bob’s apartment a couple times before—once to help him move in (because of course the whole squad helped), and once with Natasha to pick him up before a night out. But never in here. Never in his room. 

It’s almost unusually tidy, but that’s navy life for you. His bed is made neatly, topped with a soft baby blue duvet, coordinated beige and cream pillows, and a throw blanket folded at the foot. It’s a little faded and looks handmade, like something passed down through generations. 

On one side of the room, a bookshelf houses a quiet little collection of well-loved paperbacks, a few aviation manuals, and a line of model planes—some pristine and precise, others clearly glued together by a much younger version of him. A framed photo of a beaming, pint-sized Bob in oversized glasses sits on the dresser, nestled between a small baseball trophy and a display of navy challenge coins. 

A pair of worn sneakers sits neatly by the door, and his uniform jacket hangs off the closet handle, the door slightly ajar. The name tag catches just enough light to pull your eyes toward it. Everything about the room feels like him—modest, thoughtful, quietly proud. It’s the kind of unintentional intimacy that makes you feel like you’ve slipped behind the curtain and gotten a glimpse of the real Bob. 

And somehow… that makes your chest ache. It’s just a room. But it feels so much like him—like you could curl up in here with him for hours, doing nothing but talking and dreaming. Getting lost in each other. Letting the rest of the world wait. And then, later, getting tangled together. Soft kisses, whispered pleas, gentle moans—slow and unhurried, learning one another’s bodies until you know each other better than you know yourselves. 

You shake your head hard and take a breath. You’ve already been in here too long. Pull it together. 

You crouch beside your bag and pull out your pajamas—soft lounge shorts and a matching long-sleeved shirt. It’s nothing special, but a step up from your usual: an old, food-stained navy tee and nothing but underwear. 

You change quickly and shove your clothes into your bag before leaving the room. The lounge room has quieted down, everyone now back in their seats—except for Mickey and Bob, who are in the kitchen grabbing another round of drinks. 

Jake hits play as soon as they return, and everyone settles in again. There’s less chatter now, probably because of how late it’s gotten. Bradley is almost definitely asleep, eyes half-shut on the two-seater, while Mickey is having the time of his life seeing how many of Bradley’s fingers he can get stuck in the top of his beer bottle. 

Natasha is curled up behind you, her head resting on Reuben’s shoulder, and his blinks are getting longer and slower by the second. Jake is surprisingly alert and invested in the film, but Javy looks like his head might lull back at any moment. And Bob—Bob is still wide awake, his eyes sparkling with interest as he watches the screen. 

Halfway through the film, Mickey pushes to his feet and offers another round of drinks, prompting a few sleepy murmurs of ‘yes’ from the others. 

“I’ll help,” you offer, stretching as you rise from the floor and follow him into the kitchen. 

You open the fridge and start pulling out beers while Mickey pops the tops off. But when you close the fridge and turn back around, you spot Reuben—now suddenly very awake—watching Mickey with intent. He’s wearing that little smirk that always means trouble, clearly trying to telepathically communicate something to his WSO. 

Your brow furrows as you glance between them, trying to decode the silent exchange. Mickey looks equally confused for a second... but then realisation dawns and a wicked grin curls onto his face. 

He turns to you and mutters, “Sorry about this.” But he doesn’t sound even remotely apologetic. 

Your frown deepens. “What are you-” 

But you don’t get to finish the question before he starts shaking the beer bottle in his hand. 

“Mick—!” you cry, just as he pops the top off and sprays you with beer. 

You shriek, throwing your hands in front of your face like that’ll somehow stop the onslaught. But it doesn’t. You’re soaked. 

“What the hell, Fanboy?” Reuben calls from the living room, as if this wasn’t entirely his doing. 

“Mickey!” you shout, dropping your arms and glaring at him. 

“Whoops,” he says with a grin. “My bad.” 

Natasha snorts and smacks a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. It’s not funny.” 

“Wow, Fanboy,” Jake pipes up, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “Is that the first time you’ve made a girl wet?” 

Mickey glares—or tries to. He’s way too pleased with himself for it to land properly. 

“Hey, Floyd,” Reuben calls, “you got any spare clothes for Sunny?” 

Bob is already looking at you, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He swallows hard before turning to Reuben and nodding. “Yeah, of course.” Then he stands, eyes flicking back to you. “Do you want to shower?” 

Mickey gasps, scandalised. “Robert Floyd, are you propositioning her?” 

Bob’s blush deepens, colouring his neck and the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t look particularly ashamed. He looks… flushed. Hot. Close to unravelling. His glare cuts back to Mickey, sharper than usual, a little too dark to be playful. And then his gaze shifts back to you—specifically, your chest. 

You follow his line of sight and immediately wrap an arm around yourself. Your nipples are pebbled beneath your shirt, the damp fabric clinging in all the worst ways. Or the best—if you ask Bob Floyd. 

“Yes,” you say tightly. “A shower would be good.” 

The room dissolves into quiet laughter as you follow Bob down the hall. He slips into his room for a moment, then returns with a folded towel and some clothes stacked neatly on top. 

“Here,” he says, offering them to you. “Take as long as you want. You can use whatever’s in there. Not that there’s much.” 

He dips his head—blush still firmly in place—and heads back to the living room. 

You stare after him for a second, dumbfounded. He got embarrassed about his lack of shower products? That’s what embarrassed him? Not the full-body, post-beer-shower eye-fucking he just gave you? 

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it, exhaling hard. You’re buzzing. Overstimulated. Untouched and on fire. You feel like you’re being edged and then abandoned, left to squirm. You’re so sensitive it hurts. Bob is teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him—those glances, the heat behind his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open like he wants to say something but never does. 

You might’ve thought you were playing a game, but Bob Floyd is about to kill you without even realising it. 

You strip quickly, trying not to dwell on the fact that you’re naked in Bob’s apartment. You keep the water on the cooler side—a half-hearted attempt to wash away the heat still simmering under your skin. But it doesn’t help. You shower fast and step out even faster, wrapping yourself in the towel Bob gave you. It’s fluffy, soft, and smells just like him—which makes that spot deep behind your hipbones ache. 

You dry off in record time, then turn to the small pile of clothes on the vanity—Bob’s clothes. Your hands tremble slightly as you lift the satin boxers, dark blue with little white stars, and slide them up your legs. Then the shirt: a worn white tee with a faded Star Wars logo across the chest. 

His scent wraps around you the second you slide it over your head—oversized and impossibly soft against your warm skin. You try not to focus on the rasp of cotton against your nipples. God, if he ever actually touches you, you might just combust. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fire burning low in your belly, then scoop up your beer-soaked clothes and open the bathroom door—steam spilling into the hallway as you step out. 

"Finally," Mickey says, popping up in front of you like he’s been waiting, holding out a plastic bag. 

You blink. “What?” 

“For your clothes,” he says simply. 

“Oh.” You take it and shove the damp material inside. 

His gaze dips—just for a beat—before sliding back up. Then he grins, gives you a cheeky wink, and turns back toward the lounge room. You follow, every eye lifting to you the second you reappear. Warmth floods your cheeks. You’re in Bob’s clothes. Bob's boxers. Bob's shirt. 

“Can we play the movie now?” Jake whines, oblivious to the tension humming through the room. “It was just getting good.” 

You nod, unable to speak, your gaze already locked with Bob’s. 

His eyes rake down your body, slow and deliberate. He takes in the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the hang of his shirt against your chest. His gaze catches there, as if he can see straight through the fabric, then continues its journey down to the hem. The shorts are barely visible beneath the shirt, and judging by the heat in his eyes, he might be wondering why you're wearing pants at all. 

You shift under the weight of his stare, hyper-aware of every inch of fabric against your skin—of how suddenly hot the room feels. Jake presses play, but no one is watching the screen. Every pair of eyes bounces between you and Bob, waiting—expecting—something to happen. 

Bob looks wrecked. His hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white, jaw tight. Like he has to physically hold himself back. 

Natasha clears her throat, startling you more than it should. You tear your gaze away and flash her a sheepish smile before finally forcing yourself to move, padding back to your spot on the floor. 

Even then, you can feel Bob’s eyes tracking every step. 

The rest of the movie plays out in near silence, broken only by the soft snoring that eventually starts up from Bradley and Javy. It takes a while for you to settle, but you finally curl up on the floor with a pillow hugged to your chest, watching Anakin fall apart on-screen and become Darth Vader. 

Jake is the only one still fully invested in the film. Even Bob seems distracted now, his eyes flicking toward you more often than the TV. He shifts in place, uncomfortable, dragging the blanket higher across his lap and holding it like a lifeline. You try not to smirk. 

You think you know what might be going on under there… but you’re not about to assume. It couldn't possibly be just because you’re wearing his clothes. 

…Right? 

Eventually, the credits start rolling and everyone begins to stir. 

“Where am I sleeping?” Mickey asks, already eyeing Bob like he’s got plans. 

Bob shrugs. “Wherever. There’s the couches and a couple beds in the spare room, but someone’ll have to sleep with me.” 

“I think Rooster’s good here,” Jake says, glancing at the man awkwardly passed out on the two-seater couch. “I’ll take this one.” 

“I’ll sleep with you, Bobby,” Javy says through a yawn, stretching so wide his joints pop. 

“Damn it,” Mickey mutters as he walks past, bumping your shoulder with his. “Missed opportunity.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment. You know damn well you wouldn’t get any sleep next to Bob—not when he smells like that, looks like that, and keeps looking at you the way he does. So it’s probably for the best, but still, the thought lingers. 

Everyone takes turns brushing their teeth and shuffling off to bed. You end up in the fold-out bed with Natasha in the spare room, while Reuben and Mickey claim the air mattress on the floor. Apparently, there’s no escaping these boys—not even for one night. 

Mumbled goodnights fade into rustling fabric and shifting limbs, then finally, silence. 

Too much silence. 

You lie on your back, eyes on the ceiling, thoughts screaming through your head like they’re in a race. You should be tired—your body aches—but your brain refuses to shut up. You toss the blanket off, overheated, but even with the cooler air, your skin feels flushed. You roll to your side, careful not to jostle Natasha on the creaky mattress, but nothing helps. 

You glance down at the boys, both snoring with their mouths open, and finally sigh. Swinging your legs off the bed, you wriggle out of Bob’s shorts, thinking maybe it’ll help. You don’t usually sleep in pants anyway. 

It doesn’t. 

Ten minutes later, you quietly slip off the bed and tiptoe toward the door, easing it open with practiced care to avoid the squeaky hinges. Then you turn down the hallway, barefoot and warm-skinned, and pad into the kitchen. 

The hem of Bob’s shirt brushes against your bare thighs, stoking the fire already simmering between them as you stop in front of the fridge and pull the door open. A cool flood of light spills across the kitchen tiles. You grab a bottle of water and twist off the cap, stepping back and tipping it to your lips. But the cold rush does nothing to cool the heat thrumming beneath your skin. 

“You always walk around other people’s places half naked?” 

You choke, almost spilling water down your chin as you turn toward the voice—that low, raspy sound that makes your skin prickle and your spine snap straight. 

Bob stands at the edge of the kitchen, leaning casually against the far counter—but there’s nothing relaxed about the way he holds himself. In the dim glow of the fridge light, he looks almost ethereal. His eyes are sharp, lit with something that borders on pain—hunger, maybe, or full-blown starvation—and his arms are crossed over his bare chest. 

Yeah. Bob Floyd is shirtless. 

You register a flicker of jealousy for Javy—the man who gets to sleep next to this—but you don’t let yourself linger on it. Not when Bob is standing right there in nothing but a pair of loose boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide the impressive shape beneath. 

You don’t know if it’s because he’s a little turned on or just blessed, but damn. 

“You okay?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like a real question—because he already knows the answer. 

No. No, you’re not. 

You clear your throat, dragging your eyes back up to his. “Yeah, I—uh-” 

Your words falter when his gaze drops to your legs. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you—like he’s trying to memorise every inch. His eyes drag slowly up your bare thighs, pausing at the hem of his shirt before gliding over your waist and stopping at your chest, where your nipples are clearly outlined beneath the thin cotton. 

The heat of his stare burns hotter than any touch. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s just making conversation. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you. 

He pushes off the counter and walks straight toward you—slow, but sure. He stops right in front of the fridge, close enough that if you moved even a breath closer, you’d feel your nipples graze his skin. 

You take a step back—barely. Just enough to let him slip past you. 

He nods slightly—a silent thanks—and ducks into the fridge for his own water. When he shuts the door, the kitchen is plunged into darkness, save for dim moonlight filtering in from the far windows—but you can still see him. His outline, the dips and curves of his lean torso, the tilt of his head as he tips the bottle back and drinks. 

You watch his throat move with every swallow, your lips parting slightly, craving his skin on your tongue. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You just stand there, watching. 

When he finishes, he turns to the sink and drops the empty bottle in before bracing both hands against the bench. His chin dips toward his chest, and you see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he exhales—hard. 

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you forward until you’re beside him, your bare arm brushing against his. You place your own bottle in the sink, then turn toward him and lean your hip against the counter. 

“Bob,” you whisper. 

Every sound in the apartment feels louder now—the faint snores, the creak of the floorboards, your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears. 

He looks at you, only turning his head, not his body. “Don’t—” he says softly. “Don’t say my name like that.” 

You frown, sliding your hand over his. His grip tightens on the bench like he’s anchoring himself. 

“Like what?” you ask softly. 

“Like you want me,” he murmurs. His voice is thick—rough around the edges like it’s been scraped raw. Like he's holding something back with every laboured breath. 

You press closer, your chest against his arm. The contact is electric. Your skin separated only by a whisper of cotton—his cotton. 

“Bob,” you breathe, a little desperate now. 

He exhales sharply and drops his gaze to the sink again, like something there might help him. “This isn’t…” His jaw flexes. “We can’t do this.” 

“Do what?” you ask, playing innocent, even as your fingers trail lightly up his arm. 

You can feel your chest rising and falling faster than it should, your breasts pressing against his arm like some wanton, starry-eyed girl. But you can’t bring yourself to step away. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve ending singed and tingling. You want him to turn around and take you—bend you over the counter and make you scream his name. Who gives a fuck who’s listening... or watching. You just want Bob. You want him to know how much you want him, how deeply you need him. How desperate he makes you without even trying. 

“Do you have any idea,” he whispers, finally turning to face you fully, “what you do to me?” 

You feel it—hard and thick—pressing against your lower belly. There’s no mistaking it now. 

“Bob…” Your voice is a sigh, wrecked and begging. 

He catches your wrist, his grip firm, nearly bruising. His eyes are wild as they search your face—from your eyes to your lips, down to your chest, and back again—like he’s torn between reason and ruin. 

You hold still. Waiting. Daring. Wanting him to snap. 

But then... he’s gone—his warmth, his scent, the burning look in his eyes. All of it, gone in a breath. 

“Goodnight,” he mutters, so low you barely hear it before the soft click of his bedroom door… and then the snap of the lock. 

You’re left standing there, chest heaving, skin burning. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, and your mind is a mess. What the fuck just happened? Your panties are damp, and your chest aches like you've been torn in two. You want to cry, but you also want to break down his door. How dare he build you up like that? Look at you like that, talk to you like that—and then just walk away. 

It takes several minutes before you can move, your legs shaky, your mind racing. You stumble back to the spare room, collapse into bed, and stare at the ceiling, flat on your back—Bob’s shirt clinging to your skin. 

You don’t sleep. Not at all. 

- 

“He what?” Natasha’s eyes go impossibly wide. “And then he just—he left?” 

You nod slowly, keeping your eyes fixed on your lunch. The mess hall is loud enough to muffle your conversation—one you should’ve had yesterday but couldn’t summon the strength for. So here you are, in the middle of the hall, with the boys a couple tables over, surrounded by lieutenants you don’t know—blissfully unaware of your current crisis. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, stabbing at another piece of pasta you don’t plan to eat. 

You haven’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours—not since the run-in with Bob. Everything feels bland now, drained of colour and taste, too dull to bother with. Anything that isn’t Bob just feels lacking, and you're starting to worry that one moment—one heated, breathless moment—has completely ruined you. 

“That’s insane,” Natasha mutters. “That’s so... not Bob. How could he be so—I don’t know... rude? I just—I have no words.” 

You shrug one shoulder. “It wasn’t rude. He just seemed... confused, I guess. And I don’t blame him. If I’m not what he wants, then-” 

“Stop right there,” Mickey interrupts, sliding into the chair beside you. 

Reuben drops into the seat next to Natasha, eyeing your tray of food. 

“Sorry,” he says, reaching across the table to steal your apple. “We couldn’t get away any faster.” 

You glance past Mickey, down the row of tables, and catch Bob’s eyes on you—just for a second—before he quickly looks away. Bradley, Jake, and Javy are still deep in conversation with the other guys, oblivious. Bob seems to be the only one noticing Reuben and Mickey’s absence. 

“Start again,” Mickey says. “From the beginning. We knew something happened.” 

Natasha snorts around a mouthful of pasta, and you sigh, knowing there’s no point arguing. They’d get it out of you one way or another. 

Twenty minutes later, when you finally finish recapping the story for the second time, Natasha taps her watch and nods toward the exit. “We better get back before Mav, or he’ll keep us late tonight.” 

Mickey’s brows are nearly touching as he processes everything you’ve said. “What does he mean, ‘you can’t do this’? He clearly wanted to—so why didn’t he?” 

You pick up your tray and follow Natasha toward the return station. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

“I mean,” Reuben says, brows furrowed, “you said he was... at attention, right?” 

You blow a half-hearted laugh through your nose. “Yeah.” 

“So he definitely wanted to,” he says as the four of you exit the mess hall. “I just can’t think of why he wouldn’t go for it.” 

“I think it’s because you’re in the same squad,” Natasha offers. “He’s probably worried it’ll get weird—or worse, if it doesn’t work out.” 

You roll your eyes as you cross the hot concrete, heading back to the hangar. “But we’re both adults. Why can’t he just sack up and fuck me, and we’ll worry about the consequences later?” 

Your voice comes out louder than you meant, and you don’t miss the odd looks a few passing officers send your way. 

Reuben chuckles. “Maybe you should just say that to him.” 

“No,” Natasha says, turning toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ve got a better idea. Call it Plan B or whatever, but now... we’re bringing out the big guns.” 

“So Sunny pressing her tits against him wasn’t the big guns?” Mickey quips with a grin. 

You smack him lightly across the chest before looking back to Natasha. “I doubt anything will work at this point, but... I’m curious. What’s the idea?” 

“How’s your gag reflex?” she asks, tilting her head thoughtfully. 

You rear back, eyebrows raised—and both Reuben and Mickey choke on laughter. 

Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes. “Not like that. I mean you’re going to need a strong stomach and a Juilliard degree to pull this off.” 

You frown, slowing just slightly as the hangar looms into view. “Okay...” 

She straightens up and faces forward, a proud smirk tugging at her mouth and her chin tilted high. “We’re going to make Bob jealous.” 

- 

Out of Mickey and Reuben, you all collectively decided that Reuben was the more convincing option. Not that you don’t think Mickey’s gorgeous—you do, and so does he—but his acting skills are questionable at best. You at least have a little more faith in Reuben’s ability to fake flirt without making it weird. 

The plan is simple. Convince Bob that he’s lost his shot—or that he’s just about to. Make it clear you’re happy to move on. If he wants you... well, now he’s going to have to fight for it. Because tempting him wasn’t enough—apparently—you need to dig deeper. Tap into something primal and pull it to the surface. Exploit what lingers under the skin of every man: jealousy and competition. 

You’re going to make this a game he can’t afford to lose. 

“You ready for Phase Two?” Natasha asks as you cross the base, the sun still barely above the horizon. 

You take a deep breath of fresh morning air. “Let’s do it.” 

She and Mickey take off ahead of you and Reuben to arrive in the training room first. It’s a known fact that Bob is always ridiculously early—so you know he’ll already be there. You hang back with Reuben, rehashing the plan and trying to get used to flirting with him without cracking up. 

At exactly ten past six, Natasha texts you to give the green light—no doubt having casually pointed out to Bob that you’re not with her, which you always are. 

“What if he doesn’t care?” you ask Reuben softly as you climb the stairs. 

He rolls his eyes like you’ve said something utterly insane. “He’ll care, trust me. He might be Bob, but he’s still a guy. And he’s obviously down bad for you—just needs a little push.” 

You snort. “Little?” 

Reuben chuckles. “Okay, more than a little. It’s Bob.” 

You laugh too, quietly, and then steel yourself as you reach the door—slipping on your game face. You glance at Reuben, catching the smirk tugging at his mouth. 

Then you both nod. It’s show time. 

“So, you’re saying eye contact makes it better?” he asks as you step through the door, voice pitched perfectly. 

You nod, casual but with a hint of something else. “Yep. A thousand times better. And bonus points if you know where to put your hands.” 

He raises a brow, lips twitching. “Where do I put my hands?” 

You giggle, soft and flirty, pausing a few steps into the room. “How about I show you later?” 

His grin breaks loose. “Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

You head toward the rows of seats, sliding into your usual behind Natasha—not missing the way Bob’s gaze locks onto you like he’s been caught mid-thought. His head swivels as Reuben sits beside you instead of next to Mickey. 

“See,” Reuben says, leaning in a little, “all these years I thought speed was the key. But you’re saying it’s finesse?” 

“Oh, definitely finesse,” you say, holding his eyes. “Go too hard and too fast, and it’s just... messy. Sloppy. Unimpressive.” 

Reuben licks his lips, his eyes flicking sideways to Bob—just for a second. “So, you’re offering me private lessons?” 

You lower your voice slightly, knowing it’s still perfectly audible to the rest of the room. “Depends. Can you follow instruction without getting too flustered?” 

Reuben’s grin sharpens. “I don’t fluster, sweetheart. I excel under pressure.” 

You pause, your pulse a little too quick—partly from Bob’s stare, which he’s not even trying to hide now, and partly from the fact that yeah, it’s been a while. And if this whole plan does blow up in your face... well, Reuben doesn’t seem like the worst option for a little stress relief. 

You fight down a laugh at the idea and finally drag your gaze toward the front of the room. Bob—just one row ahead—snaps his eyes forward like he’s been caught eavesdropping, but the bright red of his cheeks, the tight set of his shoulders, and the way his jaw flexes say it all. He’s tense. He’s listening. And he’s absolutely not okay. 

A moment later, Maverick strolls in, completely oblivious to the emotional warfare brewing right beneath his nose. 

The rest of the week passes in much the same way. Each evening, you regroup with your friends to scheme and strategize, brainstorming new antics to pull off the next day. Nothing over-the-top—just enough to catch Bob’s eye. 

On Wednesday, you get Reuben to help you into your flight suit. You both time it perfectly: he exits the locker room just ahead of Bob, and you appear a second later, flashing a flirty grin before asking sweetly for his help. You giggle and call him a sweetheart while Bob nearly trips over his own feet, glancing back with a clenched jaw and a look that could burn a hole through steel. 

Thursday morning, Reuben brings you a coffee—exactly how you like it—straight to the briefing room. You proclaim, not so quietly, that he’s giving total boyfriend material before he drops into the seat beside you and you both giggle over a (completely fabricated) inside joke. 

That afternoon, during a short break between drills and the next briefing, he offers you a bite of his protein bar. You take it right from his hand, licking your lips and throwing him an innocent little wink before sauntering off like it’s nothing. 

By Friday, Natasha warns you that the others are starting to notice. But you’re in too deep to pull back now—not when Bob looks like he’s about to unravel. He’s been tighter than ever, watching you like a hawk, eyes dark and stormy instead of their usual calm denim blue. You’re close. So close. And honestly? You’re kind of having a little too much fun. 

That afternoon, during post-flight checks, Reuben sidles up behind you under the guise of pointing out something ‘mechanical’ on your jet. You’re not actually doing anything with it, but that doesn’t stop him from standing unnecessarily close, guiding your hand with his as he gestures toward something supposedly critical. The two of you are seconds from cracking up, but Bob doesn’t know that. Bob, from all the way across the hangar, looks frozen—eyes locked, breath held, jaw tight—as Reuben presses flush against your back. 

Natasha really shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she is, but honestly? She can’t help it. It’s too damn entertaining. 

“Hey,” she says, nodding at Bob as she approaches. “You good?” 

He blinks, then turns his sharp gaze on her, jaw tight. “Yeah.” 

She snorts. “That was very convincing.” 

He rolls his eyes and turns robotically back to the maintenance logs he’d been filling out. 

Natasha glances at the paperwork, noting the hard press of his pen and the uneven ticks and crosses—some scribbled over multiple times—down the checkbox column. 

“Wow,” she mutters, raising a brow. “You sure you earned your pen licence? Or should you still be on pencils?” 

Bob’s blue eyes flick up, darker than usual beneath his furrowed brow. “Ha. Ha.” 

“Okay,” she says, biting back the laugh rising in her throat. “So, bad day?” 

“Bad week,” Bob grumbles. 

Natasha nods slowly. “Well, hey, why don’t we fix that by hitting up The Hard Deck tonight?” 

He snaps the logbook shut and tucks the pen into his pocket. “Pass.” 

“Oh, come on,” she sighs. “It might make you feel better.” 

His eyes flick toward you again, watching as you and Reuben dissolve into giggles beside your jet. 

“I doubt it.” 

“Sunny’ll be there,” Natasha says, her voice light and teasing. 

Bob doesn’t respond. Just keeps packing up his things—every motion a little too sharp, a little too fast. 

Natasha exhales. “Come on, dude. Just come for one drink—it doesn’t have to be beer. Blow off some steam. If you hate it, you can bail early. But it won’t be the same without you.” 

He takes a breath and closes his eyes for a beat before letting it out slow. “Fine. One drink.” 

Natasha grins, her eyes sparkling even in the dimming light of the hangar. “Perfect.” 

Later that night, Natasha drives the four of you—Reuben and Mickey included—to the bar. Everyone else agreed to meet there, and she insisted on driving so you could have a few drinks. Not just to loosen up for another round of torturing poor Bob, but to actually let loose a little. She can tell this whole thing is winding you up, and she figures a few beers and a night with friends might help ease the tension—and the guilt—and maybe even the gnawing fear that this whole plan could blow up in your face. 

“Nat, are you sure this dress isn’t too short?” you ask, holding the hem down against the curve of your ass as you follow her toward the main entry door. “I haven’t worn it in years.” 

“There’s no such thing as too short,” Mickey says, deadpan. 

You roll your eyes and step inside, into the warm glow of golden lighting and the low hum of half-drunk conversation. You let go of your dress now that there’s no breeze threatening to lift it, and try to relax, even with the strange sensation of bare legs in public. You’re used to flight suits, not feeling this on display. 

“Ready to put on your best performance yet?” Reuben murmurs, slinging an arm over your shoulder. 

You take a deep breath, feeling it rattle faintly in your chest. “Let’s do this thing.” 

Natasha shoots you a wink over her shoulder, already striding confidently across the bar, her gaze locked on the usual booth where the rest of your friends are waiting. 

There’s a chorus of greetings as the four of you approach, and you all grin and wave, waiting as Bradley, Jake, Javy, and Bob shuffle around to make room. Natasha pointedly takes the spot beside Bob, with Mickey sliding in next to her. You claim the seat beside Jake—which puts Reuben on your other side. Just as planned. 

It’s a little squishy, but after so many nights like this, none of you really notice. Except Bob. He’s noticed tonight. His eyes are locked on the way your side is pressed to Reuben’s, his arm is slung casually over the back of the booth, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder. 

“He looks like he wants to kill me,” Reuben whispers in your ear, low enough that you can barely hear him over the chatter of the bar. “Pretend I said something funny. Laugh like you’ve got a secret.” 

You blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, and let out a soft giggle as you lean toward him just a little. 

“You’re a pretty good actress,” he mutters before pulling back slightly. 

You glance up at him through your lashes, feeling more at ease with the close proximity after the past week. Then you straighten your spine and lean in, your lips grazing his jaw as you whisper in his ear. 

“You’re annoying.” 

He chuckles quietly, though you know he really wants to snort and smack you on the shoulder. You’re both enjoying this just a little too much, getting a kick out of your undercover roles. 

When you turn back to the rest of the group, Natasha is very deliberately not looking at you—and you know it’s because she’ll laugh if she does. Mickey, on the other hand, is watching with wide eyes, as is Javy. Jake and Bradley are still arguing about something on your other side, and Bob… Bob still looks like he’s ready to commit first-degree murder. 

“Drink?” Reuben asks after a beat, his smile smooth. 

You nod. “Absolutely. I’ll help you.” 

You both stand and offer a round to the rest of the table, most of whom accept—which makes it less suspicious that you’re going together. At the bar, you make sure to stand just a little closer than necessary as he orders a round of the usual from Penny. 

“Are you sure we’re not pushing it?” you ask, your voice laced with quiet worry. 

Reuben shakes his head. “Nah, not yet.” 

You frown. “Yet?” 

“He’ll snap one way or another,” he says, leaning casually against the bar. “He’ll either lose it and blow up over something totally unrelated—and that’s when we’ll know we’ve gone too far. Or he’ll wake the fuck up and fight for what he wants.” 

You open your mouth to voice another concern, but Penny is already sliding the tray of drinks across the bar. Reuben thanks her with an easy smile as you grab the two beers that didn’t fit, flashing her your own grateful grin before following him back to the table. 

When you set the beers down, you feel the neckline of your dress slip just a little lower. Your eyes flick up to see if anyone’s noticed—and of course… Bob. His gaze is dark and locked on your chest, clearly able to see right down your dress. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even try to look away. He just stares. 

But then he blinks and glances aside, not flustered or ashamed—just determined not to meet your eyes. 

You straighten up and clear your throat. “I’m just going to duck to the bathroom.” 

Then you turn and begin weaving your way through the bar, desperate for a moment to yourself—even though you haven’t been here that long—and to check that you don’t look completely ridiculous in the dress Natasha convinced you to wear. 

You take your time in the stall, then rinse your hands under the cool water for a little longer than necessary. When you glance at your reflection in the full-length mirror, you’re surprised—and a little impressed. Because damn… you do look good. Maybe this dress deserves to see the light of day more often. And if Bob’s stare is anything to go by, it’s definitely not a bad idea. 

You take a deep breath before pushing open the bathroom door, ready to continue your little charade—but you barely make it a few steps before someone blocks your path. You blink and stumble, stopping short before you run right into him. 

You sigh when you realise who it is, that cocky smirk etched across his face. “What do you want, Hangman?” 

“I want to know what’s going on.” 

Your pulse spikes, but you do your best to keep your expression calm. “What do you mean?” 

“Between you and Payback,” he says, narrowing his green eyes. “Because I know that’s not real.” 

Your breath catches—too quickly—giving you away as your gaze flicks to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He rolls his eyes and leans in slightly, keeping the conversation low and private in the hum of the bar. “Don’t try to gaslight me, Sunny. I’m not an idiot. I know Phoenix is in on it—because of course she is—and Fanboy too, judging by the way he giggles every time you and Payback so much as look at each other.” He quirks a brow, daring you to challenge him. “The only reason Coyote hasn’t said anything is because he’s too polite, and Rooster hasn’t noticed because he’s too wrapped up in his own shit.” 

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, matching his bravado. “You missed one.” 

He frowns. “What?” 

“You listed all the members of the squad… except one.” 

“Right,” he chuckles dryly. “Bob. That’s the funny thing, because ever since we got to this island, you’ve been starry-eyed over Floyd, and he’s either too clueless to notice or too stupid to ask you out.” He pauses, letting it sink in, then leans just a bit closer. “Which is exactly why I’m not buying whatever you and Payback have been trying to sell this past week.” 

You stare at each other for a beat, both stubborn and scowling, waiting for the other to fold first. 

Then you sigh. “Okay, fine. But you have to swear yourself to secrecy.” 

His smirk stretches into a full grin. “I knew it.” 

“Swear it.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up a hand. “I swear. I won’t even tell Coyote, and my pillow won’t hear a thing about it.” 

You nod. “Good. Now come over and pretend to pick a song so this doesn’t look suspicious.” 

You grab his wrist and tug him toward the jukebox, leaning over it and pretending to scroll through options while you give him a quick summary of Operation Bob’s Blue Balls—leaving out a few of the more... intimate details. 

“So there,” you finish. “It’s underhanded and immature, but that’s what’s going on.” 

His expression barely shifts the entire time, just the usual entertained glint in his eye and that ever-present smirk. 

“Underhanded and immature?” he says. “I’m surprised I wasn’t in on this sooner.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“I want in.” 

You blink, brow furrowed. “What?” 

“I want to help,” he says, plainly. 

You narrow your eyes, sceptical. “Why?” 

He sighs and braces one hand on the jukebox, leaning in like he’s about to reveal some classified information. “Believe it or not, I’m not the worst guy in the world. I have a few ideas, and I think you two would be cute together.” He pauses, then adds in a quieter voice, “Besides, I’ve been going through a bit of a dry spell, and I figure helping other people get laid might buy me some good karma.” 

You snort softly as he pulls back, his cheeks faintly pink. 

“Alright,” you say. “You can help. But nothing obvious and nothing stupid. The last thing I need is Bob figuring this out and hating me for it.” 

He rolls his eyes, that signature smirk firmly back in place. “Bob could never hate you. But I’ll be subtle.” 

“Good.” You glance past his shoulder toward the booth across the bar. “We better get back before they get suspicious.” 

“Wait,” he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “One more question.” 

You raise your brows, prompting him to go on. 

“When you fantasise about Bob, is he the top or the bottom? Because I just think you should manage your expectations—ow!” 

He winces, rubbing the spot on his chest where you smacked him, watching you with a wounded look as you shove past with an exasperated sigh. 

Great. Now Hangman is involved... 

You spend the rest of the night practically glued to Reuben’s side, as planned. But now you’re a little on edge. You keep half an ear tuned to Jake’s voice, waiting to see when he might strike—and what he might say when he does. You trust him not to blow the whole thing, but you’re more than a little nervous about what his version of ‘helping’ might actually look like. 

“Another drink?” Reuben asks, just as you finish the last of your third beer. 

You nod, a bit too eagerly. “Yes, please. Maybe something stronger this time.” 

He chuckles and slides out of the booth, offering his hand. You take it, letting him guide you up toward the bar. You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you barely register the feel of his hand slipping from yours and settling at the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles there. 

But Bob notices. 

And Jake notices Bob noticing—taking special joy in the way Bob’s hand tightens around his bottle of Coke, knuckles going white. 

Jake clears his throat and casts a glance toward the bar, leaning forward slightly. “They’re cute, don’t you think?” 

There’s a beat of silence as Bob swallows—hard—and Natasha just blinks, clearly trying to catch up. Then the lightbulb goes off, and a wicked grin stretches across her lips. 

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes following Jake’s. “I think they’d make a good couple.” 

Bob snorts. Actually snorts. But he keeps his gaze fixed on the label he’s been picking at on his bottle. 

Natasha arches a brow. “Something funny?” 

Bob shakes his head. “No.” 

“Really?” Jake presses, grinning. “Could’ve sworn you just laughed, Floyd.” 

“It wasn’t a laugh,” Bob mutters. “More of a… breath.” 

“Oh, a breath,” Natasha echoes, clearly amused. “Because it sounded suspiciously like judgment.” 

“Or jealousy,” Jake adds, leaning back with a smug grin. 

Bob’s gaze flicks to the bar—and to you—then just as quickly snaps away. “I don’t care who she dates.” 

Natasha hums, fighting a smirk as she lifts her beer to her lips, “Didn’t say you did.” 

Shortly after you and Reuben return to the table, giggling like idiots, Bob leaves. He mutters something about not feeling well and ducks out before even saying a proper goodbye. Part of you feels wrecked with guilt—but another part… is quietly hopeful. Because Bob isn’t like this. He’s good at regulating his emotions, even better at staying calm under pressure—he’s a fighter pilot, for God’s sake. But this? This is different. He’s never stormed out on the brink of losing control. Sure, he can get a little frustrated sometimes, maybe throw a snarky comment—usually at Jake when he pushes too far—but that’s as far as it goes. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s starting to unravel… 

You spend most of the next day on the couch with the aircon blasting, while Natasha works through some paperwork at the kitchen table. It’s too hot to go outside, and you’re too distracted to do anything that requires even an ounce of brainpower. So instead, you let your mind rot with cartoons, obsessively checking your phone for signs of life in the group chat. 

“I can’t believe Hangman is in on this now,” Natasha mutters, not even glancing up from her papers. 

You sigh and roll from your side onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe he hasn’t cracked yet. If the roles were reversed, I’d be like a feral cat in heat by now.” 

She snorts and lifts her head, flashing you an amused smirk. “You were already like a feral cat in heat for that man. Hence this whole situation.” 

You laugh softly. “Yeah, not wrong.” 

Your head drops to the side as you half-watch the TV screen, until the apartment door swings open with a dramatic gust of air. 

“I hate to say it,” Mickey says as he breezes in, eyes wide, “but the man is a genius.” 

Reuben follows close behind, and then Jake—grinning like he just solved world peace. 

“Oh, God,” Natasha mutters. “They’re multiplying.” 

“I don’t know why you didn’t come to me sooner,” Jake says, strolling toward the couch. “I’m the king of seduction.” 

You sit up, curling into the corner to make room for Reuben and Jake as Mickey heads straight for the fridge. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Just wait until you hear the plan,” Reuben says, practically buzzing. “It’s perfect.” 

Intrigued now, Natasha gathers her papers into one neat pile and joins you on the lounge. “Alright, Bagman. Let’s hear it.” 

Jake’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he settles in beside Reuben. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the beach.” 

“You’re already way off,” you cut in. “Bob won’t agree to hang out again. Not after last night.” 

Natasha nods. “She’s right. He needs to cool off before we wind him up again.” 

“Absolutely not,” Jake snaps, brow furrowed. “You need to strike while the iron’s hot. You need to push his fucking limits.” 

Mickey appears from the kitchen, a bag of pretzels already open in his hand. 

Natasha frowns. “Okay, but how? He won’t agree to go if he thinks Sunny and Payback will be there.” 

Jake grins. “Which is exactly why he’s going to think they won’t be there.” 

“You want us to lie?” you ask. 

He gives you a flat look. “After all this emotional warfare, now you’re drawing the line at lying?” 

You shrink back slightly. “I guess not.” 

“Exactly.” He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. “So—I’ll pitch the idea in the group chat. Sunny, you reply immediately that you’re busy—before Bob gets a chance to decline. Then Payback says something vague, like he might come or might not. That way, it looks like low numbers. And if Bob says no, the rest of us can guilt-trip him into coming. Which he will, as long as he thinks you’re not going to be there.” 

Natasha tilts her head. “So... she will be there though?” 

“Yes,” Jake says. “Just not right away. Give him time to relax, have some fun. We’ll play games—I’ll rile everyone up and get that competitive energy going.” 

Everyone nods along, faces weirdly serious, like this is some highly classified mission briefing. 

“Then, you two show up together,” Jake continues, gesturing to you and Reuben. “It’ll throw Bob off, but we won’t give him a chance to leave. We’ll keep the games going. Something with contact. You need to get right up in his space. Go all in. Because then... you’re going to knock him off his feet.” 

“Literally,” Mickey mumbles, chewing a mouthful of pretzels. 

You frown. “What?” 

“Bump into him,” Jake says. “Literally knock him over. Skin-to-skin contact. I’ve seen the way he looks at you in a swimsuit—it’s borderline pornographic. Touching him? It’ll fry what’s left of his self-control. And then, when there’s a moment—just a second where you could apologise for being too competitive or whatever... you’re going to say something that makes him snap.” 

You lean in, heart pounding now. “What am I going to say?” 

- 

The sun is high and brutal in the sky, and you’re already sweating—even though you’re still sitting in Reuben’s car with the aircon blasting. 

“Do you really think this is going to work?” you ask, nervously bouncing your knee. 

Reuben snorts. “If it doesn’t, the man isn’t human.” 

“I feel bad,” you mutter, eyes scanning the stretch of gold sand through the windshield. 

“You won’t feel bad when you finally see what’s in his pants,” Reuben says, barely paying attention as he scrolls through his phone. 

Your eyes go wide and your head whips toward him. “So it is huge? I wasn’t just imagining that?” 

He chuckles and looks up. “Oh yeah, he’s big. Like... big big. I remember the first time in the locker room—no one’s trying to look, obviously, that’s just not the vibe—but... damn. We couldn’t not look. Then everyone lost it. I think Hangman nearly cried.” 

You press your lips together, trying to hold back a grin, but it’s no use—your cheeks are on fire, and your whole face feels like it's bright red. 

“Damn,” you murmur, turning your gaze back to the front as your heart slams against your ribs. 

Reuben laughs again, then cuts the engine, killing the aircon. “Alright. Pull yourself together. It’s go time.” 

You climb out of the car and immediately wince at the lick of heat curling across your skin. It’s blistering—almost hostile—but at least you’re at the beach. Worst-case scenario? You’ll drown yourself in the ocean. Just walk into the surf and keep going. No one would blame you. 

“Relax,” Reuben says, sliding a hand into yours like this is nothing. “This is going to work. Hangman might be insane, but I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s an evil genius.” 

You roll your eyes, exhale hard, then square your shoulders and lift your chin. 

You let Reuben lead you onto the sand, legs already working overtime to stay steady in the heat-softened grains. You can hear the chaos before you see it. Shouts and thuds echo over the sand as your friends tumble and crash around in a messy game of what looks like overgrown keepy-uppies. 

“No hands!” Javy yells, just as Mickey swats the ball to avoid a direct hit to the face. 

“Damn it, Fanboy!” Jake shouts. “You’re giving away points.” 

Mickey drops his hands to his knees, panting. “Can we play literally any other game? I hate this.” 

“You only hate it ‘cause you suck at it,” Natasha says, catching the ball like it’s second nature and bringing the game to a halt. 

You swear you can see Mickey roll his eyes from here. You and Reuben are still on approach, trudging through the soft sand, unnoticed—so far. 

“What about football?” Jake offers, tossing the round ball aside and already pulling a proper football from their pile of gear. “Dog-fight football?” 

“Three versus three?” Javy asks, sceptical. 

“What about four v. four?” Reuben calls, hand cupped to amplify his voice. 

Everyone turns, and there’s a beat of stillness as they clock you. Then Natasha flashes a wide grin beneath her sunglasses, and Jake’s face lights up like a very satisfied evil villain—his plan falling perfectly into place. 

“Well, if it ain’t Sunny and Payback!” he calls, spinning the football lazily in one hand. “You two done playing your own games already?” 

You ignore the jab and focus on not rolling your ankle in the damn sand. At the pile of bags, you stop to drop your stuff and hesitate at the button of your shorts. 

Jake’s eyes are practically gleaming. “How about a swim to cool off first?” 

Reuben strips his shirt with a single tug. “You read my mind, Seresin.” 

The guys—already in their swim trunks—bolt for the water, crashing into the surf in a chaotic stampede. Natasha peels off her shirt and shorts, shoots you a wink, and strolls in after them like she owns the ocean. 

Reuben doesn’t say anything before he leaves you, but he gives a barely-there nod—directed past your shoulder. 

You don’t need to turn around to know who it’s aimed at. 

Bob’s still standing where he was when the game fizzled out, statuesque. His hair is tousled and his lips parted just enough to make your stomach flip. You’re at least ten feet away, but you can see the rise and fall of his chest—too fast, too hard. But he’s not out of breath. He’s not flustered. 

He’s furious. 

And those blue eyes? Laser-locked on you. His entire focus narrowed like a sniper sight. Not a blink. Not a breath wasted on anyone but you. 

You swallow and force your body into motion, unbuttoning your shorts and shimmying out of them before pulling your loose shirt over your head. You drop your clothes on Natasha’s pile and turn toward the water, steady on the lumpy sand. 

And then you hit the firm part—wet, packed, perfect footing—and you dig in. Hips swaying, deliberate and lethal. 

You don’t need to look back. You can feel the heat of his stare on every inch of exposed skin. It’s scorching. Possessive. Almost punishing. Like if he could touch you right now, he’d brand you. 

Hangman might be a genius after all. 

You hit the water with a sigh, not even hesitating before diving beneath a wave before it can knock you off your feet. It’s the perfect temperature—delicious against your too-hot skin. 

You dive under the next wave, cool saltwater rushing over your body, and come up laughing as you slick your hair back. Natasha is standing beside you, arms outstretched as the water laps at her waist, her eyes fixed on the shore. 

You wade closer, smirking. “Did you see his face?” you ask breathlessly, heart still pounding from the walk down the beach—or maybe from the way Bob had looked at you like he was plotting your murder. “I thought he was going to spontaneously combust.” 

She doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring past you. 

You frown as her jaw goes slack and her brows creep up, sunglasses slipping down her nose as she stares at something on the shore—expression caught somewhere between shock and awe. 

You freeze. “What?” 

She still doesn’t speak—just tips her chin the slightest bit, silently gesturing toward whatever has her stunned. 

You twist around. 

And promptly forget how to breathe. 

Bob Floyd is pulling his shirt over his head. 

Bob Floyd, the man who never takes his shirt off. The man who wears it in the ocean and somehow isn’t bothered by the soaking wet material clinging to his body like a second skin. 

And holy shit. 

It’s glorious. 

Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless before. Once. That night. But that was in the dark—his body tense, your mind scrambled, neither of you thinking clearly enough to appreciate what was right in front of you. 

But in the light of day? 

Alabaster skin. Broad shoulders. Deep-cut abs like he walked straight off the set of a Marvel movie. Lean muscle rippling across his chest and arms in a way that feels criminal on someone so quiet and careful. Droplets of sweat cling to his torso like even the heat doesn’t want to let him go. 

The sudden silence behind you confirms it—everyone else is staring too. 

You blink, dumbfounded, mouth dry. “That’s illegal.” 

Natasha huffs out a laugh like she’s short-circuiting. “I mean, I knew he was strong but—wow.” 

You swallow. Hard. “I think I’m going to pass out.” 

Your eyes follow him as he drops his shirt and turns toward the water, cutting through the waves like they’re nothing. He doesn’t glance at any of you. Just keeps his gaze locked on the horizon, jaw set tight, his body moving with single-minded purpose. 

Before you can say something—or even blink—a surge of water smacks you in the face. 

But it’s not a wave. 

You cough and splutter, wiping the salt from your eyes and checking to make sure your sunglasses are still intact. When your vision clears, Jake is standing right in front of you. 

“Wipe the drool off your chin,” he says, deadpan. “You’re supposed to be teasing him.” 

You narrow your eyes, resisting the urge to shove him aside and keep watching Bob. “How did all of you know how cut that man is and not tell me?” 

Jake blinks, thrown for a beat, then grins like the devil. “Wait—you’re mad because we didn’t tell you how ripped Bob is?” 

You nod, arms crossing tight over your chest. “Correct.” 

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Well if that’s got you steamed, you’re gonna be beside yourself when you find out he’s got a massive-” 

“I know,” you cut in smoothly, a wicked smirk curling at your lips. “Payback told me.” 

Jake gapes at you, brows knitting—but before he can get another word out, you shove his shoulder and send him sprawling into the water. 

When he resurfaces, sputtering and grinning, he points at you like a man on a mission—then lunges. 

You squeal, laughing as he barrels toward you, sending up waves in every direction. The two of you splash around like kids, Jake playing it up—grabbing you, poking at your sides, both of you pretending to wrestle. All for show. Because you both know Bob is watching. 

Eventually, the others join in, playful chaos erupting around you. And before long, you’re panting and breathless, dragging yourself back to shore, your cheeks and chest aching from laughter. 

Everyone settles for a few minutes, drinking from their water bottles and trying to knock water from their ears. But then Jake stands up, football in hand and a wicked smirk on his lips, ready to commence Operation Bob’s Blue Balls – Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer. 

“All right, I’ll pick teams,” he announces. 

Normally, this would cause an uproar. But since most of you are in on the plan, everyone just nods in agreement. 

“Phoenix, Payback, Bob,” he says. “You’re with me. The rest of you are on Rooster’s team.” 

You narrow your eyes and cock your hip—it would seem strange if you didn’t challenge Jake just a little. “Why are you two always team captains?” 

He winks. “Because we’re the best.” 

You roll your eyes and turn away, joining the huddle with your teammates as Bradley and Javy argue over what your game plan should be. 

After a few minutes of strategizing, the game kicks off. You’ve never loved dog-fight football—not like some of the others—mostly because it can get a little rough. But today… it’s more than just a game. It’s a full-blown performance. 

You hang back for a bit, letting Jake and Bradley rile each other up and fire up their teams. Bob is still shirtless, which is a tactical advantage he isn’t even aware of—because every time he has the ball, every time he runs or blocks or is just generally in your line of sight, your knees wobble. 

You’ve nearly forgotten what you’re supposed to be doing when Reuben jumps in front of you and snags the ball before you can—thrown by a very disappointed-looking Javy. 

“Getting tired, Sunny?” Reuben teases, his grin smug. “I’m just getting started.” 

Right. The plan. Flirting. Banter. Teasing Bob. 

You step closer, slowing the game down a touch as you stretch onto your toes and drop your voice—but not too low. “Tired? Please. I’m still waiting for you to make me sweat.” 

There’s a beat where you worry Reuben might break, might laugh—high on adrenaline and endorphins. 

But then Jake hollers, “Cut it out, you two! Save the dirty talk for the bedroom!” 

And the game is back on. 

The sun beats down mercilessly, making every flexed muscle shine, every drop of sweat slide in slow, glistening trails. The sand is hot beneath your feet, but it’s nothing compared to the heat building as you and Reuben turn the game into one of Bob’s personal nightmares. 

You dart to the left, brushing past Reuben with a smug grin, your fingertips dragging across his chest like you’re checking his heart rate. 

“C’mon, hotshot,” you tease. “You could try a little harder.” 

He laughs—low and amused—but gives chase, throwing a hand around your waist as you pivot. It’s all too easy to make it look a little too intimate, a little too tight. He lifts you off the ground to ‘block’ your goal and your head falls back in a laugh that’s just shy of indecent. 

And Bob sees everything. 

You feel it—his stare like hot coals dragged across your skin. When you glance up between plays, he’s standing at the edge of the group, jaw tight, shoulders tense, hands flexing like they’re ready to throw a punch. His eyes follow your every move like he’s marking a target, and if looks could kill, Reuben would already be six feet under. 

You catch a toss, and Reuben crashes into you to intercept, spinning you both until you fall together into the sand. You land side by side, giggling like idiots—some might even say lovesick idiots. 

He pushes up first and grins down at you, tipping his head suggestively. “Need a hand?” 

“Oh, I don’t mind being on my back,” you say sweetly, just loud enough for everyone to hear. 

You take Reuben’s hand and let him haul you off the ground, pulling you into his body just a little more than necessary. 

“Damn, Sunny,” Jake calls from the other side of the makeshift field. “Takin’ a few hits today. Hope it doesn’t affect your game.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically as you dust sand off your body like everyone else paid to watch. “You know I like it rough, Hangman.” 

There’s a chorus of oohs and a whistle from Mickey, laughter rippling through the group. 

Except Bob, of course. He’s suddenly very interested in the sand, eyes locked on the ground—even though his rigid posture is telling you everything you need to know. 

The game revs up again, and after a few scuffles, you snag the ball off a fumbled toss and break into a sprint, cutting across the sand with laser focus. Reuben’s behind you, winded, and the others are tangled up with the second ball—leaving only one person standing in your way. 

Bob. 

“Stop her!” Jake shouts, too far behind to intercept. 

Bob plants his feet like he’s ready to block—muscles tensing, arms coiled. It’s almost enough to distract you. But you’re feeling competitive. A little reckless. And you’re seconds from a goal. 

He hesitates when your eyes lock, just long enough for your wicked grin to register as you blow past him and skid to a halt—well over the line. 

Your team erupts into cheers behind you, and you throw your hands up, chest heaving as you catch your breath. When you turn back around, he’s still watching you—eyes wide. 

You flash him a slow smile as you walk past, brushing close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin. 

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” you murmur. “I’ll go easy on you next time.” 

After a breather and a drink of water, everyone lines up for another play. Jake and Bradley drop the footballs into the sand, crouched and ready. Jake turns his head your way and gives you a subtle nod. 

This is it. 

Your heart thunders behind your ribs as you sprint and block and laugh along with the others. The competition hasn’t cooled—everyone is still hungry. Even Bob has snapped into focus, finally playing like it matters instead of just standing there watching. 

And for a moment, it is just fun. No schemes, no strategy. Just friends, shouting and stumbling and laughing too hard to score. 

But then the ball is in your hands again—and it’s time. 

Bob is on defence—Jake made sure of that. You just have to get past him again. Or at least… make it look like you’re trying. 

You tear forward. Jake is already behind you, Natasha lunges and misses by a breath, and Reuben very dramatically wipes out in the sand. 

It’s just Bob now. 

He sets his stance, head tipped down in focus. He’s going to stop you this time. Poor thing. He has no idea that’s exactly the plan. 

You charge, feet kicking up sand, heart in your throat. His eyes widen just a second before you collide—your body slamming into his with just enough force to topple you both. 

The ball flies from your hand as you hit the sand hard, clutching at whatever you can—his shoulders, his arms, solid and warm beneath your grip. You spit sand from your mouth and sit up fast—only to freeze, breath caught in your throat. 

You’re straddling him. Hips locked against his. Chest heaving. His hands on your waist. 

You don’t move. 

You’re both panting. The air between you buzzes like static, and everywhere your skin touches his feels sunburnt and alive. His blue eyes are locked on yours—wild and stunned. Bright enough to drown in. 

Your chest rises and falls with ragged breath, but you stay put. 

“Does this count?” you ask, voice low and rough with adrenaline. 

His lips are parted, soft and pink, breath coming in short bursts. His curls are wild, tangled with sand, and his glasses—crooked from the fall—are still somehow on. He looks wrecked. Shattered. Like you’ve stolen every coherent thought out of his head. His gaze flickers—searching your face, desperate not to meet your eyes. 

You lean in just a little. 

“If anyone else looked at me like that, I’d probably kiss them,” you murmur, squeezing your thighs around his waist. Then you bring your mouth dangerously close to his ear. “But we can’t do that... right?” 

His breath catches—and his eyes finally snap to yours. 

They’re wide and stormy now, brows drawn tight. He doesn’t breathe. He just looks. His mouth parts a little further, and you can see it all happening behind his eyes—every thought, every realisation. 

Everything falls into place—the flirting, the giggling, the deliberate touches, the stolen glances. All of it. You’ve been baiting him. This whole time. 

Before you can say anything else—before you can blink or breathe— 

He snaps. 

He flips you, smooth and fast, moving your body like you weigh nothing. Suddenly, you’re on your back, pressed into the sand, and he’s the one on top—straddling you, his weight holding you down. 

And the look in his eyes could burn the sky. 

He leans in, gaze sweeping over your face—your lips, your eyes, the pulse at your throat. He watches it thrum, just for a second. 

You’re frozen beneath him. Every nerve on fire. Every inch of your body sparking. Your lungs are screaming for air, but you don’t know how to breathe. You can’t think. You can barely feel anything except him. 

His breath ghosts your lips as he whispers, “Oh, you’re in trouble now.” 

And then he kisses you. 

Hard. 

It’s not careful. It’s not sweet. It’s months of tension and stolen glances and aching want—every second of restraint finally unravelling in a dizzy, reckless crash. His mouth claims yours like he’s starving, like he’s waited too long and can’t wait another second. 

His chest presses into yours, slick with sweat and dusted with sand, and you arch into it with a gasp. He groans against your mouth, a low, broken sound that feels like fire in your veins. You can feel every inch of him—solid and hot and so hard against your hip, unmistakable and unignorable. 

You shift beneath him, dragging your leg up around his waist, just enough to tease. His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you deeper, hungrier, like the noise you just pulled from him unspooled something he can’t reel back in. 

You claw at his back—muscles tense and trembling under your fingers—trying to pull him closer when there’s no space left between you. The kiss turns feverish, tongues sliding, lips parting in desperate sync. You’re panting into each other’s mouths, completely lost. 

There’s sand in your hair, in your mouth, sticking to your sweat-slick skin, but none of it matters. All that matters is the way he moves against you, the way he feels—like every bit of control he’d been clinging to has shattered. 

When he finally tears his mouth from yours, he doesn’t go far. His forehead drops to yours, both of you gasping. He’s pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, lips swollen, pupils blown. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice wrecked, “you’re gonna kill me.” 

And the way he says it—like a confession, like a prayer—makes you want to do it all over again. 

“YES!" Mickey shouts, loud enough for all of North Island to hear. 

Your friends erupt into cheers and screams, laughter lacing their gleeful proclamations as they jump and dance just a few feet away. 

“Well, fuck me,” Jake drawls. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You both slowly—reluctantly—turn your heads toward the noise. 

“I can’t believe it worked,” Reuben mutters, grinning wide, eyes sparkling. “Phase Three actually worked.” 

You’re still pinned beneath Bob as they all close in, every face lit up with smug satisfaction. 

“You named it?” Bob asks, closing his eyes as his cheeks somehow grow even hotter. 

“Oh yeah,” Mickey says, beaming with pride. “Operation Bob’s Blue Balls. Phase One was the run and the sleepover. Phase Two, Reuben. And this—” he gestures wildly at the two of you tangled in the sand, “this is Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer.” 

Bob makes a noise. Somewhere between a strangled groan and a whispered prayer for death. 

“You planned this?” he rasps, forehead dropping against yours again like he might just burrow into the sand and disappear. 

Reuben shrugs, all innocence. “Worked like a charm.” 

“Honestly,” Natasha adds, “we were starting to think you’d never get there. So… you’re welcome.” 

You bury your face in Bob’s shoulder, mortified. He’s burning up beneath your hands—still—and breathing like he just ran a mile with you on his back. 

Jake snickers. “Glad we could help you two get laid.” 

“We haven’t—!” Bob blurts, redder than a stop sign. 

You slap a hand over his mouth, grinning wickedly now despite the embarrassment. “Yet.” 

There’s a beat—a millisecond of silence—before they all burst out laughing again. 

Mickey curls over, clutching his stomach. Reuben walks away, cackling with his head tipped back. Natasha mutters, “Jesus Christ,” but she’s definitely smirking, and Jake claps his hands once as he says, “God bless the U.S. Navy.” 

Bob drops his face into the crook of your neck and groans again, muffled, “I hate all of you.” 

“Even me?” you ask, voice soft and teasing. 

He lifts his head, chuckling softly. “No. But for all that? You’re definitely still in trouble.” 

You lick your lips. “There’s no place I’d rather be.” 

He sighs like you’re actively trying to kill him, then sits up and pushes to his feet—only to glance down at the massive bulge in his shorts, which looks borderline painful. 

“Shit.” 

You scramble up after him, stepping in close and pressing your body to his, barely able to contain your giggles as you shield him from the rest of the beach. 

“Need a minute?” you tease, laughter lacing every word. 

His eyes flash—dark, hungry. “You and I are gonna need more than a minute to deal with this.” 

Heat floods your face and pools between your legs, thick and insistent. 

“But,” he says, glancing toward the water, “I’m just gonna go for a quick swim.” 

You nod, eyes wide and dreamy, watching him from beneath your lashes like an absolute idiot in love. 

And he looks at you like you hung the sun. Like you’re everything. It’s enough to make your heart stutter and your pulse race. He has no business being this beautiful—this sinful—a perfect contradiction of sweetness and respect, with just enough hunger in him, just enough darkness, that you know you’ll be walking funny tomorrow. 

And probably for the next few weeks while you learn how to handle his massive dick. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, a shy smile curling his lips. “You’re making it worse.” 

Your jaw drops. “It gets bigger?” 

He laughs, then leans in to press a kiss to your open mouth—chaste, but lingering. Like it physically pains him to pull away. But he does. And when he flashes you that boyish smile—equal parts sexy and shy—it knocks the breath out of you. 

Then he turns and jogs toward the water. 

It takes you more than a minute to remember how to move—how to function—but eventually, you manage to drag yourself back to the others, who are still laughing and chatting like the beach hasn’t just tilted sideways. 

Natasha passes you your water bottle. “What’s Bob doing?” 

You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of him ducking under a wave. A smile tugs at your lips. 

“Cooling off.” 

END.

[sometimes-i-write-good]

Handling It

Top Gun: Maverick - Fanboy x f!reader [no use of y/n]

7.2k | Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face. Today seemed as good a day as any. He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm. Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind. Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

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Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

CW: Mentions of Abuse and Stalking, Breaking of Restraining Order, one-sided bar fight, insults and confrontation by a past abuser (there is no mentions or illusions to physical abuse, but please handle anything to do with emotional/mental abuse, stalking, and breaking of restraining orders with care. If this story isn’t for you, that’s okay. Just be safe <3) 

Author’s Note: I’m a sucker for the ‘who did this to you’ style fics or any kind of ‘you came? you called’ - also, sorry to any Brent’s who caught a stray today. || cross-posted on ao3

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“I can’t name just one thing.” 

Mickey laughed over the lip of his beer bottle.  A quick sip to, hopefully, mask the pink gracing his cheeks, even though he knew the effort was futile at best.  “You know that.”

Reuben wouldn’t listen.  He never did.  It was one of the many qualities that made him such a great friend at times, and such a frustrating one tonight.  “One thing you like about her,” Payback pushed for an answer.  “It’s not that difficult of a question, Mick.” 

But it was. 

They went through this once a week.  Minimum.  He and Payback skirted off base early - easier to secure a spot at the bar before the crowds rolled in - all to sip a few beers and lament over the fact that they both missed the clause in their kickass fighter pilot careers where it stated relationships wouldn’t fall into their laps.  If anything, their chances at love were as out of reach as the horizon in front of them.  They could speed towards it all they wanted.  The line would still always be there, a hair’s breadth away. 

Reuben often started.  Making sure to take his time in overanalyzing every interaction he had that week with the woman who worked in the control tower.  Fanboy could agree she had the voice of an angel.  Payback’s infatuation was completely warranted.  Even before they found out she also looked like an angel, Mickey could tell she was a good fit for his wingman.  Reuben would flirt relentlessly and she, ever professional, would instruct them with a smile in her voice.  Occasionally she’d joke around, but not enough for a week by week breakdown.  Her clearing them for landing wasn’t the easiest thing to warp into a ‘dude, she likes you. You should totally ask her out.’  

Creating a conversation around you took no effort for Fanboy at all. 

“She’s like no one else I’ve ever met, Reuben.” Once Mickey got started, he couldn’t stop.  His callsign hadn’t exactly spawned into existence because of his cool, detached, and nonchalant approach towards anything he remotely liked.

“I know what you mean,” Payback said.  

He motioned to the bartender for another beer.  Mav and Penny had a date tonight.  Precisely why he and Mickey were sitting belly up to the bar so early on a Thursday afternoon.  No eavesdropping from Penny.  She was known for meddling if any of her regulars were remotely interested in each other.

“Day,” Payback sighed, “she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.  You know what she did last week?” 

Fanboy arched a brow.  He did know what she did last week.  The past few months of being stationed here sat in his mind, carefully cataloged away.  From the batting eyelashes to the extremely obvious attempts to get Reuben to ask her out on a date.  Mickey knew Day’s entire day all thanks to Payback’s crush.  At this point, he felt like he knew her well enough to consider her a friend despite having never held a conversation with her. 

Payback could easily do the same.  There was one memory in particular Fanboy would break down again and again - Reuben truly had the patience of a saint. 

“Does your mother call you Garcia?”  You asked the first time he took you out for drinks.

The rest of the Dagger Squad milled about the bar.  You all had shown up together, along with some of your fellow TOPGUN instructors, but somehow Mickey paid for everyone’s drinks that night.  The two of you ended up tucked away in a booth by yourselves.  He couldn’t help but to think of it as a date.

“No, she doesn’t.”  He remembered how to form words somewhere between watching you polish off your drink and feeling you lean in closer to show your interest.

“Does she call you Fanboy?”  A sheepish grin and a small shake of his head.  “So what does she call you?” 

He leaned closer to you, stopping just before your noses could touch.  “She calls me Miguel.”

You tested the word out for yourself.  Reuben swears that was the moment Mickey fell in love, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.  Fanboy melted when he heard his name on your lips.  This shift in power felt dangerous.  At any point you could have this man in a puddle at your feet, willing to do anything for you.  Yet, Mickey felt nothing but trust.  You had never been one to abuse power - unless, of course, it was to give Hangman shit or get Payback back for something.

“But I can call you Mickey?”  You smiled one of the most stunning smiles Fanboy ever saw out of you.  How could he say no? 

And that’s how you wormed your way into a first name basis.  On top of becoming a featured subject for their Friday debriefs.  If Payback took a shot every time Fanboy asked “Do you think her asking to call me Mickey was her way of hitting on me?” he’d have alcohol poisoning. 

“Mickey!”  

His head snapped towards the sound of your voice like a moth to a flame.  Icarus to the sun.  Maverick to bad decisions.  Hangman to asshole comments.  Thousands of similes all as timeless as the way his heart ached in your presence.  A romance for the ages.  

He only wished it could get off the ground.  

Reuben slapped him on the shoulder.  He passed Fanboy a tequila shot saying, “You need to make a move tonight.” 

You moved towards the pair, splitting off from your friends.  Surely that was something Mickey could overanalyze later tonight.

“Yeah,” he answered absentmindedly.  “Sounds good.”

“Hi, Reuben.”  You saddled up to the bar.  Payback crushed you in a hug, and Mickey couldn’t ignore the jealousy flickering about in his chest.  When would he build up the courage to greet you with a hug?  Why couldn’t he approach anything that had to do with you with the same surefire confidence he could impart towards flying?

You squirmed in Payback’s grip.  “Too tight,” you playfully choked out.  “I’m dyin’ here.” 

Payback released you, taking care to carefully shove you closer to Mickey, and laughed.  “Good to see you too, Einstein.” 

Both you and Mickey shot him a look.  You’d been through your fair share of shitty callsigns. Mouth, which finally got axed after filing enough harassment claims, started because you’d mouthed off to your superior once during Plebe Summer and had your whole squad in the doghouse for two months.  It took another two months for the disdain to finally drop off whenever someone called you.  By then, though, people had been shifted around, and most at The Academy (those with extreme insecurity) didn’t appreciate having a woman attempting to be a future TOPGUN flier.  

Needless to say, Mouth in the hands of young men with sexism at the forefront of their minds quickly became a problem. So the remainder of your time at The Academy, and sometime after, marked you as IKEA.  I Know Everything Anyway.  Not nearly as cool as Maverick, Slider, or Iceman, but you’d rather be known for your brain than your hotheadedness. Talking over everyone simply had to happen in class.  Otherwise you weren’t going to be heard at all. 

Einstein came later; from Iceman himself.  He came to personally congratulate you on your perfect score.  “You’re a regular Einstein, aren’t you?”  He’d said, and it stuck.  Sometimes spoken in awe, sometimes with disgust, but mostly in a playful manner like Payback always managed. 

“Watch yourself, Payback.”  You plucked the shot from Mickey’s fingertips.  It was gone in a flash.  “Can I have another round, please?”  You asked the bartender, then turned towards Fanboy with a grin.  “You’re having one with me, right?  And one more, probably, to make things even.”

The one thing Reuben asked about earlier came to mind.  Your refusal to take shit.  That would have to be his favorite thing (in this moment because Fanboy knew he truly couldn’t choose a single aspect) about you.

“What’re you starin’ at?”  How you tilted your head to scrutinize him reminded Mickey of his childhood dog.  A stray his mother swore up and down would never come in the house, only to end up sleeping in bed with her each night.  Kind of like you - except you snuck your way into his heart rather than his bed.  “Are you okay?”

Mickey could feel the heat radiating off his face.  In comparing you to his childhood dog, he had gotten the image of you in his bed stuck in his mind.  What a dream, and not even in the typical horny way people used the term ‘in bed.’  Fanboy’s fantasy consisted of being able to hold you, talk to you for hours in the early hours of the morning, and revel in the knowledge that out of anyone in the world you could choose, you chose him.  Anything more that came with a domestic love like that would be a bonus. 

Of course, you weren’t a mind reader.  Thank god for that.  No stumbling apology would ever be enough to save Mickey from the embarrassment of daydreaming about you while you were next to him.  This crush steadily reached towards schoolgirl doodling your joint married name in a notebook levels of delusion.  Whoever said be friends with your crush never mentioned the crushing anxiety of ruining that friendship with any given misstep.  When did Mickey know it was safe to take the next step?

“Hmmm?”  The tips of his ears grew hot as you stared.  Somehow he managed to grasp every chance to make a fool of himself around you.  “Yeah,” he breathed, acutely aware of Payback’s smirk off to the side, “I’m fine.” 

“Are you doing a tequila shot?” 

“I don’t know about Mick here-” Reuben brought a hand down on Mickey’s shoulder- “but I will definitely be having one.”  He turned his attention to the bartender pouring the shots.  “Lime and salt too, please.”

Your eyebrows practically shot to your forehead.  “You can’t handle a tequila shot?  I would not have guessed that about you, Payback.” 

If only she knew how Reuben truly partied.  Fanboy knew him longest out of anyone on The Dagger Squad; they'd been a pair for most of his career.  

Payback brought a hand to his chest.  He gasped dramatically and Mickey rolled his eyes.  “We call him Payback because of all the shots I paid for that he promised to pay me back for.”

“I did pay you back!” 

“When?” 

“How many times have I saved your life?”

You laughed, doing nothing for the heat still trapped in Mickey’s cheeks.  “Isn’t that your job?”

“I could be shit at my job.”  Payback shrugged.  He shifted his position to reach for the salt on the table.  All the confidence of a man who didn’t own this tab - Mickey, unfortunately, would be paying for more of the squad’s drinks tonight.  “The lime and salt,” he explained, “are a part of the experience.  There’s a comradery to a ritual done together.  After this, we’re bonded for life.” 

Long ago Fanboy used to be envious of the way people flocked to Payback.  This simple act transformed into a performance.  Storytelling was an art, and Reuben perfected it.  He even had you succumbing to the supposed weakness of using a chaser.

To not stare you down while you licked your hand, Fanboy busied himself with the salt.  However, his eyes flickered to you for the briefest of seconds.  Right as he dragged his tongue over the fleshy part between his thumb and wrist.  The want must have been apparent.  He had always been the type to wear his emotions on his face.  

But you weren’t.  So when your eyes widened, Mickey paused.  A horrible thing to do considering his current position.   Your chest stilled for a second, eyes trained on him, and time stopped entirely.  The knowledge that you might just want him too sent Fanboy crashing back to reality.  He salted his hand with as steady a hand he could manage.

“A toast!”  You cleared your throat, eyes darting around before settling pointedly not on Fanyboy.  He could see your desperation for control.�� “Payback?”

Payback lifted his shot glass.  The two of you followed suit.  “May it always be the other guy who says 'This drink's on me.’”

Between Fanboy’s annoyance and your giggle Reuben licked the salt, threw back the shot, and grabbed a lime wedge to bite down on.  He grinned around the peel.  “I win.” 

The competitive nature of fighter pilots took over.  Mickey completed the sequence with ease.  His bank account wouldn’t appreciate the smooth taste of the liquor but nearly dying those few months ago made him realize two things.  One, he really didn’t want to spend all his time pining over you - he’d rather be with you.  Two, he was getting too old for cheap liquor.

“That’s really- hey!”  You felt around blindly on the counter.  “Mickey, that's so not fair.” 

He brandished your lime slice.  “You’re supposed to do the shot, then complain about Payback.  Everyone knows this.” 

You stuck your bottom lip out in an overdramatic pout.  “I wanted that.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Sure, Fanboy may have deepened his voice slightly.  He might have seized the opportunity to slide forward, closer to you.  What was he supposed to do?  Ignore your blatant attempts at flirting because someone else was standing right there?  He’d been doing that for the entire time he’d known you.  At some point the third wheel needed to read the room.

Placing the lime wedge between your lips helped Payback do precisely that.  His gaze flicked back and forth between Fanboy and his thumb gently pushing the fruit to your mouth.  “I, uh,” Reuben fumbled for words, “I’ll go over there.” 

No one acknowledged his departure.  Fanboy kept his eyes locked on yours.  After all, you were the whole reason he was at the bar in the first place.  You pulled the lime into your mouth, and he let his thumb linger on your bottom lip for a moment before leaning back on the bar stool.

“Done pouting?”  

You popped the lime out of your mouth.  “I wasn’t pouting.”

Being a gentleman became so much harder when you ran your tongue over your lips to lick up all the juice.  The movement killed Fanboy’s ability to speak entirely.  Your smirk confirmed what he already knew.  You were well aware of his weaknesses.

“So, Mickey…”

Like the sound of his name falling from those very lips.

It had been a while since the two of you talked about something other than work.  Hell, Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time you and him were one on one.  A lie.  Payback debriefed that last one on one conversation with Mickey a few days ago.  He couldn’t help it.  Every day you were gentle on his mind. 

“What have you been fanboying over recently?”  You toyed with the citrus peel.  Focused intently on pushing the thing around the counter.  “Anything interesting?”

“You mean other than you?”  

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.  His eyes locked on yours.  Widening by the second with embarrassment.  “I mean-”

A shy smile played on your lips.  You looked pleased with yourself as you said, “Yeah, other than me.  I try not to talk about myself too much.  Don’t want to be Bagman Jr.”

Oh, Mickey could kiss you right now.

“Then what do you want to talk about?”  He asked.  Straightforward in the hopes of appearing more confident than he felt.  Fanboy could face certain death, he could face Cyclone, and he could face Bob in poker.  Your pretty face on the other hand almost always left him flustered.

You tapped a finger against your chin.  Faking a deep concentration to pull a smile out of Mickey.  “What was that TV show you’ve been dying to get everyone to watch, again?”

He instantly perked up.  “You sure you want to open that door?”

“You’re right.  Let’s have one more shot first,” you teased.  Your hand rested on Mickey’s forearm.  He tried hard not to stare at the headliner for flirty behavior and focused on your beautiful smile instead.  The whole time his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.  “I’m sure, Mickey.  I like listening to you talk.” 

And, damn, did Mickey talk.  Somewhere in the midst of laughter, finding excuses to touch one another, and conversation the two limes turned into seven.  The liquor worked any and all tension from Mickey.  Tipsy - maybe leaning more on drunk - confidence coursed through him.  Any flirty freudian slips he took in stride.  

Tequila made a new man out of Fanboy.  A closer version of himself, might be a better way to look at it.  How he normally attempted to pick women up at bars.  You weren’t any woman.  Precisely why so many shots were necessary in the first place.

“Is it Thursday today?”  You slurred your words together ever so slightly.  The drinks brought a warmth to your cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier.  Fanboy resisted the urge to reach out.  Scared the slightest touch would shatter the illusion.  “Thursday is darts day.” 

“Thursday is karaoke day,” Mickey corrected, his sentence also fuzzy around the edges.  “ ‘s why Coyote’s not here.” 

He focused on the concentrated furrow between your brow.  An expression that only ever came out when you were drinking.  Sober you calculated everything immediately.  A beer or two in a loading screen appeared while you clicked the pieces into place.  “But Bob’s here.” 

Bob and Javy often skipped Thursday’s at The Hard Deck.  Karaoke was bad enough with sober people who couldn’t sing.  Adding drunkenness to the equation ended in certain disaster.  Case in point - Javy “Coyote” Machado almost became Javy “Wolf” Machado because of all the drunken howling he did onstage instead of singing.  

He hadn’t shown his face at karaoke since.

“Bob is here at Phoenix’s request.”  That request being he lost a bet, but semantics were lost on the squad.  “My guess is she gets him to sing ‘Sweet Caroline.’”

“All that attention on him?  He’d melt.” 

Fanboy shook his head.  Bob was shy, sure, but he could handle the spotlight with enough time to prepare.  “No, but Rooster is absolutely going to take the next three slots after to prove he’s the better singer.”  

You laughed, and Fanboy could have sworn you used that as an excuse to lean in close and squeeze his bicep.  “Oh, I’m telling him you said that.”  You swung around in your stool, using Mickey’s arm to stabilize yourself, and searched for Rooster in the sea of people.

In your time surveying the crowd, Fanboy traced the rim of his empty shot glass and reveled in being your rock.  Could this be your future together?  Inside jokes over drinks.  Innocent touches with serious potential to transform into something more.

Tonight everything became clear.  All questions would be answered - good or bad - Mickey decided.  You were the brains.  IKEA.  You could tell him if you knew your feelings for him.  If this pipedream had potential or would swirl down the drain.

Nails pricking skin pulled Fanboy from his thoughts.  Your grip went stiff along with the rest of your body.  Any traces of a buzz disappeared entirely in this strange rigid poster.  He carefully pried your hand off him.  “What is it?”

“Brent.”  Your voice escaped you in a panicked whisper.

The name registered with Mickey briefly after wracking his tequila soaked brain for a moment longer than necessary.   A few weeks ago, during downtime between practice hops, everyone traded stories about the worst ex they had.  Payback shared his egregious tale about a girl he dated in high school stealing his dog when he didn’t ask her to prom, Phoenix told everyone how her blind date ended up storming into the kitchen of the restaurant they were at to cook his own meal, and Mickey gave the pared down version of his longest relationship ending when she moved halfway across the country to reunite with her… other boyfriend.

No one had anything nice to say.  Except for you.  

Your most recent ex, it seemed, had boundary issues that couldn’t be solved in a relationship with someone in the military.  The constant reminders and communication simply weren’t compatible with where you were at in your career.  Always moving around from base to base, fully prepared to be whisked away on a secret mission without a word of warning, didn’t bode well for the two of you.  So, you split.

Everyone - Hangman - blatantly accused you of still having feelings for this man.  Mickey couldn’t help but lean forward with interest, waiting for your answer.  He prepared himself for crushing disappointment.  You simply dismissed the notion with a gentle, “He’s not bad people.  I wish him nothing but the best, and I hope that best for him is far, far away from me.” 

But your body language conveyed the opposite.  You stood, swaying on your feet, and shook your head. Mickey was immediately off the barstool.  Buzz be damned.  He let himself assume the worst and boost some adrenaline into his system.  Overpowering the effects of the alcohol with stress always pulled Mickey’s mind back together.  He called a constant state of anxiety home.  Fight or flight was where he performed best.  Fanboy had medals to prove it. 

“Einstein?  Are you okay?”

One arm wrapped around your waist.  The look of shock on your face had Fanboy scared your legs would give out from beneath you at any given moment.  His earlier thought of being your rock solidified in this storm.  He wanted to be your constant, a source of comfort. 

If only he knew how to help you.

For a second you didn’t answer him.  Your eyes were locked on the man who had just passed through the threshold of The Hard Deck.  Then you nodded.  “Yeah.”  You sounded far away.  “Everything’s fine.” 

Fanboy followed your gaze.  He wanted to know exactly which man you side-eyed.  

Smaller and skinnier than a lot of the men in the bar, expected from someone who wasn’t training with the Navy seven days a week.  He appeared unassuming.  Still, you knuckles were turning white from where you were gripping the counter.  Unassuming didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of harm. 

“What do you need from me?”  He asked.

You swallowed, and your eyes finally met his.  Mickey could have cried.  You looked… small.  The feared Naval aviator he knew so well had been replaced with someone else.  Someone hurt, clearly because fear wasn’t an emotion you willingly showed.  In all of a few seconds you’d become human.

“Einstein,” he repeated in a slow, gentle voice.  “What do you need from me?”

“I have a restraining order on that man.”  Shame, which Fanboy couldn’t comprehend why, lit your eyes.  You turned back towards the bar.  Eyes trained on the pile of lime peels.  “For stalking.”  

Boundary issues seemed like a serious downplay.

Mickey slid behind you to shield you from view of anyone approaching.  He brought an arm around to rest against the bar.  To anyone else, this would look flirty, but really Fanboy wanted to give you the ability to whisper to him without anyone else overhearing.  “We should get you out of here.”

You shook your head.  “I don’t know where he is.”  The way your voice broke, broke Mickey’s heart. What did he do to you?  “I don’t want to move if I don’t know where he is.” 

“Okay.”  Mickey nodded.  “If I tell you where he’s at, then we’ll figure out if we’re using the back door or the front door.” 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, searching your face for any sign that you heard him.  Gears turned behind your eyes.  Emotions clicked away, compartmentalized to deal with later.  You were using your training.  Adrenaline killed if not dealt with effectively.  

“You okay?”  He whispered.

“I don’t want you to look away.”  Selfishly, Mickey nodded.  He didn’t want to look away until he felt confident he wasn’t leaving you to drift about in your anxiety alone.  “I have to… to get myself under control.” 

The bartender passed by without a glance in their direction.  Conversation around them continued loudly.  As far as Mickey could tell, no one paid you two any mind at all.

“You’re doing a great job.”

You closed your eyes.  “Thank you, Mickey.”  When you opened your eyes, any trace of fear vanished.  Einstein, the Navy’s top aviator, would do what everyone else on a particularly traumatic mission did - deal with the emotional shit later, and eliminate the threat now.  “Ready to go?”

Right now?  He shouldn’t be shocked.  When you were in action, you didn’t hesitate. 

Mickey nodded.  Now was as good a time as any.  He held out a hand and helped you step around the barstool.  You clung to him, the only impression that Brent’s appearance still had you rattled.  It didn’t seem like a good time for Fanboy to peel himself away from you.  Having a hand on you might be smart anyway.  You wouldn’t get separated as you made your way through the crowd.

“There you are.”  

Brent stood an uncomfortably close foot away.  His teeth weren’t sharpened fangs, but his smile cut Mickey to the core regardless.  This was worse case scenario - coffin corner.  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, but my calls go straight to voicemail.” 

Hands still clasped, the two of you turned to face him.  You stared straight past him, right over his shoulder.  Only when it became clear you couldn’t pass by without him being able to lay a hand on you did you acknowledge him.  “Brent.” 

The grin grew.  Mickey straightened to full height.  He wished he had the intimidating extra few inches most of the others on Dagger Squad had.  Brent’s eyes slid Mickey’s way, down to your enjoined hands,  but snapped back up to Einstein quick.  Like you’d vanish given the slightest opportunity.

“Please move.”  Your voice gave no room for further conversation but Brent made an attempt anyway.

“Went by your place, but your windows were dark.”  

A pit of unease grew in Mickey’s stomach.  Einstein had been going through this all on her own.  None of them knew the baggage she carried.  Some squad they were.  He glanced your way, but you had the same blank look on your face.

Brent barreled on.  “Key didn’t work in the lock.  The one you kept under that stupid garden decoration was gone.”  His eyes bore into your face.  Too aggressive to be considered making eye contact.  Fanboy had only ever seen a power display like this in interrogation training.  “Did you move or something?”

You lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.  “If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”

The mere implication Brent was breaking his restraining order changed the set of his jaw.  Muscles feathered and he pressed his lips together.  “But,” he said around a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I’m here now.  Look.  This is the last time, I swear. I just need closure.” 

“If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”  You gripped Mickey’s hand a bit tighter and moved to step around Brent, but he sidestepped in your way.  “Please move.” 

“It’s a public bar, darling.  I can stand wherever I fucking please.”  All attempts at playing nice slowly started to drip away.  “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Darling.  Mickey’s stomach rolled.  He felt your hand jerk backwards but neither of you could back up without the bar digging into your back.  Brent seemed well aware of such a fact.  He took a lazy step forward.  “Whenever you want to ditch this one-” he spoke about Fanboy without sparing him a glance- “I’d like to talk to you.” 

Enough was enough.  Fanboy stepped forward with intent.  What exactly said intent was he would figure out halfway through the confrontation.  He wasn’t exactly known for his foresight in his personal life.  The only thing that stopped him was you tugging him back.

With one small squeeze, you removed your hand from Mickey’s.

“You can talk to my fucking lawyer.”  You used the same sickly sweet voice Fanboy heard you use on higher up’s that refused to take you seriously.  “Until then, you need to move.  Now.”

“Can we just talk outside?”  Brent asked.  He reached out to grab for your arm, but you dodged his advances.   

“Please, do not touch me.”  Your words were firm and flat.  “I don’t want you touching me.” 

“You owe me the courtesy of a conversation.”

Mickey never wanted to white knight on your behalf, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let this douchebag get anywhere near leaving his sight with you let alone get all the way to the front doors.  He could handle you being mad at him for fighting a battle for you.  He couldn’t handle what would happen if you took on a fight like this by yourself when you didn’t have to. 

“Can we talk outside?  Or are you going to keep letting your friends gaslight you into thinking I’m always the bad guy?”

When you failed to answer, Brent rephrased his question.  It seemed your lack of emotional response wormed its way under his skin in a way he couldn’t hide. 

“Can you stop being such a bitch and answer me?”  He asked, reaching out once again to put his hands on you.  A mistake.

Everyone in the bar fell silent at the dull ‘thack’ of your fist connecting with Brent’s cheek.  Somewhere in the wide arsenal of cinema there was a scene just like this that ends in an all out brawl.  Here Brent’s head snapped to the side thanks to the sheer force you packed in a single punch.  He blinked in disbelief.

Mickey, on the other hand, saw the first forming a while ago. He wasn’t one for violence, but watching you remind everyone you weren’t one to take shit always made his mouth water. And watching you throw a punch may just be the hottest thing he’d seen all week.

Excusing, of course, the fact that your creep of an ex boyfriend still stood there in front of you with a dumbfounded look on his face like he had no clue what he could have done to deserve that.

You cleared your throat.  “I asked you not to touch me, please.” 

Fanboy grew tired of the niceties.  The second you looked towards him for help, he was telling Brent to fuck off and he wouldn’t give him any choice but to listen.

Payback paced behind Brent.  He inched close enough to catch Fanboy’s eye.  Mickey and Reuben could always reasonably assume the other’s thoughts without words.  Half the time they only talked because they liked to hear themselves speak.  One look from Fanboy said everything, though.  His wingman was headed out the front door on the phone with the cops in an instant.

All Fanboy had to do was keep things from escalating. 

Brent straightened, eyes shifting around to all the Navy’s finest, and brought a hand up to where you punched him.  For a second, Mickey foolishly thought he would swallow his pride.  Brent looked ready to tuck his tail, turn on his heel, and run out of the Hard Deck.  

No one said anything while they waited for Brent to respond.  If he left, no one would bother him too badly.  If he didn’t take the warning punch seriously, Mickey could almost bring himself to pity the poor fool.  Almost, but not really. 

Creepy smile devoid of emotion in place, Brent reached out politely once again and, this time, caught ahold of you.  “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”     

At the sight of Brent gripping your arm, the sound of your first name falling from his lips, Fanboy’s self-control snapped.  This thin string holding himself together split.  

His fist flew up faster than he could process.  Brent’s teeth clacked as his jaw came together.  Fanboy clipped your ex’s chin in the perfect uppercut, and he dropped straight to the floor.

Unconscious.

You, who talked so highly of this ex those few weeks ago that Fanboy convinced himself you were still in love with him, turned to Mickey with panic written across your features.

“You punched him!”  You shouted to Mickey, eyes flickering between your ex on the floor and Fanboy.  The angle wasn’t the slightest bit flattering for the poor guy.  

Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face.  He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm.  Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind.  Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

“You punched him first.”  Mickey shrugged.  He shook his hand out in a gesture he hoped passed as nonchalant.  Pain lingered, though, and he couldn’t help but grimace when he flexed his fingers.

“I had a reason.” 

“So did I.”  You crossed your arms and arched a brow.  Mickey sighed and stepped over Brent’s unconscious body.  “He didn’t respect you clearly stating you didn’t want to be touched.” 

“I was handling it.” 

“I know,” he said, and shrugged.  “I just handled it with you.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but, when your gaze moved from Brent to Fanboy one more time, he could see gratefulness.  “I have to call my lawyer.” 

—

Those bright red knuckles of yours had yet to fade.  From the sound of it, Mickey could guess you’d hit his cheek bone and would be sporting some nasty bruises for a while.  He didn’t bother to look at his own hand.  It throbbed to an annoying degree.  The chances of his knuckle being split was exceptionally high, but your well being in the moment mattered far more. 

Neither of you wanted ice for your hands.  Fanboy hoped it would make him look tough.  You had been more preoccupied with leaving a voicemail explaining Brent had broken his restraining order and the police had been called and “to please call me back as soon as humanly possible.”

Then you both collapsed in a booth in the furthest corner possible of the Hard Deck because you wanted to see when the cops walked through the door rather than tuck yourself in the back.  Fanboy refused to stray far.  You hadn’t asked him to leave, which he took as a good sign.  At least you weren’t too mad at him for stepping in.

“That’s one hell of a right hook you’ve got there.”  

He hoped to ease the tension with a teasing joke.  In classic Fanboy fashion, he misread the timing. 

“My lawyer is not going to like this one bit.”  You dragged a hand over your face.  The one with the angry knuckles.  “She told me, ‘If he breaks his restraining order, you can’t just punch him.  As much as he might deserve it.’”  

Mickey smothered a grin.  He wanted to throw out a joke about you being the only one to find a lawyer who talks like Bob, but instead he motioned for your hand.  

“Here.”  A towel of half-melted ice sat next to him, waiting for the opportune moment for Mickey to refuse to let you suffer any longer.  You extended your hand across the table for him to grab.  He set the ice down gently, muttering a soft “sorry” at your hiss of pain.  “You handled yourself pretty well out there.” 

You made no move to take the ice pack or your hand away from Mickey.  So he sat there, icing your hand, and watched you wrestle with your reaction.  Fear, anger, grief, aggravation.  They all shuffled over your features like Payback trying to pick a song from the jukebox.

Eventually, you settled on a classic.  Humor as deflection.  “I think I’d feel better if my punch was a one and done.” 

He lifted the makeshift ice pack and made a show of inspecting your knuckles.  “I’d say you packed a pretty good punch.” 

That same shy, flirty smile from earlier came back.  “Thanks, Mickey.”

“Of course.”  Any attempt to appear cool shattered the second he saw the gratefulness in your eyes.  “I hope I didn’t overstep.  I’m not really up to date on the laws surrounding restraining orders or stalker exes.” 

You shook your head with a self-deprecating laugh.  “I don’t think you would be.  You don’t strike me as someone who would ever turn out like Brent.” 

“If I do, you have full permission to punch me.  Whether your lawyer advises it or not,” he teased, and relief flooded him when you laughed.

“It isn’t self-defense to punch someone violating their restraining order.  No matter how scared I was seeing how he found me.” 

The tone in the booth shifted towards seriousness.  Any trace of a smile on your face vanished, and you curled your fingers around Mickey’s hand.  “I used to live out in Texas.  Stationed there so often, I rented out an apartment because living on base didn’t feel permanent.  I wanted a place to call my own.” 

Mickey glanced out towards the bar full of the Navy’s best.  Payback stood watch over Brent, who had finally come to and was arguing with the wall that was Rooster, Hangman, and Bob.  

“He followed you from Texas?”  He asked.

You nodded.  Whatever you attempted to say got lost in the tears welling up behind your eyes.  “Sorry.”  You swallowed and blinked rapidly to clear the emotion from your face.  “I saw him around town a few times, but this was the first time I felt like he actually knew where I was.  Like it was more than a coincidence.  When he talked about coming around to my place… there’s this part of me that can’t tell if he was talking about back in Texas or where I live now.  It’s terrifying.” 

Fanboy hoped the cops would hurry up.  The sooner Brent could get out of here, the better.  One punch suddenly didn’t feel like enough, and if Mickey threw another he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

“And there’s a good chance I’ll be charged for assault.”  Your laughter was ice cold.  “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.  I know better- god, I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Mickey squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him, and shook his head.  “You are not stupid.  He put his hands on you.” 

“That’s not self-defense either,” you sighed.  “He wasn’t attacking.  The cameras are going to show him reaching out with a smile and he’ll, at most, get a slap on his wrist.  I’m screwed.” 

“He was attacking.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?  He wasn’t attacking.” 

“He.  Was.  Attacking.”  Fanboy emphasized every word, then gestured to the bar you were in.  “There’s at least 20 people I can count who will give that same story without needing to be asked.  I’m sure Phoenix and Bob are already out there waiting for the cops so they can be the first to let them know what he did.”

You turned to look at the crowd of people, mouth quirking up into a smile when you spotted the rest of the squad keeping Brent on the other side of The Hard Deck.  Fanboy watched your gaze lock onto the camera capturing the man acting like a saint for the sake of the security camera in the corner of the room.  

The smile faltered.  “You really think so?”

“You’re one of us, Einstein.  We don’t care what base you’re coming in from.  You’re assigned to our squad and we take care of our own.”  

Mickey moved the ice pack and released your hand back to you.  “Don’t worry about the security cam footage, either.  The cops tend to take our word at face value.  Plus, Penny’s got a good reputation for not calling unless it’s warranted.  There hasn’t been a single bar fight she hasn’t sorted out herself..”

“That feels…”

“Like how Maverick would handle something?”  He supplied.

You nodded with a laugh.  “Exactly.”  Your eyes traveled over Mickey’s face.  “I appreciate you handling things with me today.  I’ve been dealing with this on my own for a few years now.  I forgot what it’s like to know someone has my back on the ground instead of only in the sky.”

“I’ve always got your back, Einstein.  Ground, sky, and all areas in between.” 

The opening practically presented itself to him in the way you smiled at him.  

“Look, I know this might not be the best time or anything…” Mickey trailed off.  He cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his nerves at bay.  What kind of moron decided to ask someone out immediately after an incident like this?  “But, after all the statements are taken, would you, maybe, want to take a walk along the beach with me?  Just get out of here, get your mind off everything?” 

You sat up straighter in the booth.  For once, Fanboy wished he wasn’t alone with you.  If Payback were here, he could confirm if your eyes actually lit up at the proposition or if Mickey’s wishful thinking clouded his mind again.  

“Are you asking me out on a date, Mickey?”  You asked.  His name passing over your lips, over the teasing smile spreading across your face, rendered him speechless.  

He cringed.  “I’m an idiot, right?”  Nervous laughter escaped him.  “I mean, I planned on asking you out tonight anyway.  If that changes anything.  I don’t want you to think I’m, like, stepping in to take advantage of a bad situation.  You can tell me no, Einstein.  I know it’s been a… I mean, the past hour has been a lot.

“But I don’t want you to be alone while you’re dealing with all of this.”  He turned in his seat to glance around for Phoenix.  “Should we call Nat over here?  Would you rather talk to her?  I’m serious, this doesn’t have to be a date.  I didn’t mean to overstep… What?  Why are you laughing at me?” 

You sat across the seat, hand smothering the giggles slipping through your smile.  “Am I rambling again?”  He asked, and you nodded.  “Sorry.  I’m usually better at dealing with emotional situations like this.” 

“I’d say you knocked it out of the park today,” you joked.  Fanboy could only groan at the pun.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit.  Mickey hoped the flush on his face appeared to be alcohol induced rather than his lapse of judgement.  Your phone sat between them, screen still black while you waited for your lawyer to get the voicemail and call you back. 

“It took you long enough.”

He tilted his head.  Much like how you did when you first walked in today.  “What?”

“Asking me out,” you clarified, “that took you a while.” 

“Is that a yes?”

You threw your head back and laughed in a way Fanboy never heard you laugh before.  A mix of elation and pure joy.  Maybe the sound of your voice saying his name could be his second favorite sound.  That laugh needed to be bottled away in his memories forever.  “Yes,” you said.  “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“I really like you,” he said, then, after a moment’s consideration, he tacked your first name at the end of the sentence.  It only felt fitting.

[littlemissrbf]

Summer Lovin' (pt. 3)

Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!Reader

(No use of y/n, reader is a SoCal native & Bob is from Montana, language, reader has an annoying but loving uncle, a lot of Cali references, very dialogue-heavy in this one, a lil bit horny, please drink responsibly and wear your fucking seatbelt, Hangman jumpscare, a lot of food references bc I was hungry when I wrote this)

Part 3 [Word Count: 2.9k]

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist

"Really, oops?" you said leaning against the pool table with your arms crossed. He had just let you win

"Yeah it's a real bummer." His shoulders sagged and he let out a sigh as he placed his cue back on its rack on the wall. Then he looked at you with a boyish grin and a glimmer in his eyes.

"I guess I oughta buy you that drink now?"

The two of you made your way to the bar just as Natasha and her three idiots moved back to the pool tables. Mickey and Reuben made kissy faces and "oOooh" sounds as they passed until a quick jab of Natasha's elbow to their sides shut them up. You giggled as you saw the whole interaction, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught Rooster giving Bob a not-so-subtle thumbs up.

Before you'd even made it to the bar, Bob had pulled a chair out for you

"Such a gentleman." You say, hopping up onto the barstool, "I should send your parents a thank-you basket."

He smiled as he sat down on his own stool, his knees brushing yours as he shifted to face you, "If you do, make sure to send those chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, they love those." He said, placing his elbow on the bar and leaning his cheek into his hand.

"Aloha-macs?" you mirrored him, placing your right elbow on the bar and resting your chin on your palm. You crossed your legs, bumping his knees again, your legs were now placed between his.

"Yep, that's the one." He looked down at your crossed legs placed between his, then quickly looked up. "-And also those gold ones, the Ferrerra rochers?"

"Ferrero Rochers and Aloha-macs for the Floyds, I got it." Then your smile shifted into a smirk, "What do I get for the other cowboys?"

Before Bob could come up with a clever response, the sound of someone clearing their throat startled both of you, Penny was standing right there looking between the two of you with a smirk. You both fixed your posture immediately, pulling your elbows off the table and knocking your knees against each other as you scrambled to face the bar.

“Care to introduce me to your new friend, hun?"

“Penny, this is Lt. Bob Floyd and he’s gonna buy me a drink ‘cause I beat him in 8-ball.” You smiled innocently, knowing you had taken her one piece of advice (to “watch out for those aviators”) and threw it out the fucking window.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you Bob.” She smiles and extends her hand to him

He immediately reaches out to shake her hand and say, “It’s nice to meet you too, Ma’am.”

Penny nodded slowly, as if he had just passed some kind of secret test, then she smiled at you as if to say “yeah, this one’s okay.”

“So what can I get you kids to drink? Another Shirley Temple?”

“Yes please,” you smiled.

“And for you?” She turned to Bob

“May I have a Coke, please?”

“Of course,” she started to move away then gestured to the sign behind her. “Make sure to read the rules, I’d hate to see you stuck paying for the whole bar.”

The two of you leaned to get a better view of the sign it read something like “disrespect a lady, the US Navy, or put your phone on the bar = you pay for a round.”

“You remember that guy from earlier that got thrown overboard?" You leaned in closer to whisper, trying to make sure Penny couldn’t hear you.

"Yeah, I saw him get tossed by Hangman, Coyote, and Payback." He whispered back.

"Who?" you cocked your head to the side, you still haven't put together all the names and callsigns to faces yet.

"Payback is Reuben." he smiled.

"Oh Reuben, okay, so anyways I saw him talking with Penny before she rang the death bell, and she looked pissed with him." You checked to make sure no one (especially Penny) was listening in before finishing your thought, "I think they were a thing."

"A thing?" He leaned in closer now, matching your enthusiasm.

"Mhm." You nodded excitedly, "There's some history there, I can feel it. But when I asked her about it, she told me 'It's a long story' and completely brushed it off."

"You sound invested." he grinned at you.

"Oh I am invested, there is something going on between Penny and Mr. Overboard-” you quietly groaned as the realization hit you, “but I'm never getting an explanation out of her, and he is probably never gonna set foot in this bar again."

“Well if Mr. Overboard is smart, he’ll be back tomorrow with flowers and a damn good apology,” Bob said, like he was repeating words of wisdom passed down from his father.

You smiled at his use of your nickname for the old man, when you noticed Penny walking back over with the drinks you wiped the grin off your face and gave his foot a little nudge with your own. He nodded and pressed his lips together, immediately understanding the signal.

"Here's that Shirley and a Coke, you two just holler if you need anything else." You two thanked her as she moved on to another patron at the other end of the bar.

You raised your glass to Bob and he tapped it with the lip of his bottle with a satisfying 'clink' as you said your cheers. You looked down at the drink in your hands and noticed that Penny had given you two cherries instead of one. Penny Benjamin is also a fantastic wingman.

"Want one?" you asked, holding out a bright red cherry by its stem to him, your other hand placed under to catch any liquid.

"Sure." he said.

You had expected him to take the cherry from you with his hand, not his mouth. Without any shame, this man leaned down and plucked the whole cherry from your fingers with his teeth, taking the stem too. Your mouth hung open in shock before you gave him a nervous chuckle and turned back to your drink. You could feel your cheeks burning as the smooth bastard just smiled like it was nothing and thanked you.

"Wanna see a magic trick?" He asked, and you immediately spun in your seat to face him. He twirled the cherry stem between two fingers and then popped it into his mouth. You made a face and he held up a finger to tell you to 'wait for it' his eyebrows raised. After about fifteen seconds of silence and Bob twisting his mouth and scrunching his nose in concentration, he brought his fingers back to his lips and pulled out the stem... tied in a knot.

"Shut up!" You practically shouted. He laughed and grabbed a napkin to place the stem on, shrugging like it was no big deal. You immediately fished out the second cherry and plopped it into your own mouth, pulling the stem free and holding it out to him with sparkling eyes,

"Can you do it again?"

His ears were pink as he took the stem that had just been between your lips and placed it on his tongue, keeping his eyes locked on yours. After ten seconds of making silly faces, he pulled the knotted stem from his lips and placed it right next to the other one.

Your cheeks burned as you mentally scolded yourself for beginning to wonder just what else his mouth could do.

You spent the next hour chatting with each other, Bob gave you a crash course on all the groups' callsigns, you learned that Natasha's callsign was Phoenix (which is so fucking cool) and Mickey's was Fanboy (which is arguably less cool). Then he pointed out five more pilots near Hangman and Coyote that you hadn’t met.

"Those three are Omaha, Halo, and Fritz." he nodded over to them, "and those two big guys over there are Harvard and Yale."

"Harvard and Yale?" you asked while raising an eyebrow.

"Yep, they've flown together for years now, everybody knows them."

"Lemme guess, their wingman is Princeton?"

"You know it actually might be," he tapped his chin and looked up in fake thought, you laughed and lightly swatted at his arm.

"Okay okay that's enough about them," you shifted in your seat, your legs coming to rest between his again. "What's your favorite food?"

"Street tacos."

"Really?"

"Absolutely, there's some real good places in Lemoore close to base, I would get ‘em for dinner probably four to five times a week."

"What, no tacos in Montana?" you teased.

"There are, but it's not the same." he shrugged. "What about you? What's your guilty pleasure?"

"I'm a sucker for In-N-Out." You laughed.

"I've never tried it, but everyone tells me it's good." he said, taking a sip of his Coke.

"I'm sorry you've been in Cali for how long? And you've never had In-N-Out?!"

He shrugged, "I've just never really got the chance to try it."

"Oh Robbie, we have to fix that." You grinned, "You gotta have a double-double, an animal-fry, and a milkshake. Trust me, it's all part of the experience."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to take me yourself," he nudged you with his elbow, "You know, to make sure I'm getting the full ‘So Cal’ experience."

You laughed and leaned into his touch, your legs were still intertwined under the bar, with your feet resting on the leg rest of his barstool.

"So what do you do for work?"

"I'm in school right now, but I work with kids mostly. Babysitting, tutoring, summer camps all that fun stuff." you replied.

"You like working with kids?"

"Most of the time." You started, "Then there's the times when these kids make me question my life's decisions- like this one girl, Katie, she tells me 'Miss why don't you have a wedding ring?' and I tell her it's because I'm not married, and you know what she says? This girl looks me dead in the eyes and tells me, 'Miss you're too old to not be married!'"

"Kids do say the darndest things sometimes." Bob shook his head slowly and smiled at you. "You must be good with them, though."

"Oh I'm amazing with kids. I taught a class of 30 once, most of them were around four to six. Longest week of my life."

A new voice joined the conversation,

"How about teenagers?" Penny asked wiping down the bar,

"I'm usually just there to make sure they aren't throwing parties while their parents are on a date," you laughed, "but I also do pick-ups and drop-offs, and I've tutored some freshmen in math and chemistry recently."

"That's good to know." She said and pushed a notepad and pen towards you, you quickly wrote down your contact info and she ripped off the piece of paper, folded it, and stuffed it into her pocket.

Bob chuckled as she walked away, "Well, looks like she beat me to it."

"Hm?"

"I really thought I was gonna be the first one to get your number tonight," he laughed and went to readjust his glasses. He noticed some smudges on the lenses and took them off to try and clean them with the bar napkins.

"Here, let me." you reached out one hand to him as you rummaged through your bag with your other. Bob placed his glasses in your palm as you pulled out a small microfiber cloth smiling as you explained,

"I always drive with my sunglasses on and I hate when there's fingerprints or smudges on them, drives me nuts." You laughed at yourself as you cleaned one lens after the other, patient and thoroughly. You held the frames up to the light to check your work, then nodded in satisfaction, but before handing them back you held them out before your eyes and started to scan the room with them half-on.

"Whatcha doin'?" he laughed at you, still looking through his glasses as if they were binoculars.

"Just trying to see the world through your eyes," you said squinting your eyes, "Geez Robbie, you really are blind."

You laughed at each other as he playfully snatched his glasses back, careful not to touch the lenses and mess up all your hard work.

"Thank you," he said, putting his glasses back on and picking up his bottle for another sip.

"No worries, I figure being able to see is probably a pretty important part of your job." you smiled, "Not to mention how cute they are on you.”

He nearly choked.

His whole face turned red and he struggled to regain his composure, coughing into his fist and slamming his other hand down onto his thigh. You couldn't help but laugh at him as you patted his shoulder and leaned down to make sure he wasn't actually dying, he let out a short breath and smiled up at you,

"You're trying to kill me aren't you?"

You laughed, bringing the hand that wasn't resting on his shoulder to his face, giving two soft pats on his cheek. "No of course not, you haven't even gotten my number yet."

When you didn't immediately move your hand away and instead began to lightly stroke his cheekbone with your thumb he gulped, his Adam's apple shifting up and down. He moved his hand to where yours rested on his cheek, his large palm completely enveloping yours, and bringing them down so your small show of PDA was hidden under the bar. He quickly glanced at your lips before looking up, his glance shifting between your eyes, he looked like he was mentally preparing himself to ask you for the biggest favor of your life.

"I'd um- I'd just really like to kiss you right now." he said, plain and earnestly.

"Then why don't you?" you said, glancing down at his lips and then back up to his eyes.

He gave your hand a squeeze and took in a short breath,

"Because I'd have to take you on a proper date first." He smiled nervously, then added "If you'd like that."

You couldn't help but smile at him, he was just so sweet and sincere, there's no reason on earth why you wouldn't immediately say yes-

"Excuse me, sweetheart, but I think your old man is ready to go home." Hangman interrupted, his arm draped around your Uncle, who looked completely shit-faced.

Except for maybe this reason.

"Oh my God," you practically jumped off your chair, his eyes were pink and glassy and his whole face was red.

"Kiddo I want you to meet Lt. Jake Seresin- he's a fighter pilot 'n he graduated Top Gun, best of the best ya know?" he slurred as you grabbed his arm and placed it over your shoulders.

"Yes I'm familiar, thank you Jake it's nice to meet you." you threw a friendly smile at Hangman, "but we're going home now okay? Can I have the keys?"

Bob had left some bills on the bar and grabbed your purse before he made his way over to you, and your Uncle immediately recognized him.

"Ohhhh and who's this?" he asked, playing dumb.

"This is my new friend Robbie, now can I please have the keys so we can go home before Auntie kills us both?"

"Geez Louise don't gotta rush me kiddo." he said as he plopped the keys into your hands, you turned towards the exit, trying to push your uncle to move with you.

Bob still had your purse so he went to follow you but Hangman stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, he raised an eyebrow at him,

"Robbie?" he teased.

"Jake?" he matched his tone as he pushed past him.

Bob helped you get your Uncle into the backseat of the truck, so he could lay down and sober up a bit

"You need to lay on your side grandpa, I don't want you asphyxiating on vomit on the drive back." you shook his leg to get him to turn.

"Alright alright-" he swatted at your hand and shifted onto his side, then clarified "I am her uncle, not her gramps."

"Yes sir, it's good to meet you." Bob replied before shutting the door.

"Oh my God this is a nightmare." You sighed as you leaned your back against the car, running a hand over your face.

"Hey don't worry about it, I'm not here to judge," he smiled at you, leaning his left arm against the truck so he could look at you. "Now about that date..."

You laughed, turning to face him, you fished your phone out of your purse and handed it to him, "Can I have your number?"

"I thought you'd never ask" he smiled and put in his number, "Can I, at least, walk you to the driver's seat."

You snatched your phone from him with a giggle, changing the contact name from "Bob Floyd" to "Robbie ♡", making sure he could see it. True to his word, he walked you all twenty steps to the driver's side and opened the door for you, you smiled as you hopped in.

That smile was wiped from your face the second you looked down to adjust your seat. There were three pedals instead of two.

"Shit"

"What's wrong?" he asked with a hand still on the door, leaning closer to you to try and figure out what the problem was.

"Don't laugh at me, but I only learned to drive automatic." You sighed, "There's no way I can get us home 'cause I don't know how to drive stick shift."

Bob moved his other arm to rest on the top of the car, leaning in so he was just a few inches from your face, his lips shifting into that stupid, adorable boyish grin.

"I do."

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

(Author's note: Thank you for reading! This one took a bit more time bc of all the dialogue but part 4 should be out pretty soon! This is my first fic so if you have any writing tips or suggestions let me know!)

Taglist: @yyiikes @beebeerockknot @greengoldhorns @pinkpantheris (Comment if you want to be added!)

[kelltonic]

Defences ★彡

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Reader

Description: While at the hard deck with the other daggers, Mickey - your boyfriend - get’s heavily flirted on by a stranger when you’re not around, and he is never more committed to shut someone down.

Warnings: Alcohol/Drunkenness, very light sexual harassment (fem on man). Canon-typical asshole Hangman. I love Reuben. Fanboy is a sweetheart. Other than that it’s just an established relationship and fluff. No use of y/n.

WC: 1,500

A/N: Guys if you want more Mickey (or any top gun) PLEASE request - I have been struggling for ideas lol - even if it’s just another version of an already made fanfiction with a different character, or a headcanons prompt!! - ALSO for anyone who read my prev a/n on my other fanboy ff, I GOT 100% ON MY ENGLISH EXAM!!! I actually started tweaking out (it was creative writing). We don't talk about my other exams though.

“Oh come on!” Mickey groaned while throwing his arms in the air, physically complaining over the miss he just hit in pool. “The tables gotta be uneven or something.” He said, mostly jokingly.

"Don't be bitter that I'm just better." Reuben shrugged, flashing a cocky smile to tease his best friend with.

After a long day of flying, most of the squadron retired to the most familiar place on base, the Hard Deck. A comforting yet bustling bar that welcomed naval aviators with open arms.

"Now that's funny-" Fanboy was about to start, but was quickly cut off by that oh so familiar southern drawl.

"Boys, boys, let me show you how a real man shoots." Hangman mocked, condescendingly snatching the pool cue out of Fanboy's hands while simultaneously shooting a wink to one of the many attractive women scattered around the bar. Payback's face formed a frustrated expression as he leaned back to watch what Hangman would do. Hangman did this more than anyone would like. Preferably, he'd never interrupt the games for some silly flirting exercise, but something about Jake couldn't live without the thrill of the tease.

Fanboy was about the opposite, despite what his callsign may allude. Sure, before he met you, he would throw around a few pick up lines and enjoy the spotlight whenever a pretty girl noticed him. But now? He is duller than a rock if someone tries to get a piece of him. You're his favourite person in the entire world, and he makes sure you know it - as long as you promise not to tell Reuben. He can't have another passive-aggressive flight because Reuben decided to teach him how significant of a role he plays in Mickey's life. He would rather jump out of his plane mid flight than let you think you meant anything less to him.

So when the girl Hangman had been flirting with had finally approached him with her friends who had been giggling like hyenas at the squadron the entire night, he just went to get another round.

He looked back from the bar to see the girls clinging to various daggers while waiting for the drinks, chuckling at the sight of Reuben getting surrounded. He didn't think anything of it until one of them separated and began approaching him.

But he didn't want to assume anything, she may just be coming to do the same thing as him.

"Hey handsome." She giggled, leaning against the bar next to Fanboy. Welp, there goes the lack of assumption.

"Hi." He responded bluntly, giving a brief polite yet not hinting smile. All that warranted was a giggly and flirtatious response.

"Come here often?" She said, clearly a little tipsy if not anything further. She scooted closer to him, practically brushing him. As much as he wanted to make space between him, the bar was particularly crowded and he honestly didn't want to bother the aviator directly behind him.

"Yeah a bit, most of us frequent this bar the most." He said with a dry sigh, averting eye contact. He couldn't help but wish Penny sped up with the drinks, but he would never in any lifetime say that to her and face her (and Maverick's) wrath.

"Come on pretty boy, loosen up." She giggled while gripping his arm, trying to push their bodies flush together.

"Okay no thank you." He quickly spoke, lightly pushing her away. He was uncomfortable, and couldn't help but feel guilty despite the fact he had done nothing wrong. "I have a girlfriend." He stated, easily plying her hand off his arm.

"Is she here?" She said while staring into his eyes playfully, unbothered by the physical signs he was presenting.

"No?" He said, puzzled by her persistence.

"Then she doesn't have to know." She responded while trying to close the distance again.

"Here ya go." Penny interrupted with a small smile, placing a tray of various alcoholic beverages in front of them before dashing off to another patron. all Mickey could think was 'oh thank goodness' as Penny saved him from this uncomfortable and awkward encounter.

He grabbed the drink tray and flashed the girl a small, awkward smile as he sped walk to the full group again.

"Ayy!!" Reuben and various others bellowed, grateful to see another wave of drinks. "Our saviour." He joked, taking a beer.

"On land and sky." Mickey responded, placing the tray down while grabbing himself a beer. It only took a few awkward shuffles from Mickey for Reuben to detect something was off, despite his current state.

"You good?" He asked with a smile, tilting his head as he carefully watched Mickey's reaction.

"Yeah, yeah, I just feel... dirty." Mickey murmured, the guilt of another woman's attraction to him weighing on him like an elephant.

"Dirty? Or like.. dirty." Reuben repeated, shifting from a playful to serious tone.

"Dirty." Mickey echoed, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. "...One of the girls was flirting with me. Hard." He elaborated.

"Since when was that a bad thing?" Reuben scoffed, before a wave of realisation hit him. "Ohhh... right, okay." A neutral tone flowing through his voice. It only took a second for a puzzled expression to take over his face. Mickey had to admit one thing, Reuben was one of the most expressive people he's ever met.

"So... why do you feel bad?" He mocked, a slight laugh leaving his mouth. "You didn't flirt back.. right?" Reuben questioned. He knew how utterly enamoured Mickey was with you, he had to get his callsign from somewhere. But he couldn't help but seek clarification.

"No!" Mickey swiftly reacted after taking a gulp of his beer, a frankly offended expression covering his face.

"...." Reuben just stared, a little dumbfounded at Mickey's loyalty policies. Despite a hint of respect also developing, he couldn't help but laugh at Mickey's commitment to you. And his standards for what counts as something he should feel guilty for or not. However, Reuben was also observant. Even if he wasn't, it would still be easy to tell how sad the thought of someone else flirting with Mickey made him. Someone other than you. But his trance was interrupted by an exaggerated sigh.

"Okay, look. I'm only ever going to say this once, so listen up." Reuben began, placing his beer down as he forced eye contact with Mickey. Landing a hand on his shoulder, he groaned as he realised what he was about to say and the possibility of Mickey never letting him live it down. "You're attractive. Really damn hot, man. Both physically and personality wise. You have good energy and people are naturally drawn to your confidence and kindness. So you're gonna have to get used to the idea of people, women included, approaching you and flirting." Reuben stated, more teaching than hyping.

Mickey was conflicted between smiling and teasing Reuben. "Come on man, that's the nicest thing you've said to me." He said with a chuckle as his shoulders dropped and his gave Reuben a quick hug before he potentially got bitch slapped by him.

"Okay off." Reuben scolded, pushing Mickey off of him with a forced groan.

"...I'm still gonna call her though." Mickey quickly ushered while typing in your contact on his phone, which just elicited a 'why do I even try' motion from Reuben as he walked away.

Your phone rang a couple times before you got the chance to pick it up, busy with an email.

"Hello?" you spoke seriously, forgetting to check the caller ID.

"Babe!!" Mickey spoke, excited to hear your voice. He always sounded ecstatic whenever you two spoke.

"Hey baby, what's up?" You spoke warmly, a complete shift from your initial greeting.

"I just wanted to tell you I love you more than anything in the entire world. Even flying." Mickey spoke quickly, not for a lack of authenticity.

"I love you too... why are you calling to tell me this?" You said with a small chuckle, it wasn't uncommon for Mickey to randomly declare his love, especially over the phone due to distance. It was however rare for him to do it at this late hour.

"Some girl was flirting with me. BUT! I didn't at all entertain it for a second." Mickey emphasised, he was only slightly tipsy but the honesty made you giggle. You would never in a million years have to worry about his loyalty, and this is one of the reasons.

"Well I appreciate that." You responded softly, the yearning for his presence briefly satiated by his voice. All you could hear on the other end of the line was a low giggle, as far as you could tell he could very well be twirling his (non-existent) hair and kicking his feet.

"I miss you sweetie." You whispered with a gentle desire from the heart.

"I do too, but you'll never guess what Reuben said to me." Mickey said with a chuckle, you could practically hear his smile, and his longing.

A/N: Bit of a corny ending but I didn't know what else to do lmao.

Started: 12:00am Sunday 22nd of June Ended: 8:00pm Thursday 26th of June

[occamstfs]

Start-Up

Gabriel hates the start-up he works for. Though this morning it seems there are more immediate things he should be concerned with as men something strange begins to change men around the world.

Couldn't let all these other authors have all this fun without me! Here's my own take on the theme of Viral Transformation! Now I did muddy the waters a bit by setting my virus story at a social media start up but I think it works haha! Do check out the stories by all the other amazing writers who took part!!! -Occam

There was something strange going on in the city today and Gabriel wasn’t quite sure what the cause was. It’s not like there’s a commotion or anything, on the contrary; the streets were quiet but there was just something sinister in the air. He works for a new social media start-up in the wake of most of the big platforms collapsing, succinctly named Web. Gabriel didn’t have a ton of faith in the app and was growing increasingly tired of dealing with the CEO’s inane demands but hey, as long as checks keep clearing.

Reuben’s, said CEO’s, most recent crusade was banning the use of any competing sites or networks on company property, which unfortunately includes Gabriel’s personal devices. Who knew start-ups could be so draconian, though when the rich boy in charge has a fleet of lawyers and the lowly programmer just needs to make ends meet that’s how it goes it seems. All this to say, Web is thus far incredibly unsuccessful as a news platform and poor Gabriel is unable to see the chaos going on in the city behind closed doors as he walks into work.

The programmer artfully misses chyrons scrolling past telling all men to stay indoors and not to make unnecessary journeys as he mindlessly scrolls on the app he has spent countless hours producing. “Ugh.” Gabriel rolls his eyes as he sees post after post from thoughtless gym bros. Reuben swears this is a massive demographic for them but the programmer has constantly spoken up to the contrary. What could they possibly gain by making yet another platform for men who could barely read. Any indulgence or encouragement towards this demographic was sure to push away more reasonable, serious people.  

Eyes still glued to his phone in search of any shred of news, Gabriel doesn’t notice the state of the receptionist as he wanders past to take the elevator up to the office, “Morning Ron.” Only after a few seconds with no response does the coder finally tear his eyes away to see the young man in quite a disheveled state. He chokes back a gasp as he sees Ron quickly remove the hand that was shoved in his pants as he too only just notices the presence of his fellow man, “UHH Morning Gabe- I was just uhhh, getting something out of my pocket?” His rapid movement sends the sound of fabric tearing through the air as whatever remains of the button up he was wearing falls in pieces to the floor.

Desperate to put this encounter behind himself Gabriel mashes the close door button in the elevator. “Ron can’t have been masturbating just now.” he assures his reflection in the elevator doors. “He’s a good kid, smart kid.” He says of the man maybe five years his junior. Still, at the very least Gabriel is surprised that he came to work wearing clothes that clearly didn’t fit? He can’t help but summon the intimate look at Ron’s body he just received and can’t imagine how the receptionist bulked up so quickly? He can’t think of a single occasion of Ron mentioning going to the gym. 

Elevator clicking ever upwards he figures Reuben must be to blame, first he wants lunkheads using our app and then he convinces employees to waste time at the gym. Ah! That stupid gym! Gabriel punches a fist into his own palm as in the back of his mind he remembers the CEO taking up valuable office space to create a company gym for any employees to make use of. One of the many ‘benefits’ of working on Web. “God I hate startups.”

The elevator doors clink open and Gabriel exits to find the office space seems to be a ghost town. No one is using cubicles and he only sees a few of his fellow department heads have made it in so far. He grumbles to himself, “God-damnit if today could have been work from home I’m leaving now…” Despite his irritation, he enters his office and immediately starts getting to work. Waiting on his desk is a short list of suggestions on how to improve the platform from Rueben, which he promptly discards with little ado. Checking his own to-do list for the day he finds a one on one scheduled with one of the few coworkers he actually respects, Alexander Blainely, head of marketing. 

Most of the other executives were yes men, but Alexander seems to have an actual head on his shoulders. Gabriel always finds their meetings far more stimulating and productive than most other drudgery that goes on in this office. Returning into the open workspace, Gabriel shivers as he feels something in the air yet again. Completely unplaceable, it’s almost certainly nothing, but he remains on edge. His discomfort only grows as he nears his friend’s office and his hitherto directionless uneasiness finds a source. Hearing somethin a little more than disconcerting he whispers under his breath, “what the fuck? Is that moaning?” 

Barely audible when he shuts the door of his own office and wanders into the otherwise silent suite, it increases in volume with each step towards that of Alexander’s quarters. Gabriel grits his teeth and rages in his own mind for trusting anyone in this god-forsaken venture to treat their job with a shred of dignity. Arriving at the door and confirming that the man is clearly exerting himself somehow with a clear disregard to decency in their shared workspace, Gabriel scrunches his face and takes a deep breath. Hesitating at the thought of catching someone he had thought was a compatriot in flagrante delicto, his ire overcomes his usual prudence and he barges in. Never could he be prepared for the sight that awaited him.

Alexander sits on his work desk masturbating with his eyes closed as he rapturously traces over a muscular body that Gabriel flat out knows he has never had before today. Tongue lolling out of his mouth and dripping with drool as if he were a dog, Gabriel can’t help but loose a gasp as he sees with every pump of his cock, with every fervent breath and heady gasp from Alex, his body is continuing to change. 

Seconds pass and his skin browns with an unnatural tan under the LED lights in his office. Meanwhile he continues to surge larger, biceps already larger than when Gabriel stumbled in, the head of marketing’s shoulders pack on muscle as his neck thickens and his whole torso widens with strength. Thighs bulge meatier as his cock quivers higher, stretching inches further into the air as his already massive balls pulse larger. Gabriel’s gasp announcing his presence, the masturbating man opens his eyes and, almost as if it were a defense mechanism he loses control and cums.

Gabriel can’t tear his eyes away from the titan at the moment of his release. Every already massive muscle on his body expands as veins bulge out from the clear stress of the transformation. As load after load shoots out in inhumanly quick succession, Gabriel freezes as he sees facial hair and body hair that somehow already looks shaved begins to decorate his beyond masculine form. Sweat glistening off the man’s sculpted body makes him aware of the aura of musk that has clearly been filling this room, one that is impossibly similar to the general malaise that he has been assailing his senses all morning. Finally realizing what is happening in front of him, Gabriel slams the door shut and sprints down the hall, accompanied by nothing but his own gasps of exertion. 

He doesn’t take a second to think until he’s safe back in the sanctum of his office. The only place since this morning where he hasn’t felt the dreadful haze that he only just became totally aware of. Hopefully safe here, he allows himself a moment of reflection, connecting his brief encounter with Ron and his unfortunate meeting with what can’t have been Alexander. “Fuck it.” He starts to pull out his cell to check the news but before he can make any progress, he realizes there is something warm and sticky on his shirt. Looking down to see what it is he immediately drops his phone and tears off his suit. God. Some of that must-be imposter’s cum got on his button up. He throws the shirt away and scrubs at his skin where the man’s fluids got on him with fury. Using hand sanitizer like it’s a cure he scrubs and scratches until his skin burns red and raw. 

After he’s confident he’s done all he can to remove any trace of Alex from his body, Gabriel grabs the backup shirt he keeps in his desk for just an occasion as this. Or rather, in case he spills coffee on himself or some other accident that makes sense at all. His mind craving any degree of normalcy the thought of coffee stays with him. Oliver should be making it in about now. His pulse begins to quicken as he feels concern for the intern, in fact it’s racing far faster a tempo than it usually reaches at its most accelerate. Putting his hand on his wrist as concern for himself eclipses that of Oliver he finds both come to a head as his door opens and he falls out of his chair in shock.

“Jesus Oliver, knock next time!” The programmer shouts cowering behind his desk. Oliver quickly sets down his handful of mugs and goes to help his boss up, “So sorry Gabe! I just saw you were in and you usually don’t mind at all.” Standing up, Gabriel inches behind the intern and quietly closes the door, he looks Oliver up and down for anything out of the ordinary. “Are you, feeling alright Ollie?” The man purses his lips and pats himself down, clearly not in the same headspace of his usually stoic boss, “Well, I believe I am sir? Is, uhm, everything alright with you?” Oliver’s eyes flicker around the room seeing the discarded clothes and taking note of his boss sweating more than usual. In fact Oliver isn’t sure if he’s ever seen the man really sweat at all, “Did you want me to switch for an iced coffee?”

Gabriel rubs his face and is similarly shocked to find himself sweating, “Ugh. I think this job might be getting to me. Have you seen anyone else in the office today?” Oliver puffs his cheeks and looks at the mugs he set aside, “No actually? Now that you mention it, Ronnie wasn’t even downstairs which seemed weird. I mean he’s always on that grind to try and impress Rueben.” Gabe scratched his beard and grimaced, usually he’s quite adept at compartmentalizing, it’s how he hasn’t blown up at the CEO thus far. But the impossibility of what he saw in Alexander’s office has left him shaken. His heart rate begins to rise once more as his mind returns to that scene. 

In fact, it’s not the only thing that begins to rise. Suddenly his uncontrollable mind latches onto the image of Alexander’s cock expanding and then blowing its load and Gabriel’s own cock begins to stir. His face burns with blush as he can’t help but dart his eyes to see his usually unimpressive cock begin to inch its way larger down his dress pants. For his part Oliver, used to taking verbal cues follows his boss’ eyeline and balks as he sees the man thoughtlessly go to grab it. Oliver is struck speechless as the ever stark programmer bites his lip and begins rubbing his cock through the linen pants, “Jesus, uh- Uhm- Sir!?” 

Immediately alert he wipes his face and sucks up the drool that was apparently beginning to pool in his throat. Gabriel grabs a tissue and wipes his brow, fervently apologizing to the intern, “I am so sorry Oliver. I don’t know what…” Oliver quickly waves him off, not so much bothered by the behavior as surprised. “D- Don’t you worry about it Gabe, er sir. I’ll just be out here if you need me!” He backs into the door before stepping out with an awkward nod, leaving the coffee cups behind. Gabriel debates whether or not he should report himself to HR before he slams his fist against his desk chair as he remembers they haven’t an HR department. 

Rage at his shitty start-up returning at an elevated degree he gets his head back in the game, despite the best attempts of his wanting package and balls growing bluer by the second. Concerned for whatever seems to be going on in this office, or worse in the world at large, he goes to the internet once more. Without much thought at all he opens Web and starts scrolling to find any information of use. Unfortunately for the higher functions in his mind the programmer is immediately assailed by the mindless user base he so disdains, and rather than feeling the ire he always does towards the dullards and hellions. Instead he finds himself possessed with a desire to drink in every last bulging muscle that presents itself.

Coworkers, friends, reporters- Everyone Gabriel has deemed worthy of attention on the nigh-worthless platform he is forced to use, even those who are straighter laced than Gabriel, have been posting smut on main. Industrious man he may be, the programmer is indeed but a man of flesh and blood, and that blood is rushing through him at a breakneck pace to give him the most intense erection he’s ever enjoyed. 

It’s partially why he’s so adamant about diversifying their app, a weakness in himself for the male form; a weakness that whatever corruption that is beginning to rise within him is gleefully taking full advantage of. He tries to stay focused, return to his concerned research, but after taking a gasping breath he realizes that his own body has begun to produce the musky air that must be spreading the impossible changes he’s trying to get to the bottom of.

Staring at the bulging pecs and hairy asses of men he once respected, Gabe struggles to pay attention to anything but the cock begging for his attention as it begins to create a wet spot halfway down his leg. The zipper halfway undone by the growing beast alone is fully ripped asunder as Gabriel can’t help but full on masturbate in his office, just as he walked into Alexander doing but minutes ago. He tears off his button up with uncharacteristic aggression as it begins to impede his jacking off. As soon as his arms are exposed his attention leaves the app and begins to hone in on his own body. God has he always been so hot?

Gabriel flexes his biceps and smirks as he sees them peak higher than he’s ever imagined they could before now. Raising his arms also exposes his pits, a hotbed for musk and whatever impossible contagion hides within it. He forces his neck to crane down into his pit as sweat begins to stain the undershirt that is rapidly filled with new mass. Intended to be deliberately loose, pounds begin to pack onto his chest and push the garment to its brim, the cotton fabric sticks to his chest tight enough that it would be a struggle to get it off over his new pecs, hearing the sound of fabric straining his cock grows even harder at the idea that perhaps he won’t even need to take it off. He’ll just grow large enough that his massive body will destroy it for him.

This thought flitting through his mind, Gabirel loses whatever shred of self-control remains and goes all out in enjoying the changes happening to him. Rubbing his hands across his sweat-covered tank top and feeling the burning muscles building themselves underneath it. The sound of fabric straining and tearing fills him with pleasure he couldn’t fathom before now as he nears his first rapturous release. Sweat drips from his pits as they grow thicker and curls stretch further afield as to be ungovernable, ever focused on the task of spreading his scent. Steady streams of pre trail down his cock, lathering his hand as his whole body quivers with the anticipation of ecstasy.

Before it can arrive however he receives a scheduled video call from the man he wants to hear from less than any other. Clicking accept as he must, the disdain that Gabriel has always held for Rueben quickly comes to a head. Greeted with the image of a more muscular, just as juvenile, version of the CEO filling his screen, Gabriel can’t help but grit his teeth in rage. Hearing him laugh and flex as he begins playing with the special effects in Zoom, Gabriel doesn’t have a moment to realize that he’s continued to masturbate. Instead,  much like when Alexander was surprised, his anger triggers him to cum immediately with no restraint, shooting loads all over the underside of the desk, his still thrusting hand, and the computer screen in front of him. 

Rueben laughs even harder at the sight, his voice duller than ever as he chastises the programmer, “Yo bro huh! Don’t take out your anger on the little guy! You should head down to the company gym and put that aggression to good use bro huhuh!” Gabriel narrows his eyes as veins bulge in his neck. Unhappy that the CEO might have a point, he promptly slammed the shutdown button on his computer and stumbled to his feet, quite off balance from his powerful orgasm. 

Quickly appraising his filthy condition, he shrugs at the cum covering his skintight clothes. Whatever, the gyms sure to be disgusting anyway, despite just enjoying release his cock bounces at the idea and he bites his lip to avoid smiling in excitement. Something at the back of his mind desperately begs for a second to realize he’s almost lost himself beyond measure. Unfortunately, with another deep breath of his own b.o. the man’s eyes fog over and he lumbers out of his office. 

Turning with an awkward smile as he hears the head programmer’s office open Oliver starts to say, “Hey boss, hope your-” before his mouth falls agape at seeing the disheveled lug that wanders out. Still unsteady on his feet as they begin to tear the expensive leather shoes he had on, the man stumbles forward and catches himself on the intern’s shoulder. “Buh, sorry uh, Oll’” grimacing at the stain he left on the young man’s shirt, he wipes it in further and nods before heading off, “I’m uh… Gonna go check out the gym.” Oliver stares at what he can only guess is cum that his boss just smeared into his shirt before going off to the gym. Rather than confusion at his boss’ behavior or disgust at the surely hazardous substance on his shirt, he can’t help but sniff as something in the air begins to make him feel warm inside. 

Sprinting down the emergency flight of stairs Gabriel leaves a cloud of musk in his wake as he works up more sweat than his body has ever produced before. Each bounding footstep skips an arbitrary amount of stairs as his legs lengthen. Quickly does he lose the few shreds of clothing that remained stuck to his growing form. After his feet finally burst from his shoes he leaves a clear trail of sweaty footprints that could surely be tracked by anyone who wanders past. Though any poor fool who should wander near enough to smell the slovenly detritus in Gabriel’s wake would likely find themselves lacking motivation to do anything but immediately lose their mind to senseless pleasure then and there.

Arriving in the gym Gabriel hungrily eyes the scene and is less than thrilled that he seems to be the only man present. Opting to throw on some clothes for no reason than to feel the friction of fabric against his sweaty skin he finds stained sweatpants littered on the floor and throws them on. After gratuitously appreciating his reflection and adding to the Pollock painting of stains that litter the posing mirror of their company gym, Gabe throws himself intuitively into every machine. He delights in the tension and pull of every straining muscle and grins through the pain as they bounce back larger than with every repetition. 

He doesn’t spare half a thought about wiping down machines, and clearly whatever boorish louts used them previously didn’t either, much to his satisfaction. Each second of his body changing upstairs during his too brief session of self pleasure holds nothing towards the edification, the perfection, he enjoys now as he throws himself into a workout. It’s far more intense than his meager body should ever be able to maintain. Sweat drips from him like a waterfall as hair fans out across his form, rapidly expanding from shaved stubble into fluff that would hold and spread his scent for hours to come.

Taking a break to take a photo of his new beyond exuberant self, as he stands across from the mirror his cock instantly hardens and inches to its almost foot long length down the leg of his sweatpants. Immediately it begins dripping pre down his hairier thigh as he screams in bestial abandon. His brain is so far gone the idea of posting the steamy pics of his sweaty form on Web doesn’t even occur to him. Instead the only thoughts remaining to fill his mind are those to return to the gym and get back to the important mission of increasing his virile strength, or the even more pressing desire to fuck anything that moves. Unfortunately for him he can’t produce a single actionable step towards that end. So he shall simply enjoy his new body by his lonesome until some equally horny man stumbles into the company gym.

“God what is up with me today.” Back on the tenth floor Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose as he is overwhelmed with another headache. Ever since Gabriel paid him the brief visit on his way to the gym Oliver has been getting them with increasing frequency. He removed his shirt, not wanting to wear something fouled by whatever was covering his boss’ hands but the damage was already done. The idea that not wearing a shirt in the office is inappropriate moves further out of reach by the second. The intern scratches the back of his neck and grumbles as he feels a soreness in his arm and traps, paying no mind as his fingers trail through thicker hair spreads down from his hairline towards his shoulders. Typing away at his computer, each keypress moves slower than the last, his hands cramp as they suddenly bulge larger.

Taking the smallest second to appraise his changing form Ollie’s eyes widen as he sees there are two unmissable weights now hanging on his chest, sitting on a small gut that he has been making concerted efforts to do away with. Feeling up the new pecs he blushes as he feels stubble prickle his fingers. Rubbing them and feeling muscle give way to his thicker hands he can’t suppress the grin on his face as he feels the prickly hairs quickly thicken and curl longer, painting his chest with a beautiful forest of hair. His dick immediately surges to the largest size it can achieve in the confines of his dress pants.

Awash in feeling every new inch of his hairier, more powerful body Oliver stands up and gasps as he sees abs clearer than anything underneath the new layer of hair on his stomach. His knees give way as his hips uncontrollably thrust while he stares down at his form growing sexier by the second. He barely catches himself from falling with his right hand on the table as his body continues to hump his pants to no end, while his left trails across his body to discover the new surprises that cover each and every inch. Hesitant to trail towards the package bulging larger in his crotch, he traces his abs back up to his chest and rests on his clavicle. There does he find the greatest surprise yet, barely gracing the tips of his fingers, a beard beginning to push out on a face that has always been unfortunately clean shaven. 

While it took browsing Web and the intrusion of his workplace enemy for Gabriel’s conscious mind to give in to the euphoria of being a new, greater man, the feeling of a beard inching thicker on Oliver’s face is more than enough to give himself over to anything. This alongside whatever corrupting virus is coursing through him to cause these changes, it’s no wonder he falls to the floor and begins thrusting a hole in his pants. His meaty thighs and monumental ass make light work of his dress pants as his cock angles itself upwards, out of the waistline of his impossibly tight underwear. Even while in the process of spraying load after load into the carpet of his office, his balls continue churning, always heavy and ever wanting more release. Ever demanding he find more avenues to spread his changes and heighten his own bliss. 

Now laying on the floor, every exhilarating movement packs more pounds of muscle onto his bulging new body. More pressing than that however is the pelt making its mark everywhere it sees fit to spread. His pubes grow thick enough that no light shall ever touch the base of his cock again before they spread upwards to paint his stomach with dark curls. The deodorant he threw on this morning hasn’t a breath of a chance against the new musk that issues forth from his pits as the bushes therein grow thicker than that on his head before stretching outwards to connect with those new heady hairs he so delighted in on his chest. The hairs around his nipples grow thick enough almost to hide them as he continues frotting against the carpet.

His biceps burn with the effort of holding his body up as veins bulge down the diameter of his meaty arms, thick strands of hair quickly trailing behind to make clear his undeniable masculinity. He feels new curls itching against the back of the elastic band of his underwear as it only just hangs in there. Dark curls reach up the small of his back and quickly race to cover his ass cheeks like fuzz on a peach, creating a seamless jungle of curls from his hairy inner thighs to a dense thicket still inching higher on his back; growing into a forest perfect to be grabbed by anyone lucky enough to ride his prodigious cock.

After an especially vocal release, his shoulders burn as his traps bulge larger, which brings a certain someone’s touch to mind. Sniffing the air he finds himself in a haze of his own musk, though the musk smells awfully similar to that of the man who almost started masturbating in front of him. Following his more sensitive nose, the intern crawls over to Gabriel’s office and confirms his suspicions. Oliver smirks as he imagines that the horny freak is probaly equally wanting of a fuck buddy. 

Pulling himself up to his feet on the doorway, he grunts as his knees wobble a bit and his cock tries to convince him that humping the floor is good enough. Staying strong and holding the human instinct that some things are worth the effort, he walks on feet hairier than paws and wider than flippers to the elevator where he begins a descent to the company gym. Snapping a picture to text his boss he smirks as he thinks despite what Gabriel always says, perhaps working in a start-up has some perks after all.

It isn’t clear precisely what happened on the Fall day when men across the Bay Area began changing into, well, sex-crazed beasts. Some assume it was some strange chemical leak. Others say that it was some spontaneous evolution, though to what end such pleasure seeking changes could help a species is unclear. Some particularly conspiracy-minded folks think the whole thing was a ploy by a Social Media startup that was taking off with men precisely like the ones who changed. Though at the end of the day it doesn’t quite matter how or why they changed but how to prevent it from spreading. Across the nation, men of every walk of life are rapidly changing despite taking the best precautions. 

Closing gyms, quarantining those changing, racing to find any treatment to help those losing their minds and their bodies. Nothing seems to help as every day more men are blowing up with muscle, growing hairier with symptom spreading musk, and losing themselves to their uncontrollable lusts. At this point it’s seeming like there’s nothing that could possibly be done to stop the spread of changes, but hey, at least it seems like they’re happy.

[the-ace-with-spades]

(this is inspired by a buddie post but doesn't relate at all to 911)

for once, they're not exes, they're could've-beens

The Daggers are loitering around the Hard Deck a few months after the mission and somehow the topic rolls onto how they all met each other

One way or another, Bob admits he had a huge crush on Phoenix for like the first few weeks when they met

And everyone teases him to the point he's getting a bit shy, so to not overdo it on him, Fanboy pops in and says that, Hey, I had a huge crush on Reuben when we met during training as well, it's not that bad.

And instead, everyone moans that it doesn't count because they're married and Payback is all 'oh you had a crush on me? that's so embarrassing' while Fanboy just rolls his eyes at him.

So Fritz is like, 'Pretty sure everyone on base but Halo knew I had a crush on her, I just kept saying the stupidest shit around her,' which prompts Harvard and Yale to quote more and more outrageous sentences while Halo nearly snorts up the beer she's drinking

Bob is still really red and really quiet so Phoenix, attempting to get him to relax about the whole thing and not make a big deal out of it is like, 'Yeah, it's normal, lots of people have crushes on their co-workers, especially when they spend hours on end together. Look at Bradshaw over here, he used to be Mr. Heart Eyes for Hangman, you could've done much worse."

Before she realizes that, you know, no one was supposed to know this, it's already out of her mouth.

Bradley kicks her under the table and fucking freezes, avoidings anyone's gaze and bites down the urge to bang his head on the table.

Because, you know, back when he and Jake were still in training, they had what Jake thought was a friendly rivalry - it was actually just Bradley doing stupid shit to impress him and it flying over, figuratively and literally, Jake's oblivious head. They spent a lot of time together and it was very easy for Bradley to let himself just be in the moment and not think about the crush thing so he kinda ignored and ignored and before he knew it, it had been years.

Shit changed when Jake started ditching their after-work meet-ups to hook up with one of the flight engineers with whom he developed a bit of a coworkers-with-benefits relationship. And Bradley had to watch and hear about it on almost every occasion, every day.

Bradley said to himself that enough is enough because the crush was becoming embarrassingly not-crush-like and he decided he was not being that lame and would move on. Easier said than done - he tried to distance himself but he and Jake worked together every day and were friends so eventually all Bradley could do was the good old out of sight, out of mind method and he transferred without telling Jake.

Which is why Jake was so pissed with him. Because, well, Bradley was the closest thing he had to a best friend before he met Javy, and he just left Jake behind without explanation, one day there, the next one already in Japan, like it was nothing. (Jake does not realize that but he did actually have a bit of a crush on Bradley back then as well, he certainly didn't see him the same way he sees Javy...)

So, no, Jake was never supposed to find out, definitely not now when they're kinda friends again.

So, when very disbelieving You had a crush on Hangman? is thrown at him a few times and Jake is just staring at him from across the table saying nothing, Bradley pulls a lie out of his ass.

"He had a nice ass, nice smile, and very nice tits. I was young and stupid. It's not that big of deal."

It raises some eyebrows and snickers. "Seriously?"

"I found him hot, what's so surprising in that? We all have eyes."

There is a second of confusion but then everyone kinda nods along because, well, Jake is objectively attractive. "I thought he was hot, I wanted to impress him but instead we just got into a pissing contest of who is better at this or that and then I just, moved on."

"So, when did you stop crushing on him?"

"When I realized how big of a mouth he had on him," Bradley says, which is the biggest lie he's ever said - he liked Jake's big mouth an embarrassing amount. "Just couldn't stop yapping on and on."

This finally fucking awakes Jake enough to protest, "I don't yap."

And thankfully, the topic smoothly moves onto bullying Jake.

Bradley ignores the whole fucking thing because if he doesn't, he's going to get bitter, and if he gets bitter, he'll have to admit to himself why. And he's moved on, okay, he was fine all this years he's spent in Japan, he's fine now. It's not like Jake would ever give him a second glance anyway.

Meanwhile, Jake comes back home that night and can't sleep. Because Bradley thought he was hot. Bradley had a crush on him.

Or rather Bradley had thought Jake was hot, Bradley had a crush on him - past tense. He didn't even know this was an option and now he missed it, apparently by years.

And he can't stop thinking about it because he could have Bradley and he keeps imagining how their life could look right now if he didn't miss his chance when he had it. And every time he sees Bradley, he gets a reminder - it's all past tense, chance missed, nothing he can do about it, Bradley had moved on.

And Bradley notices that Jake is now acting weird around him, all quite and staring at him when he thinks he can't notice but avoiding him as best as he can any other time. And Bradley can only find one variable that changed just as Jake's started getting weird around him - and that's finding out that Bradley had a crush on him.

So that's great.

[roosterforme]

In the Line of Duty | Rooster x Reader

Summary: During preparations for a dangerous mission, Bradley finds comfort in writing his thoughts down for his unborn child to eventually read. There's always a chance that he won't make it back, and his final plans involve safeguarding the most important item he brought on his deployment with him.

Warnings: Angst, deployment, pregnancy topics

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley was in the same tiny room with the same seven people for the nineteenth day in a row. He was sweating, too aware of his surroundings. He could hear Reuben breathing next to him. He could hear Admiral Turner's wristwatch counting off every second. He could hear the plans being laid out, but he could barely focus on them.

"The political climate is rapidly changing," the admiral said. "This bombing run is essential, however it will undoubtedly lead to a hostile environment for our allies. Getting the timing just right is essential to a successful mission."

He'd been telling the aviators the same things for days, and while Bradley knew somebody's best interest was at heart, he wasn't really sure it was his. Or Reuben's. Or anybody's in this fucking claustrophobic room. But what choice did he have but to sit here in his flight suit, reeking of jet fuel until he was released?

"Also," Admiral Turner said, his voice laced with exhaustion, "we'll be keeping a close watch on the weather. If you fly this mission, it's going to be a rough takeoff and an even rougher landing. And that's not even mentioning the elements you'll encounter in the air."

Bradley could feel it. The aircraft carrier was a massive vessel, nothing like a cruise ship or anything smaller. It was built to withstand typhoons and hurricanes, but he could still feel it. The movement was getting worse by the hour now. There were deckhands and petty officers walking around with seasickness bags. People were running from the mess hall left and right. The only thing that could be said of this small group of aviators in this tiny ass room was that professional fighter pilots had all traces of motion sickness eliminated from their bodies during flight training, never to be heard from again. He wasn't uncomfortable, but he could still feel it.

"And with that final precaution, I've made my selection for the three pilots who will fly when I say it's time to go." Bradley knew it in his bones even before he heard the admiral say, "Vandal. Patches. Rooster. Everyone else will remain on standby. You're all dismissed."

As he stood, Reuben stuck his fist out. "Congrats, man," he said, and Bradley reached out as well to bump fists. Being chosen was an accomplishment; Bradley always wanted to be chosen. He always wanted to perform to the best of his ability. But his thoughts were so heavy now, filled with new hopes and fears. 

"Thanks, Payback," he replied, following his friend from the room and into the noisy reprieve of the cool hallway. There were people rushing around as the two of them made their way to the mess hall. "But if I have to sit in that room for another day, I'm going to lose my mind."

Reuben laughed as he started to load a tray with food. "I love how the weather is too bad for us to do any training runs, but in the same sentence, we're told to be ready to fly a mission in this. It's like they're steering us right into the worst of the storm."

They were. Bradley could tell they were. There was something strategic about the open water location, but they were absolutely heading into the worst of it. He just hoped it would clear up before he was called out on deck to fly. 

"It's a good thing I haven't barfed in a Super Hornet since that very first time," he said, also piling food that he knew would taste like cardboard onto a plate.

"This shit sucks," Reuben muttered, biting into a roll once they reached an empty table. "We got any more of your wife's cookies back in the bunk?"

Bradley smiled as he looked at the questionable meal in front of him. "A few." He bit into the steak and grimaced. Everything you cooked at home was better than this. He'd trade his whole plate of food right now for half of a grilled cheese sandwich made by your hands. Just thinking about it had his stomach growling louder. "You already ate most of them."

Reuben popped another roll into his mouth and chewed it up before saying, "Rooster, you've got a hot lieutenant commander who can cook for a wife. And a baby on the way. Come on, man. The least you can do is spare some more of those cookies."

Once he let his thoughts drift, Bradley knew it would take hours to get focused on his job again, but he couldn't help it. When he left home, you looked the same as you always did. You'd been complaining about your weight gain and bloating for weeks, but you looked just perfect to him. He wanted to get back home to see if you had a bump yet. He wanted to get home and talk to the Nugget. But he'd already been gone for three weeks, and he hadn't been given a single chance to call or FaceTime with you. 

He hated having no idea how your most recent doctor's appointment went. There were probably new ultrasound photos sitting right on the kitchen counter, but it could be weeks before he got to see how much the Nugget grew since last time. He should be a home, catering to your every whim and building the massive jungle gym for the backyard.

"Are you excited?" Reuben asked, breaking through his thoughts. "You've got what, like five more months to go before you're a dad?"

"One hundred and eighty-six days until the due date," Bradley replied with a grin. "And yeah, I'm pretty fucking excited. It's all I can think about." He tried to finish all of the food, but he set his plate aside and said, "Let's go eat some of those cookies."

An hour later, Bradley was sitting in his bunk, nibbling on the rationed baked goods while Reuben snored across the room. He took this opportunity to get out the pink and blue striped notebook which he affectionately referred to as the Nugget notebook. He'd filled half of it with his musings, and he figured it would be full by your due date. It was silly, just his random thoughts and some sporadic story telling, but he liked the idea of his kid having all of this to look at later. He uncapped his pen, jotted down the date, and started writing what was on his mind. 

You'll never guess where I am right now. No really. It would be impossible, because even I don't really know where I am! But it's somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, I know that for sure. And while I'm really, really far away from you and your mom right now, the two of you are all I can think about....

-------------------------

The weather was so bad a few days later that the gym was closed. Bradley and Reuben stood in front of the locked door in their gym clothes looking at each other. 

"This is fucking wild," Bradley muttered, deprived of the only activity he could think of to keep himself busy. The hallways were pretty empty at this time of night, but everything still felt more deserted than usual. The dining menus had been pared down, presumably because half of the kitchen staff was too seasick to make everything. He was starting to feel anxious. "Let's go workout in the bunk and then finish the cookies."

"Sounds good," Reuben replied. They took turns churning out sets of fifty push ups while the other ate a cookie. They did this until they were both sweating and all of the cookies were officially gone.

"Now what the fuck are we supposed to do?" Bradley asked, but any response was cut off by a knocking on the door. He jumped up, glanced at Reuben, and then opened the door for a petty officer. 

"Bradshaw?"

"Yeah?"

"You requested a FaceTime call? Report to the lounge in thirty minutes."

"Thanks," he said, heart beating wildly as he closed the door. He rushed around the room, grinning and grabbing everything he'd need to take a quick shower.

Reuben just laughed and said, "Please thank her again for the cookies."

"Will do," Bradley replied, making a mad dash for the showers. If he did the math correctly, he figured it was between four and five o'clock in the morning back home in San Diego. He hated calling you in the middle of the night, especially when you were pregnant and exhausted, but he knew you'd forgive him. And he desperately needed to see your face and hear your voice.

His hair was still damp when he jogged along the quiet corridors toward the lounge and took a seat in front of one of the computers. He quickly entered his credentials followed by your phone number, and then he waited and waited. "Shit," he muttered, gripping the edge of the table, afraid the call was going to ring through and then cut off. But then he heard you screech his name and saw you as you reached for your glasses while the light from the lamp on your nightstand illuminated your face. 

"Bradley!" you practically screamed again, your voice scratchy from sleep. "Roo! Are you okay?"

"Hey, Baby Girl," he said, feeling calmer than he had in weeks as you juggled your phone around and tried to sit up fully in bed. "I'm fine. Sorry it's so late."

"No, no, no, this is perfect!" you insisted, rubbing your eye behind your glasses as you tried to stifle a yawn. "This is great."

Bradley laughed and said, "I miss you so fucking much. Wish I was in bed right there with you."

"Me too," you insisted, and he could see the sincerity on your face. "It got chilly here tonight, and Tramp isn't as snuggly as you are."

He wanted to kiss you. He wished he could somehow dive through the screen and end up next to you where you'd pull him right into your arms. His voice was just a whisper as he said, "Tell me about the Nugget."

Your smile was soft, and you bit your lip. "Dr. Morris said the Nugget looked great when I was there two weeks ago."

"Two weeks ago," he groaned, rubbing his rough hands along his face. "Sweetheart... I already missed so much." When he looked at the screen again, you were out of bed and on the move. "Where are you going?"

You flipped on the hallway light and said, "To get the ultrasounds to show you. I left them on the kitchen counter."

The fact that he knew that's where they would be made him smile. When you propped your phone up next to the stove and turned on the light, he felt tears stinging his eyes. You held up one of the photos so he could see the baby, and he had to blink past his blurry vision. "There's my Nugget," he said, voice thick with emotion as you held up a second image. "Fucking cutest baby I've ever seen."

Your laughter sounded beautiful as you showed him a third one. "I liked this one the best. I think it looks like the baby is waving hello."

"Shit," he gasped. "You're right. I can't wait to wallpaper our bedroom with copies of these."

You pulled the baby picture away, and he could see your face again as you said, "You're probably not even joking."

"I'm definitely not even joking."

You leaned on the counter and got a little closer to your phone as you said, "Another week or so, and I can go in for an anatomy scan."

Now Bradley felt like crying for a totally different reason. "You get to find out if the Nugget is a boy or a girl."

"Yeah," you said with a nod. "But I don't really want to do that without you there too."

Bradley looked at your beautiful face and the perfect curve of your cheek. He imagined a little baby in your arms with the same flawless features. "I wish I could get home in time to hold your hand and find out in person. But you know I don't care one way or the other. The only nice thing is that we can start narrowing down baby names soon. I actually wrote down a few that I kind of like in the Nugget notebook earlier."

Your smile was brilliant as you told him, "I can't wait to read all of your notebook entries. And if you're not home for my next appointment, I'll be practically vibrating with anticipation until I get to tell you if it's a boy Nugget or a girl Nugget."

Bradley opened his mouth to say he couldn't wait to come home and spend a full day curled up with both of you. He was about to ask you to pull his UVA shirt up and let him see what your belly looked like now. But the lounge door swung open so hard, it sounded like it was going to fall off the hinges.

"Bradshaw!" barked Admiral Turner. "It's time. Get into your flight suit."

"Yes, Sir," he said before glancing back down to see your face as you started to cry.

"You have to go," you sobbed.

"I do," he said quickly. "Right now. Listen, I love you. More than anything. You and the baby both, okay? I love you."

"I love you, too," you sobbed as your lips trembled. "So much."

"I'll be home soon," he promised, even though he knew he couldn't guarantee anything of the sort. "I love you."

After he ended the call, he ran back to the bunk where Reuben was already in his flight suit and pulling on his boots. It was late enough now that it had to be dark outside, so he was either about to fly another mission without the use of one of his senses, or they were sending him out at first light. Either way, he knew what he had to do, so he pulled his own flight suit on with shaky hands.

The call with you had calmed his nerves right up until the point when he had to abruptly end it. What he wouldn't give to be back home within a week. He'd drive you to the appointment in his Bronco and hold your hand the whole time. Dr. Morris would let you know if he was going to be the dad to a daughter or a son. His little Nugget.

"You ready?" Reuben asked as Bradley finished lacing up his boots. 

He looked up at his friend as he stood. "Actually, no," he said, pulling his duffle out from under his bed. He started rooting through it as he said, "I need you to potentially do me a favor."

"Sure," Reuben replied, "but we gotta get to the meeting room now, Rooster."

"I know," he mumbled in response as his hands connected with the most important thing he had with him. He held up the pink and blue notebook, his voice calm in spite of his nerves as he said, "Just real quick, you see this? I need you to take this back to my wife if anything happens to me."

His friend was silent for a beat before he said, "Alright. I can do that."

Bradley's fingers tightened around the spiral binding holding together all of his thoughts about fatherhood and how much he loved his unborn child. And now his voice shook a bit as he said, "This is very important to me."

Reuben nodded and said, "Understood. I promise I'll take care of it if the need arises."

"Thank you." Bradley kissed the striped cover and propped the notebook up against his pillow, giving it one last look before he followed Reuben from the bunk.

At first light, Bradley made his way out onto the carrier deck through the rain and whistling wind. The mission was on. The weather was miserable, but the plethora of Naval officers deemed this the best opportunity they were going to get to help their allies. 

It was time. Time for Bradley to trust himself. And if he failed, he trusted Reuben to take the notebook back to San Diego and get it into the hands of his wife. Then you'd take care of the notebook for the Nugget. Because if there was one person who was never going to let him down, it was you.

-------------------------

I can't deal with how much I've been hurting my own feelings with these two. Should we start a new series? Would that be okay? A tragic, new series? Thank you for reading about and loving them! Please stay tuned. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[bradshawssugarbaby]

Urban Cowboy - Jake Seresin x Reader

pairing: Jake Seresin x f! reader

warnings/content: smut, unprotected p in v, mildly mean!dom Jake, teasing, jealous Jake

word count: 3.2k

The sounds of some 80s pop song echoed throughout the Hard Deck, a cheap colourful strobe light flashed around the room, its rainbow coloured beams striking random bargoers as they began to dance along to whatever was playing. It was new idea your aunt had come up with - doing theme nights at the bar once a month as a way to freshen things up and breathe new life into the military bar scene. 

Since you moved here four months ago, you’d gotten familiar with the regulars - there was Bradley Bradshaw, a man far older than he looked, with a penchant for comandeering the piano if the bar needed livening up, Natasha Trace, who had a fiery personality and often kept the other guys in their place, especially when the beers were flowing and they started flirting with unsuspecting patrons, Robert Floyd, the shy backseater who was always polite, tipped well and seemed to be the permanent designated driver on nights out, Reuben Fitch, who stood about a foot taller than you, and always had a witty comeback on hand, just in case, Mickey Garcia, who was sweet, but could talk anyone’s ear off about Star Trek, and Javy Machado, resident score keeper and pool table champion. 

Leading the group, was your Aunt Penny’s boyfriend, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. He often would come in, finding a table at the back of the room for his squad before abandoning them to spend the evening at the bar, chatting your aunt up and offering up any excuse to come behind the bar and sneak a hand to her hip or steal a squeeze of her rear. It was sweet the way your aunt and Pete were loved up, like a couple of teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. 

This afternoon, Pete came in at four o’clock sharp, just as he promised to help set up. As he hung a couple of decorations you and your aunt had managed to find online, he turned to you and smiled, watching as you prepped the theme night’s cocktail menu.

“I forgot to tell you, another one of my guys is going to be here tonight. He’s been off training at a different base for the last few months, just landed in this morning. You’ll like him. He’s a firecracker.”

“Isn’t that your way of saying he’s a cocky asshole?”

“I wouldn’t say asshole. He’s just very…confident. I think you’ll like him though.”

“Are you talking about Jake?” Penny piped up as she looked at Pete, watching as he climbed up the step ladder to hang another decoration from the ceiling.

“Yeah, don’t you think they’d hit it off?”

“I think she might hit him.”

“What? No way. Jake’s not that bad.”

Penny scoffed and shook her head, laughing. Holding her hands up in surrender, she walked away, retreating back to the bar to begin making sure all the key ingredients to your drink menu were where they needed to be. You continued to stuff the evening’s special menus into their plastic protective sleeves, shaking your head at Pete’s attempts to try and set you up with someone from his squad. It wasn’t the first time, you’d been on a date with Bradley once before, but found the age gap was too great between the two of you, with Bradley in complete agreement that you were much better suited as friends than lovers, and on a date with Reuben, who, despite efforts between the two of you, there was no chemistry shared there. 

As five o’clock approached, you hurried into the back stockroom to change into your themed outfit for the night, pulling your hair out of the velcro rollers that Penny had helped you wrap your hair up into, creating the perfect 80s voluminous curl that would make even Christie Brinkley jealous. Your tight fitting Daisy Duke style shorts accentuated your curves, hugging your thighs and hips in all the right places, your crisp white button down shirt tied just under your bra, showing off your tanned, soft midsection. A pair of mid-sized silver hoop earrings hung from your earlobes to complete the look. Your aunt’s stash of Aqua-Net hairspray was all you needed to finish it off, stepping out the back door to shake your curls out and spray them with enough hairspray to ensure they wouldn’t budge for the night. 

You reentered the bar to find Pete’s friends piling in, the other regular patrons all trickling in and getting comfortable as they came through, turning the bar into a sea of cheesy fake mustaches and 80s style Hawaiian shirts, brightly coloured polos and coordinating Bermuda shorts, wigs and legwarmers. The evening was quickly livening up, and you got to work behind the bar with your aunt, pulling pints and mixing drinks, firing off orders left right and center as the bar filled with partygoers. 

An hour into the night, Bradley approached the bar, his aviator sunglasses perched atop his chocolate coloured curls, his loud, brightly coloured Hawaiian print shirt buttoned just enough to allow a few sparing curls of chest hair to peek out from the top. He leaned against the bar, smiling at you, his mustache neatly combed to closer resemble a style from the 80s. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was trying to emulate Tom Selleck. You’d seen pictures of Bradley’s dad and Pete from back in the 80s, and recognized the shirt anywhere. It was clear Bradley was dressed identically to his father, and you had to admire the dedication he had to the theme. 

“What can I get you, Bradshaw?”

“Hi dollface, I’ll take a Budweiser. And a chance to take you for a spin later?”

“We’ve done this before, Bradley,” you laughed as you cracked the top off the beer bottle and slid it across the counter to him. Bradley shook his head as he sipped the frothy liquid, grinning as he set the bottle down on the counter.

“I didn’t mean you. I’m practicing. I can’t be dressed like this and not use some kind of weird 80s shit to impress a girl, right? I’m just…using you for practice. Did it work?”

“Bradley, why don’t you, I don’t know, just, be yourself?” 

“Because tonight I’m not myself. I’m some single 39 year old in the 80s trying to get a date, apparently.”

“Well then, gag me with a spoon, that was gnarly. Try a different line. One that doesn’t begin with “dollface”?”

“Got it, thanks!”

You watched as Bradley sauntered away to go try his luck with a pretty blonde over by the jukebox. You smirked to yourself as you heard Bradley start singing along to Madonna, carrying the tune with an impressive baritone that you weren’t expecting. You knew he could sing, but singing Madonna was a whole new side to him. Turning your back for a moment, you began fixing a drink for yourself, mixing together the ingredients for a Shirley Temple. You looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered blonde man approach the bar counter, his hair slicked back, and a blonde mustache that made poor Bradley’s look unimpressive rested on his upper lip. The most stunning pair of bright green eyes looked at you, and a set of perfectly straight, whitened teeth fresh out of a Colgate commercial flashed a smile at you.

“Hi Darlin’, I’ll take whatever’s on tap.”

“Sure thing,” You nodded, trying hard not to audibly gulp at the adonis of a man standing in front of you. 

“Are you new ‘round here?” he drawled, “I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

“Uh, within the last four months, yeah.” you nodded as you finished pulling a pint of draught for him, the frothy head of the beer perfectly resting in the glass. 

“Oh! That’ll explain it. Lieutenant Jake Seresin, at your service, m’am.” He winked, and you felt yourself melt a little at the sight of this human embodiment of a Ken doll flirting with you. 

“You’re Jake?”

“Depends who’s askin’, Honey.” His accent was thick and heavy, something straight out of those reruns of The Andy Griffiths Show that your mom made you watch when you were a child.

“I’m Penny’s niece,” you nodded, giving him your name and laughing softly as your cheeks blushed, “I moved down here to help her out with things around here while I try to figure some life things out.”

“I see,” he smirked, sipping his beer, the foam brushing against his mustache as he set the glass down. “And does that list of things you’re figuring out include finding a strong, charming, handsome Southern boy?”

“It might, do you know any?” You quipped, raising an eyebrow as you sipped your own drink, pretending to feign disinterest in the handsome stranger before you.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“That so, hun? Who? Do I know him?”

“Not yet, but I think he sure would like to know you, Darlin’.”

You shook your head, your curls bouncing as you started to laugh, unable to control yourself. Jake was as bold as he was handsome, and you were suddenly realizing what Pete was referring to when he said that Jake was confident. He practically exuded a cocksure confidence from every pore in his body. And while that would normally repulse you and send you heading for the hills, with Jake, it felt different. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, his magnetic charms and graces pulling you in, and your inhibitions wearing down. However, you also knew how to deal with men like this - he was in need of an ego check, and you were just the person for the job. 

“Is that right? Well, you tell your little Southern-fried wannabe cowboy of a friend that if he’s interested, he’s going to have to stick around the bar all night. I promised Aunt Penny I’d help her make sure this night went smoothly, and I don’t need a knockoff Dukes of Hazzard cast member distracting me.” 

“Wannabe cowboy?” Jake gasped in feigned offence, clutching his chest dramatically as he slipped into an even thicker accent than earlier, “Now Darlin’, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re breakin’ my heart over here. One thing I ain’t is a wannabe cowboy. You know, I used to ride in rodeos as a kid? Was one of the best there was for under 15 year olds, ‘til I decided to join the Navy instead.”

“Oh, so you’re like, a real cowboy then,” you teased, your voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“S’pose you could say that. Only one real way to find out, ain’t there?”

“Take you to a farm and watch you wrangle cattle on horseback?” you retorted sarcastically.

“You’re funny, I like that.”

“I bet you do.” 

Jake leaned in across the bar, a smirk forming on his lips as he looked at you, his bright green eyes fixated on your lips as you spoke. His long eyelashes fluttered at you as he eyed you up, practically undressing you with his imagination. You grinned as you gestured to the sign behind you, reading that if you disrespect a lady, you owe everyone a round. 

“Watch it, Lieutenant. If you’re not careful, I’ll go ring that bell and you’ll learn a very expensive lesson.”

“Oh, Darlin’, I can guarantee, I ain’t gonna learn anything from it. I’m just dumb enough to do it again. Can’t help myself around a pretty girl like yourself.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you laughed at his relentless attempt. You knew the only reason he persisted was because you were teasing him, but at the same time, you didn’t mind the attention he was giving you. He wasn’t as tall as Bradley, or as broad shouldered, but he was built like a linebacker, with a solid frame and the accent alone was enough to drive you crazy.

It was almost 11 when Jake stopped you again, this time, outside of the stockroom when you’d disappeared back there for more maraschino cherries and pineapple juice. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, causing his pastel-coloured polo shirt to bulge around his biceps. His lips curled up in that annoyingly perfect smile once again as he stood in your path.

“Hey, Honey, need a hand with that?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you shrugged it off, shaking your head as you smirked at him, “You often follow girls into storage rooms?”

“Only the ones worth following.”

“Wow, Lieutenant, with a response like that, it’s a wonder you don’t have a trail of broken hearts following you around.”

“What is your issue, anyway? You got a thing against blondes? Pilots?”

“Please,” you smirked, shaking your head, “I went on a date with Rooster. He’s a pilot.”

“Is it ‘cause I’m from Texas?”

“No, it’s because you’re probably the most arrogant prick I’ve ever had the displeasure of coming across, actually. God, it’s like you think all you have to do is flash that stupid handsome smile and I’ll throw myself at you.”

Jake’s face fell slightly as he raised an eyebrow at you. You could tell he wasn’t used to having a girl put him in his place like this, but his crestfallen gaze was quickly replaced by that shit-eating grin he seemed to never go without sporting. 

“Honey, you’re real pretty when you get mean like that.”

“You’re impossible,” you sighed in exasperation.

“But you love it, don’t you?” 

Jake closed the gap between the two of you as he spoke, taking a couple steps closer to you. You bit your lip as you hesitated, thinking about the consequences that might follow if you acted on your desires. 

Fuck it. 

Your hands gripped the fabric of his polo shirt, pulling him down to your height as you crashed your lips into his passionately. You kissed a slow, hot trail up to his ear, a breathy moan escaping your lips as he put his hands on your hips to bring you in as close as possible, his body heat radiating on to you. 

“You gonna show me just how good you are, Cowboy?”

“Yes, m’am. I reckon I could show you a better time than any other man in here.”

Jake’s hand slipped down your curves, reaching around to cup your ass cheeks as he hoisted you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around your waist. You quickly discarded the cherries and juice that were in your hands, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself. Jake’s lips worked their way along your neck, wet, fervent kisses that made your body squirm with pleasure, your arousal growing and burning in your stomach with each second. 

“Back door?” He murmured against your neck, his hands keeping a firm hold of your ass.

“Two steps behind me, to the left,” you panted, nodding your head as he sucked on your skin. 

It was unseasonably warm for May, the humidity hanging in the air as you left the air conditioned building. Jake pushed you up against the wall, using it as leverage as he quickly reached down to undo your shorts and wiggled them out of the way. He ran two of his thick fingers along the outside of your lace underwear, stroking the dampened fabric as he smirked to himself.

“Someone’s eager, aren’t ya, Darlin’?”

“Just shut up and fuck me, ok?”

“Now, that any way to ask for it?”

A wicked grin appeared on his face as he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, stroking at your clit with a feather light touch, just enough to make you whine for more. 

“Jake, I swear to fuck, if you don’t take me right now.”

“Shhh, Sugar, don’t want anyone to hear, do ya? Unless you get off on getting caught,” He purred as he coaxed his fingertips inside of your dripping entrance, pumping them into you with precision.

You tossed your head backwards as Jake thrusted his fingers further into you, each movement harder and faster than before. The determined look in his eye alone was almost enough to send you over the edge. This man was hell-bent on making you orgasm, and he was on the right track to get you there within a matter of seconds.

“Fuck, s-so close, Jake,” you keened, your fingers gripping his thick blonde hair as he brought you to your climax.

“That’s it, Sugar. Look at you, you’re a mess and I ain’t even started on you yet.”

“J-Jake, please,” you whimpered, coming undone as he fucked his fingers into you at a breakneck pace.

“Speak up, sweetheart, can’t hear ya.”

Your head started to spin as he pulled his fingers out of you, causing you to whine at the loss of contact. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, he slammed his hips forwards, shoving his thick cock inside of you, causing you to cry out in ecstasy at the sudden fullness. Trying to be quiet, you secretly thanked your lucky stars that the sounds of Your Love by The Outfield blared throughout the club. Just as the chorus picked up, Jake rocked his hips forwards again, fucking himself into you with enough force to make you feel as though he might blow your back out right then and there.

“That’s it, Sugar, takin’ me so well,” Jake smirked, “What was that you said about bein’ a wannabe cowboy? Bet those other boys can’t fuck you like this, now can they?”

You were practically rendered speechless by Jake’s precise, rhythmic thrusts into your cunt, his masculine grunting and teasing proving enough to throw you back over the edge once again. Your legs began to shake and shudder while he bucked his hips up into you, his eyes full of lust and hunger as he brought you to your second orgasm of the night. Your walls clenched around him tightly, eliciting a low, pornographic moan out of Jake. 

Raking your fingers through his hair, tugging on it as you threw your head back, you screamed out his name, louder than you intended. You lost your ability to hold yourself together as Jake’s thrusts became sloppier, his own orgasm following close behind yours. 

“Fuck, am I good?” He groaned, his eyes pleading for permission.

“On the pill, you’re good,” you panted, nodding quickly as Jake let himself go inside of you, your name falling from his lips like a sacred prayer as he repeated it over and over, praising you.

“Now, how ‘bout letting a strong, handsome Southern boy take you out on a date so he don’t feel so bad about fucking you until you can’t walk a couple hours after meetin’ ya?” He grinned as he readjusted himself and pulled his clothes back up. 

“I think I can fit you into my schedule, on one condition.”

“Mhmm? What’s that?”

“Next time, you come wearing a cowboy hat.”

“Deal, Sugar, I’ll even let you wear it.” 

[diagnosedpsychosis]

Love At First Sight- Jake Seresin

Contains: A little bit of weight/body insecurity from reader, shy/coward jake, just as shy reader, fluff

Description: Jake's been acting a little differently cause he's taken an interest in you and doesn't want you to think he's a jerk. All the while he's too nervous to make a move.

Word Count: 1.4k

___________________________________

Jake didn't know what had come over him so hard that the confident man he was just weeks ago, had been replaced with a coward. He noticed it. His teammates noticed it. Even the bar regulars noticed that suddenly one of the cockiest, loudest, most outgoing men in San Diego had turned into a borderline hermit.

His regular game of darts with Javy had become a once in a blue moon activity. His teasing of Bradley, Bob and Nat ceased the moment they were finished work for the day. Even the usual 6 or 7 beers he'd pound down after a long day had reduced to 2 or 3 at the most.

He had an instinct of knowing when someone was looking at him, like his teammates and would meet their eyes with nothing but a bored stare before they'd look away not wanting to be bummed out by his mood. If only they knew that wasn't how he was feeling at all.

Even tonight, as Jake sits in a corner booth at the Hard Deck, his beer turning warm in his hand, his mouth and the rapid thud of his heart almost betray his exterior as he stares at you across the bar. You're talking to Penny, the easy smile on your face enough to make the corner of his lips twitch as he sits still, imagining all the things he'd say to you if he only had the courage to get off his ass.

Then he feels eyes on him and looks away, shooting a hard look in Javy and Reuben's direction. They both whirl around, turning their backs to him and then he's back to looking at you.

"He looking again?" Penny mumbles, leaning over the bar and grinning up at you. You've been caught glancing around the room again as to not make it obvious you were staring right back at the handsome blond.

"Mmm" You hum, biting on the inside of your cheek to try and stop yourself from grinning like a fool. You glance around again, eyes moving swiftly over him and onto the next person despite the desperate yearning in your chest, begging you to look at him again.

"I don't know why you don't just go and talk to him" Penny leans forward, lowering her tone so that there isn't a chance another guy in uniform hears the exchange. You whine, bouncing your foot like you were trying to get rid of a cramp.

"Have you met me? I'll take two steps and sweat my face off" You've never been overly confident and you had High School to thank for it. It didn't matter that it's been a decade since you graduated, growing up an overweight girl and not dropping the weight until you were in your 20's made you overly receptive to judgement.

You felt better now, more confident and happier, but because you didn't get to experience that bittersweet 'teenage love', you weren't really sure how dates and interest in people being reciprocated worked. Slowly losing weight late when everyone was getting boyfriends, or pregnant or even married didn't help either.

You'd noticed guys flocking to your pretty, skinny friends on nights out, and despite how beautiful your friends promised you were, your weight was the first thing they saw. If you smiled their way you were just the sweet, chubby girl that looked like she'd drank a whole bar empty and didn't know what was in and out of her league.

You'd never really had experience talking to guys, your Dad and brother not included, so the fact a ridiculously handsome man in uniform, that you're sure never would've spared you a glance when you were bigger, had been staring at you for weeks now, made you beyond nervous to make eye contact with him, let alone talk to him like Penny has tried to convince you to do for a while now.

"Well hey, if he doesn't love your nervous sweats then he doesn't deserve you" Penny tried to make you feel better, squeezing your arm before standing back up straight to fix a couple orders from some guys at the end of the bar. Your smile slowly falls from your face and internally you curse at yourself for not having the courage to even just go and say hi.

What you don't realise is Jake's doing the same, beating himself up for becoming so darn weak that he can't stand up, take a deep breath and walk over to you. Flying planes and risking his life were easy, but talking to a pretty woman he's been coming to the Hard Deck every day for 3 weeks purely with hopes of even just seeing? He felt like he couldn't breathe.

But then he watches your exchange with Penny, his heart beating twice as hard when for the first time in 3 weeks he watches the smile he's come to adore slowly fade from your face when Penny turns her back to you. He notices your heavy exhale and the drop of your shoulders. He notices you running the tip of your index finger around the rim of the glass in your hand that you're yet to take a sip of. He notices the slight crease of your eyebrows when you gnaw on your lip, and suddenly... he's never wanted to lift someone's mood so desperately before.

He doesn't give himself even a second to talk himself out of making his way to you, the need to see your smile again all too consuming.

Whatever's on your mind has your full attention, that even when the guy you've been watching for the last 3 weeks sits down on the stool beside you, his knee grazing yours, you fail to notice and keep tracing your finger around the rim of your glass.

Jake didn't know what the hell to say that didn't make him come across as an obsessed stalker, so he tried a humorous take instead. "You know, I almost wore that exact same top today. How embarrassing would that have been if we matched?"

His voice floats right into your ear and you turn your head, sucking in a sharp breath when you realise the person that's just spoken to you, is the same person you're making yourself insecure over. You open your mouth like a goldfish, not knowing what to say as you're still trying to process the fact he's finally spoken to you, before closing your mouth again.

You look down at the obviously very feminine top you paired with plain jeans, and finally his words sink in. Your lips curve up and the moment of internal terror Jake had as you stared at him in silence, washed away.

"Only embarrassing if you pulled it off better than me" Jake's mouth pulls up into an easy smile as he stares right back at you, both completely oblivious to the group of pilots watching the exchange in surprise.

"I find it hard to believe anyone could" The flirtation rolls of Jake's tongue and he can't help grin at the sight of your cheeks flushing as you turn your head away from him slightly, looking ahead. Jake's eyes bounce over your features up close and he wonders how somebody could look so beautiful from afar, and even more mesmerising up close. He regret's not talking to you the second he saw you.

"I'm Jake" He blurts the words, almost like he can't contain them any more. The longer he goes without properly introducing himself and learning your name, the more desperate he becomes to know anything and everything about you. You look back and his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips as they curve up in the most beautifully natural smile.

Sure, he's wanted to kiss you since the moment he spotted you, but right now, as he stares at your mouth and the faint dimple poking at your cheeks, he's never been more content seeing another person happy in his life.

"Y/n" You reply softly and immediately your name is carved and filled with pure liquid gold, in Jake's heart. His heart beats to the letters of your name in morse code. His eyes fill with so much hope as he stares at you, like finding out your name is the greatest gift he could've ever gotten.

And as you stare right back at him, he wonders if telling you he's in love with you before even the suggestion of a first date is too soon.

________________________________________

My first Top Gun: Maverick short. Hope it was okay <3

[michelle-is-writing]

Surprise, Surprise, Greg House

Word Count: 1.1k~

Surprising Greg at work is always fun. Most of the time, he's messing around with the items on his desk until I walk in which ultimately causes him to perk up right away. I'm always happy to see him, and going by the smile that pops up on his face when he first sees me, Greg is happy to see me too. Plus, it always helps that we've been together for several years too.

"House, you have a guest," Wilson states, quickly popping his head into the doorway of Greg's office before popping right back out. Watching him walk back to the elevators, I wave at Wilson before opening Greg's door.

"Surprising," I hear Greg mindlessly mutter before I walk in. Once he sees me, he lightly smiles and changes his words. "Not surprising," He corrects himself, sitting up in his chair. "But pleasant."

"I brought you lunch," I tell him, gesturing to the bag in my hand with a smile. Placing the paper bag on his desk, I sit down in the chair across from him with his desk separating us. "That way you don't have to steal anyone else's."

"You know me so well," Greg chides, placing the magazine in his hands down before opening the bag of food. Taking all of the contents out of the bag reveals two sandwiches and two bags of chips with a bottled drink for each one. "Funny," He notes. "These are the things I would have stolen from Wilson."

Laughing at his sad, yet true comment, I separate everything out and place a Reuben sandwich in front of each of us, Greg already digging into one of the yellow bags of potato chips. "I'm glad I got to come see you today," I confess, the sight of the food making me feel a little sick. "I have some... great news to share."

"Oh, really?" Greg asks, looking up at me. I nod, smiling as he pushes his chair back a little. "Well, then why don't you come over here and tell me all about it?" He suggests with that ever so sly smirk.

Knowing what that means, I gently roll my eyes and stand from my chair before walking over to Greg and sitting on his lap. Instantly, he wraps his arms around me and holds me close, leaning up a little to kiss my lips. This is one of the very few ways Greg shows his love. He always says it's because he gets to hold me closer to him, but I think it's just because I'm sitting on his lap.

"You know," he begins his sentence, nibbling at my neck. "With one simple movement, you instantly have me at your will. How odd is that?" Greg questions me, his voice sultry and low. Smiling at him, I lightly giggle before pushing him away enough so he can look straight at me.

"Greg, I need to tell you something," I state, my voice a bit serious. Even though I'm trying to keep a straight voice without letting my excitement show through, I keep my smile in hopes of him not getting worried. I hope this news finds him well, and it doesn't make him mad or angry... I don't know what I would do if he left me because of it.

Leaning back in his swivel chair to look at me, he continues smiling while running his hand up and down my side. "Go on," he encourages me, his blue eyes staring into mine. "I'm listening, my sweet."

My cheeks slightly blush at the endearment before I look away, sudden nervousness hitting me. "I'm, uh, I'm..." Just as I begin to speak, I choke up before sighing. "I'm pregnant, Greg," I fully answer him, having the guts to look him straight in the eye as I do so.

He takes a moment to listen to me, only to fully realize what I'm saying within seconds. In shock, he stares at me with wide eyes before breaking out into a nervous chuckle. "You're serious, right?" He asks, making my eyebrows furrow. My reaction causes him to become worried as his smile drops. "Please don't be joking," Greg begs, placing his hands on my arms.

His words slightly... befuddle me. Is the cold and emotionless House actually excited about me being pregnant? For him to question me to make sure I'm not joking makes me... I don't know what it makes me actually.

Does Greg want a child? I know we didnt plan this little one, but there's no going back now. I mean, Greg is quite a few years older than me and I would've never thought he'd want a kid this late in life, but Gregory House is Gregory House. If there's one thing that signifies Gregory House, it's that he's weird and unusual, and he never conforms to what is socially acceptable.

"No, I'm not joking, Greg," I tell him, placing his hands on my stomach. "There's a little baby right here," With Greg staring up at me with big eyes and an equally big smile, tears quickly make their way to my eyes. "You're going to be a father," I whisper, leaning forward and placing my forehead against his.

A few moments of silence pass before Greg grins and wraps his arms tighter around me. In a quick turn of events, he stands up with our feet planted on the ground and his arms still around me, a giggle falling from my lips as he does so. Before I know it, Greg is moving my shirt up to place his hands on my barely swollen tummy, resting them there as I hug him to me as well. “Thank you,” He murmurs, smiling before connecting our lips in another kiss. At the same time, he moves his hands to my waist to hold me there, his hold reflecting the passion behind our kiss.

[dancethroughthethunder]

Bobby From High School Chapter Three: It's Not Prom, But It's Still Pretty Good

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Of All the Gin Joints, Chapter 2 Two Coffees

Summary: Friday rolls around and finds you, Bob, and the team at the Hard Deck. With a little meddling from the team, and a little reminiscing on high school memories, you and Bob find yourselves on the dance floor together.

Author’s Note: I just love BFHS Bobby. Here's chapter three! This work can also be found here at my ao3. I hope you enjoy! Divider by @/saradika

Normally, Bob is one of the first of the team to get to the Hard Deck but tonight he’s running late. He lost track of time on the phone with his older sister, who had been delighted to hear from their mom how you two had reconnected. 

“Tell me everything. How is she? What is she up to? Is she still as pretty as she was in high school? Do you still have a big fat crush on her? Have you asked her out?” Allison asked, so excited it came out all in one breath.

“She’s good, working on base too. No, I think she’s even prettier now. Yes, and no. All in that order.” Bob admitted. 

“Oh my god and she works on base too? Bob, come on, you have to ask her out.”

“I don’t know about that, Allie, I don’t even know if she’s even into me. Besides, we’re just reconnecting as friends right now.” 

Allie hummed in a way that made Bob think she knew something he didn’t. Then again, maybe that was just wishful thinking. You and Allie had been friends and were on the softball team together but aside from following each other on social media, he didn’t think you talked much nowadays. 

By the time he finally got off the phone (it had taken a while to even get Allie to move on to another topic of conversation), it was already right around when he would normally be arriving at the Hard Deck. Remembering your promise to be there, he quickly changed into a dark green shirt that Phoenix always said looked great on him before heading to his truck and making his way to the bar.

There are plenty of cars in the parking lot as he arrives, but he manages to find a spot right near Nat’s car. Walking inside, he notices the bar is similarly packed. Normally he might go say hi to Penny first but she seems pretty busy so he makes his way over towards the pool tables, where he knows his friends can normally be found. 

He hadn’t noticed your car in the parking lot, and is a little bit surprised when he’s suddenly able to see you in conversation with Nat and Reuben.

“Hi guys. Sorry, I meant to get here earlier but Allie called.” He greets you all.

“Nah, you’re good.” Reuben says.

“You’re not really late as long as you’re still here before Bradshaw.” Nat laughs.

“No way! How is Allie? I miss her!” Your eyes light up at the mention of his sister.

“She’s good. She told me to say hi to you.” Actually, she was too busy grilling him to say such a thing, but he figures it was implied.

“God, we haven’t talked in ages. I’ll have to text her.” You say as you pull out your phone, presumably to do that right away. 

“Nice shirt.” Nat tells him with a knowing smile, and a quick glance to you where you’re busy texting Allie. 

“Yeah, that’s a really nice color on you, Bobby.” You say as you look back up, tucking your phone in your back pocket.

“Thank you.” He says, trying not to look at Nat who is wiggling her eyebrows as if to say I know you’re wearing that for her. “I didn’t think I saw your car out there.” Bob tries to change the topic of conversation.

“Nope, Nat was kind enough to give me a ride.” 

“Don’t worry, Bob, she hasn’t given me too much embarrassing high school information. Not yet anyways.” 

Bob rolls his eyes as you all laugh. He knew that you two had been texting all week and is glad you’re becoming friends, but didn’t realize you were close enough for her to offer you a ride. He’s not sure when he’ll have a chance to get Phoenix alone later, but he makes a mental note to ask her more about this.

Somehow despite (or maybe because of) his recent arrival, Bob gets talked into going to get drinks for everyone. Luckily since everyone seems to want something, and Bob only has two hands, Payback offers to go with him and help carry everything back. Bob says hi to Penny and chats with Payback while they wait, and tries not to stare at you too much on the way back with the drinks. You have your phone out again and given the way he can see you scrolling, it looks like you’re looking for something while chatting with Phoenix. 

“Okay so as requested, straight from my Facebook, here it is!” You hand Nat your phone. “I have to warn you, I got talked into getting a few inches cut off a week before prom by my hairdresser and ended up hating it. In retrospect, it’s kind of cute though.” 

Nat looks down to see a photo of you and Bob all dressed up. Bob is in a full suit with a boutonniere, and you’re in an emerald gown with a silver corsage on your wrist. You two each have an arm around the other, and Nat notes with pride that Bob’s hand is securely on your waist. 

“Shut up, did you two go to prom together?” Nat exclaims as you indicate she can swipe through to the next photo. Nat nearly screams at the next photo, a sweet shot of you two looking at each other, clearly mid-laughter, arms still around one another. 

“No, unfortunately. I was going to ask him but it was too late and someone else beat me to it.” 

Right then, Bob walks back up to join you.

“What’s that, oh is that prom?” He asks, trying to look at the photo in Nat’s hands as he passes you both your drinks. 

“Yeah, she was just telling me how she was going to ask you until you got another date, heartbreaker.” Nat bumps her shoulder into his.

“She told you what? ” It’s comical the way Bob whips his head in confusion to look at you.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t know.” You laugh.

“I promise you I didn’t.” He says, with equal parts sincerity and bewilderment. “What do you mean you were going to ask me?”

“Oh Bobby, I had this whole plan!” 

By now, the rest of the team (including Rooster who must have arrived while Bob was up at the bar) have started paying attention to your conversation. Your phone is getting passed from aviator to aviator, all of whom heard the words “Bob” and “prom” and reacted like a dog hearing the word “treat”. All of the attention is on you, but you don’t seem to mind in the slightest. 

“Alright, I don’t know if you remember but I asked you one day if you were planning on going to prom. I figured that was a good place to start because if you weren’t going at all, I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to just for me. Actually, now that I think about it, I think that even though she was in college by then, I texted Allie about it.” 

Bob doesn’t entirely remember this, there were so many conversations about who was or wasn’t going to go to prom and who they were or were not going with, that it isn’t surprising that he doesn’t remember you asking if he was going but he nods anyway, interested to hear the rest of your story. 

“You had mentioned recently that you wanted to get a copy of the Hobbit. With all of the attention on the movie, you said it was about time you had a copy of your own, since you originally read a copy you borrowed from the library.” 

“Right, I remember, you gave me a copy one day, which was really nice of you.” He nods as he says this, clearly visualizing the copy you sweetly pressed into his hands during last period one day. 

“Exactly!” You say, blushing slightly, despite the fact this happened close to a decade ago. “So, that was part of my plan. Originally, there was a bookmark tucked into the cover that I had decorated with the words “Will you go to prom with me?” on it.” 

“What? I know I opened the front cover, you left me a note in it. But it didn’t say anything about prom, I’m sure I would have noticed that.” There’s no way Bob would have missed that, is there?

“No, you’re right. I left a little note on the inside cover about how you had your own copy now, but I was too worried to mention prom right there since it would be in the book forever.” You laugh. “No, I gave you the book and not-so-smoothly brought up the conversation of prom, and you said something like ‘oh yeah, I figured you might have heard.’ and mentioned how Jack had arranged your date. Something about how his crush would only go if everyone in her friend group had a date, so you ended up agreeing to go with Julia.”

Bob hears a muttered “Oh shit” from somewhere to his left, and looking back on this moment later, he’ll realize how objectively funny it is for a group of adults to be so engrossed in a conversation about a prom that you both, happily, attended so long ago.

“I had not, in fact, heard anything about this date so while you were telling me about it, I grabbed the bookmark out of the book and handed it back to you, sans bookmark. I think I lied and said that it was the receipt I had left in there. You didn’t open the book and see the other note until after I said that, so you didn’t notice.” You shrug.

“You were really going to ask me to the prom.” Bob says in amazement.

“I really was. I think I called Allie the second I got home to tell her about it. I know she and I were good friends too but there was something almost mortifying to have to admit to your sister that I didn’t even get the chance to ask. But, it was okay! You went with Jack and that group, and I asked a friend from another school.” 

“And you just ignored your dates and took photos together anyways?” Hangman asks with a wry smile. 

“Oh god no, I think we took hundreds of photos before that. I took a friend’s brother, Ben, who was our age. Since I was friends with his sister and knew his whole family, we did photos with them, and with my family, and then all of the group photos, and that was even before we even met up with Bob’s group.” To prove your point, you swipe out of the photo quickly to show the hundreds of thumbnails of other photos.

Bob holds a hand out to you, and you wordlessly pass your phone back to him. Bob takes a second to look at all of the images before re-opening the photo of the two of you. 

“Allie took this, didn’t she?” He asks, as the memory comes back to him.

“Yeah, I wanted a photo with you so badly but was worried I’d show my hand if I asked, so she did it for me. I nearly killed her for it.” You laugh at the memory.

“I thought she was asking for me, I think I did the same thing.” Bob admits. 

“I’m pretty sure she also made you promise to ask me to dance at least once.” 

“Oh my god you guys are too cute. Did you end up dancing?” Nat asks. 

“We did.” Bob says as you nod. “Julia was nice but we were really acquaintances more than friends, and we really only went together since my best friend wanted to date her best friend. She didn’t seem to mind when I asked you to dance.” He looks at you. 

“What song did you dance to?” Fanboy asks.

“I have no clue, honestly. Do you remember? Something quintessentially prom, I’m sure.  Maybe some early Ed Sheeran? Bruno Mars? Probably a country ballad, actually.” You shrug and laugh.

“I can’t remember either. I know we hung out during some of the fast songs too, but we definitely had one slow song in there, I think you’re right it was probably country.” Bob admits. Neither of you notice the way Nat nudges Rooster, or the way he disappears over towards the jukebox across the bar.

“So if this was junior year, why didn’t you go together senior year?” Hangman asks.

“Oh, rumor got around that he was getting ready to ask someone so I texted Ben and asked if he wanted to join me again.” You say, matter-of-factly.

“I was going to ask you .” Bob blurts out.

“ Oh .” Your eyes widen in shock. “Well, it’s about a decade too late, but I would’ve said yes.” 

“Do you have photos from that one too?” Nat asks. 

While you and Bob are busy, leaning over your phone scrolling to the correct album, Rooster walks back up and nods at Nat. 

“Let me see those.” Rooster says, taking your phone. “Look at these cute kids.” He says, with a teasing smile towards you and Bob. 

This time, you’re in dark blue but once again, you and Bob have your arms around one another and big smiles on your face. 

“Look at those legs!” Natasha says, swiping to the next photo where you’re posed much less formally. You’re standing on your right leg, right arm propped up on Bob’s shoulder, your left leg is bent at the knee with your foot kicked up towards your butt. The pose highlights your sparkly high heels, and the slit in your dress that goes up to your mid-thigh. In addition, the arm that isn’t around Bob is thrown up straight in the air and your mouth is wide open in laughter.. It looks like you’re caught mid-celebration.

For Bob, he’s got his left arm still tight around your waist, and you can’t tell from the photo but you both remember his steady grip, worried that you’d topple over balancing on one foot. While you’re looking right at the camera, Bob is looking at you. Truth be told, it was one of your favorite photos from the night, from high school overall. 

Hangman asks you a question, but Bob is too busy staring down at the photo of the two of you to hear him. Maybe Allie was onto something earlier, maybe he should ask you out. 

While you turn towards Hangman to answer him, the song playing on the jukebox fades out and Bob hears the opening few notes of a Shania Twain ballad. It’s not really the normal soundtrack for the Hard Deck, and remembering your comment just a few minutes ago trying to guess what you might have danced to at prom, Bob looks up at Natasha who has the biggest smirk he’s ever seen.

“Come on, Bob, ask the girl to dance.” She says, nudging him.

“Nat, we’re in the middle of the Hard Deck. Nobody else is dancing. Do you even know the meaning of the word subtle?” It’s not that Bob doesn’t want to dance with you, he just doesn’t want to do it in the middle of a bar, crowded with people who aren’t dancing. He doesn’t want to put you on the spot, or make you uncomfortable. Before he can figure out what to do about it, Nat just winks at him.

“Alright, we’ll give you someone else to dance with.” To Rooster’s clear surprise, Nat grabs him by the hand and drags him over closer to the jukebox to dance. 

“We’re doing this for you, Bob.” Fanboy says with a joking salute, as he goes over to sway by the jukebox, not afraid to dance by himself. 

Bob thinks about the way you smiled when you told him you would have gone to prom with him, he thinks about how much fun you two had getting coffee, and he thinks that if he waits any longer, Hangman might scoop you up for a dance himself. He takes a breath to prepare himself to brush it off as purely platonic, in case you hesitate, and takes a step closer to you.

“What do you say? I know it’s not prom, but maybe for old times sake?” Bob has one hand held out, and the two seconds it takes you to reply feel like the longest of his life. 

“I’d love to, Bobby.” You grab his hand, and he leads you over towards Phoenix, Rooster, and Fanboy. It looks like some other people have followed Phoenix and Rooster’s lead and have coupled up for a dance, and he finds himself glad about the way his friends seem to draw attention and start trends. It makes him less nervous, to think that there are less eyes on the two of you.

Bob pulls you into him, and you immediately rest your head on his chest, still holding onto the hand that led you through the throngs of people. Bob rests his other hand gently on your back, and as the two of you sway back and forth together, all he can think is how right it feels to have you in his arms like this. 

“You’re right, it’s not prom but I think it’s still pretty good.” You mumble, and Bob fights the urge to press a kiss to the top of your head.

Bob hears you giggle and follows your eyesight over towards Fanboy, who has somehow roped Coyote into a very dramatic, very ridiculous dance. 

“I like your friends.” You say, when you finally get your giggles under control.

“I’m glad. I know they can be a lot.” He says.

“I think Allie would like Nat. They’re both trouble.” You say and Bob bites back a groan. Of course you noticed Nat’s not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking. “But it’s hard to be mad when they’ve got such good ideas.” You reach up and brush back a piece of Bob’s hair that’s fallen across his face. 

“Do you want to go out with me? On a date, sometime?” Bob surprises himself by asking.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Bob feels a swell of pride at the way your face lights up at his question. You tuck your head back into his chest, and the two of you stay like that through the rest of the song.

As the final notes of the song die down, Bob takes a step back from you, keeps his left hand in yours and uses his right hand, already on your waist, to gently guide you into a little spin. He thinks there might not be anything better than the way you laugh as you twirl, before you come crashing back into his arms. That is, until you lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“Thanks for the dance, Bobby.” 

He’s sure that Nat couldn’t have seen the kiss by the way she comes flying over to grab you to go grab another drink together. 

“Way to go, Bob.” Rooster says, clapping him on the back. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thanks for the assist with the jukebox.” He replies.

The two make their way back over to their original corner, where the rest of the team shortly joins them. You and Nat come back, and you each have your hands full. You’re carrying a tray full of everyone’s preferred drink for the night, and Nat has a tray full of shots. Somehow between the two of you, everyone (Bob included) gets talked into taking the shot together. 

While everyone talks and laughs, somehow you end up right back next to Bob. You’re standing half a step in front of him and are leaning back so that your back and hip are pressed against his. You look up at him with a smile, subtly making sure he’s okay with it. He definitely is. 

As conversation turns back to someone else in the group, Bob is thinking back to your not-date from last week and remembers what you said about the Farmers Market. “Hey.” He nudges you gently. “Do you want to go to the Market for our date?” He remembers too late that the Market is only open on Saturdays and that he’s inadvertently asked you out for the very next morning. Before he can clarify that it doesn’t have to be tomorrow, you smile and nod. 

“Sounds like a plan. Want to come to my house first and we can go together?” 

“Okay, yeah. We can figure out a specific time later.” Bob tells you. He can’t even imagine what Allie will say when she finds out, and wonders which one of you will manage to tell her first. He figures it’ll probably be him, that he’ll call her on his way home tonight while you’re likely getting interrogated by Nat. 

The two of you are so lost in your conversation that you don’t notice that conversation has slowed down.

“What was your high school mascot?” 

“What?” The two of you look away from one another to see Hangman looking at you.

“It was the Tigers. Why?”

“If you’re going to be joining us more often, you need a name too, Tiger.” Jake says.

“You know what, it could be worse. I’ll take it.” Bob half expected you to argue, to point out that you do have a name, thank you very much. He’s glad when you recognize it for what it is, an invitation into the group as more than just a one-off. 

“By the way, Tiger,” Jake continues. “My bad about interrupting your coffee date last weekend, it was genuinely an accident.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” You say, brushing him off. “Besides, it wasn’t a date. Just two friends catching up.” 

You gently bump your hip into Bob’s and he tries not to smile at the flirty contact.

“Okay, that’s it. Bob, we love you. This is an intervention. Ask the woman out.” Hangman tells him and Bob can hear you trying not to laugh, especially as Coyote reaches over to smack Jake.

“Subtle, Bagman.” Nat groans.

“I have.” Bob says, to everyone’s surprise.

“No fucking way, Baby on Board. Get it. So where are you going?”

“No way, Jake.” You say. “Last week might have been an accident, but you can’t convince me you guys wouldn’t show up if we told you. No way. You’ll have to be patient and find out after.” 

You’re laughing as you tease Jake, and Bob feels like he’s on top of the world. He’s surprised to find that he’s not nervous or embarrassed to have everyone know about your date but then again, just through your attention, you’ve always brought out his confident side.

Bob tests the waters and slides an arm around your shoulders. In response, you look back up at him with that sweet smile, and go back to laughing with everyone. He’s got a pretty girl leaning against him, a pretty girl who he has a date with tomorrow, who fits in well with his friends. Life feels pretty good right now. 

When he got to the bar earlier, he thought that maybe he’d have a chance to ask you to hang out again, if he was lucky. Somehow by the time he gets home later, he’ll have ended up with two more dances with you, the promise of (and more specifics about) your date, and another kiss on the cheek. Bob remembers fondly how much fun he had at prom, but he thinks that today, this random Friday with all of his friends, might have been even better.

[withahappyrefrain]

Bob is so quiet that i imagine this is how the team finds out he's married. he usually keeps his wedding ring on a chain round his neck under his uniform, scared it'll get lost or fall off, and sure his phone background is you and there's a picture in his wallet but no one pays attention to just bob

until they see the bright, red, angry scratches down his back and the faintest mark of a hickey that's just about healed

Bob being secretly married is one of my favorite tropes for him tbh.

Obviously, Natasha and Mickey know. They've played D&D at Bob's house a few times and have met Mrs. Bob.

Jake, however, is beside himself.

"Did you get in a wrestling match with a bear baby on board?" Because somehow, that option is more believable than the alternative.

Bob's blue eyes narrow, his lips forming into a tight line, "No. I spent time with my wife."

"Your what?!" Now everyone has gathered around because it's a rare occasion for Jake Seresin to be speechless.

"It's not like I tried to hide it!" Bob lifts up his dog tags, a gold wedding ring glittering in the sun. "What do you think this was for?" He points to the small tattoo on his bicep. Etched in blank ink is the date 9.17.

"Gonna be honest, I thought that was your mom's birthday," Bradley admits sheepishly. He feels bad for not noticing the signs sooner.

"I thought it had to do with your dungeon and dragons game!" Jake defends himself.

"You're hopeless," Reuben sighs, walking away to get a much needed beer. Being the other married man in the squad, he had his suspicions about Bob but recognized at the end of the day it was none of his damn business.

Bob appreciates Ruben so much.

[mamsieur]

Ink and Smoke I Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary : Reuben's wife wants to play matchmakers with Bob. It usually fails until the whole squad has a tattoo appointment.

TW : none, full fluff, hyper self indulgent

Length : 3664 words

AN : maybe it's kind of a self insert fic because of the whole "reader is a tattooed girly" and maybe the bee tattoo is the one I have. Maybe.

posted on AO3 November 8, 2023

A few months had passed since the uranium mission and the squadron was settled to San Diego for good, and Bob had never been happier. He finally had everything and everyone he needed in one place. The squad was a new family for him, he grew close to each of them, even Jake.

Work was easier now that he was permanently stationed here, and he was glad that the squadron was a permanent unit as well ; they were always working together and getting missions as a special task force. He was able to teach new graduates with Phoenix, and he enjoyed being an instructor. 

Life was good. His little found family fell into an easy routine of Sunday brunches at each other's houses, days off at the beach playing dogfight football, evenings at the Hard Deck. Each of them got to meet the family of the others ; mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, partners… Reuben was the first to introduce his wife, Josie, to the squadron and everyone loved her. They were expecting their first child and Mickey had appointed himself as godfather (not that Reuben had anything against it, but he had to talk it over with his wife). Josie had some sort of maternal aura that made them so comfortable, much like Penny ; even Bradley opened up to her about his past, and Jake always seemed to calm down when the pregnant woman gave him the "mommy" look.

As for his own love life, Bob’s friends had tried so many times to set him up on dates, and each time it had failed. The girls he was set up with had nothing to do with it for the most part ; Bob was sure they were great people, but they were always too much for him. He was a discreet and somewhat shy type of guy, he wasn't really comfortable with their extroverted behavior. And it wasn't like he was actively looking for a relationship; he liked being single most of the time. He had his ways, his habits, his comfort zone, and he wasn't in any hurry to leave it. His life was perfect as he saw it. But he couldn't deny that sometimes he felt lonely. He felt that way when he couldn't go home to his family, when he was on leave from work, or when he was asked to write his marital status on some paperwork. He felt that way when he listened to Natasha talk about her dates with her pretty hairdresser and how everything was going smoothly. He felt that way when he saw the girls at the bar only looking at Bradley, Javy, Jake or Mickey; he was right there but invisible. He felt that way when he was the last of his siblings and cousins to be single; his younger brother even got married this year. He felt that way when his father seemed to have to remind him that his last relationship was from before he left for naval school, and when his mother whined about her baby being all alone in San Diego.

Other than that, Bob didn't feel lonely. Not too much.

When he arrived at the Hard Deck after another failed date, Josie sighed with a confused pout.

"Why didn't it work out this time, Bobby?"

He shrugged as he sat between her and Natasha on the stool across from the pool table where Jake and Bradley were playing. "She's just passing through San Diego and she... I don't know, she talked a lot about herself, I didn't have time to get a word in. And when I did, she didn't seem too interested in what I had to say."

"Yickes," Natasha grimaced, "you did well to leave that date early."

"Oh, well, in fact, I didn't... She actually was the one who cut it short, she had to meet a friend apparently. Not that I'm complaining," he smiled slightly at the girls, and Reuben’s wife rolled her eyes before finishing her ginger ale, rubbing her round belly.

"I give up, Bob. You'll find someone eventually, but I'm done trying to set you up. I hate seeing you like this."

"Like what?" he frowned a little, not understanding.

"Like a puppy that's been thrown out," Reuben said as he kissed his wife's temple, joining their conversation. She rolled her eyes, half amused. "That's the idea. You always look so disappointed and sad after these dates. And I know it makes you question your self-worth, and I don't want that. So we won't set you up anymore, consider this my early birthday present to you," she smiled. 

"Finally - Ouch!" he chuckled, stroking his side where Josie had elbowed him. She sighed with a smile and they moved on to more casual conversation. It was another casual night, and Bob was loving it. The brunette was right, he'll find someone eventually, why force fate?

As the night went on, one particular topic was brought back to the table; their matching tattoo project. The seven of them still hadn't decided what to get, but Reuben had already made an appointment with a tattoo artist that he and Josie had been to a few times; she had four tattoos, and three of them were by that artist. It was fine line, discreet; that style was perfect for the squad. 

"So, except for Reuben, this will be everyone's first tattoo?" Mickey asked, reading everyone's ideas again on Javy's phone. They all nodded and Natasha scoffed.

"Robert Floyd, stop lying to us! You have a tattoo!"

Bob blushed under the curious gaze of his friends, and if his eyes could throw knives, Phoenix would be dead.

"Come to think of it, we've never seen him without a shirt on," Mickey remarked, narrowing his eyes. The other boys agreed and Jake grinned.

"What kind of embarrassing ink you got Baby on board?"

"If it's the name of an ex-girlfriend, I swear we'll ask for the whole story!" Javy insisted. Everyone tried to guess, making Bob more and more embarrassed and Natasha smirked, proud of her. She saw his tattoo once, after a water fight. 

"Come on Robby, show them, it's not that bad..." she encouraged him, gently squeezing his forearm. The blond man pouted and sighed, pulling out his phone to find photos. He showed the screen to his friends when he found the picture he was looking for. The tattoo was on his ribs and it was a quote with a carnation flower underneath. Mickey couldn't help but gasp in surprise as he read the quote, his eyes shining with admiration, "Is that a Star Wars reference?"

"It is..." Bob muttered, "And my older cousin has the other half of the quote."

He swiped and showed them a picture of their tattoos side by side; his cousin’s said "Do or do not." with the flower above it, and Bob’s one said "There is no try."

"Nerd," Jake snorted, earning a nudge from Reuben.

"In our defense, we were barely eighteen when we made them, just before I went to naval school," he shrugged.

"I think it's cute," Josie smiled and Bradley hummed in agreement, siping his beer. 

"How come you never told me you were Star Wars fans?" Mickey accused, "What do you think of the series? Without the last three movies, of course. They don't exist," and he chatted with Bob for a good half hour. 

Bradley cleared his throat to stop the rumbling, "Can we get back to the tattoo topic? We have less than fifteen hours to decide".

After some discussion and a few scribbles of their ideas on some napkins, they settled on three designs that the tattoo artist would be able to work with.

Bob carefully saved the napkins, and one by one the group went home. He decided to take a walk on the beach before he left. 

He liked the silence, broken only by the gentle sounds of the waves and the wind. His week had been exhausting and quite stressful, and being here soothed him. The moonlight guided his steps home. As he made his way to his little house, he lit a cigarette. He was not much of a smoker, but every now and then it helped calm his nerves. Truth to be told, he was a little nervous to get tattooed. He wasn’t a big fan of needles. He just hoped that the final design would be simple enough so he didn’t have to stay too long under the hands and tools of the tattoo artist.

The next day, after a nice lunch together, the group finally went to the tattoo parlor. Josie was with them, even more excited than they were. They walked in, making the little bell above the door ring. Soft rock was playing at a low volume, and some of the artist's work was hanging on the walls. 

Bob looked around curiously. This parlor was nothing like the one he'd been in with his cousin almost twelve years before. Here, the large windows let in daylight, and the reception and waiting areas were beautifully decorated with green plants (though Bob suspected they were fake). On the coffee table across from the couches was a binder containing the flashes that were still available. And on the walls were photos of several finished tattoos and some awards the artist seemed to have won at conventions around the country. The whole atmosphere was comfortable and reassuring. 

"I'll be there in two seconds!"  your voice came from the back of the room. 

The curtain at the back of the shop opened and you stepped out, dusting your hands. Your arms were covered with tattoos of all kinds; some colored, some not. Bob watched you for a moment, impressed by the number of tattoos you had. His eye fell on the one under and on your collarbones; two daffodils with a bee in the middle. He found it gorgeous.

He was jolted out of his contemplation when Josie threw herself in your arms.

"Bee! It's so good to see you!"

"Hello to you too, Jo’ !" you chuckled, returning her hug, "I assume this is the famous Dagger Squad you've been talking about."

You gave them your real name with a smile and shook hands with everyone, "You can call me Bee though, it doesn't bother me!". Your eyes locked with Bob's for a few seconds and he thought he saw you blushing a little. But maybe he had hallucinated.

You offered them some tea or coffee while grabbing your sketchbook and pen. "Okay, so what were your ideas? Jo’ and Reuben here told me you had quite a few," you asked with a smile, and the group began to explain what they had in mind. Bob, sitting in front of you, wasn't listening. He was mesmerized ; you had such a sweet voice and a warm, inviting aura. Your eyes shone with interest behind your glasses as you took notes on what Bob's friends were saying. Your soft smile sent butterflies to his stomach, and he felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears blush whenever he made eye contact with you. 

He was drawn out of his contemplation by Bradley, who nudged him discreetly. You had asked him something, but he didn't seem to have heard.

"Sorry, what?"

"Your friends said you had some papers with your ideas. May I see them?" you chuckled with a sweet smile.

"Oh... Oh! The napkins, yes!" he mumbled and took them out of his pocket. He displayed them on the coffee table in front of you. He blushed as your fingers brushed over his, and Josie and Natasha noticed. They looked at each other and wiggled their eyebrows. An idea had blossomed in their minds…

***

A few sketches later, you had a design that everyone in the group loved. It was simple enough that you could make the seven of them that afternoon. While you were getting everything ready, the Daggers argued about who would go after Reuben, who volunteered to go first. But Bob seemed a little lost and couldn't say anything. Josie sighed and intervened, hands on hips, like a mother scolding her children.

"Okay, everybody, calm down. Jake will go second, Mickey third and then Javy."

"But why?" Jake gasped and Mickey pouted.

"Because you three are too afraid, I can feel it. Look at it this way: the sooner you get it done, the sooner it's over."

"Good thinking..." Javy muttered.

"Thank you. Then Natasha, Bradley, and finally Bob. As soon as you're done, go to the little store next door and get yourself a snack, okay?"

The five nodded like children, but Natasha had a little mischievous smile on her lips that matched Josie's. But the boys, except for Reuben, didn't seem to notice. The latter gave his wife a knowing look and shook his head with a smile when she just shrugged.

Bob wasn't sure what to do. He looked at you a few times as you finished cleaning Reuben’s finished tattoo. You laughed with him and Bob blushed. He'd never seen anyone laugh so beautifully. His heart raced a little, but he couldn't take his eyes off you. You were mesmerizing, a work of art. 

"... Bob?"

"Huh?" he hummed, still lost in contemplation.

"Bobby, stop staring, you're not discreet," Josie giggled and Bob blushed wildly. He looked around and to his relief the others didn't seem to be paying too much attention to him. "You know, Bee is single... you should ask her out. You're totally her type."

"Am I?" he mumbled, blushing as Nat and Josie giggled, "I-I mean, I, uh… she’s-" Bob stuttered. He was busted. Natasha wrapped her arm around his and looked at you.

"From what Josie and Reuben have told me, Bee is really sweet," she said.

"She loves sci-fi, has two cats, builds Legos, and she absolutely loves quiet walks on the beach, just like you," Josie informed him with a smile, and Bob's cheeks turned even redder. He watched as you reassured Jake and explained how the machine worked. Your smile definitely made Bob's heart flutter. He wanted it to be directed at him. Not at Jake who was certainly flirting with you… although you didn’t seem that affected by it.

"She's a great girl, Bobby, and yes, I said I'd stop to set you up, but this isn't technically a date. It's up to you if you want to ask her out," Josie argued and he nodded, playing nervously with his fingers.

"I... I'll try?" he murmured, clearly worried about the situation, "but what if you're wrong and I'm not her type? Or what if I make it all awkward? or what if-"

"Calm down Floyd, it'll be fine! She won't reject you like that. Look at her, she's too nice for that. You have the whole afternoon to relax and just be yourself with her. We'll keep the others out," Natasha smiled as she gave him a friendly nudge. He sighed and nodded, trying to keep his composure. But then he frowned and turned to the two women beside him. "That's why you wanted me to go last?"

They just chuckled and shrugged. Bob sighed again and shook his head, "You two are a menace," he groaned.

As the afternoon wore on, Bob had to go out twice to catch his breath. He tried not to smoke right now, but the urge got stronger as his turn to get tattooed approached. He watched you laugh with Bradley as you tattooed him on the inside of his bicep. Then Bradley pointed at Bob and said something to you. You smiled a little and waved to him. He blushed so hard he thought his whole face was on fire. He shyly waved back and thought he saw you blush again. But you quickly turned your attention back to Bradley.

Bob's heart was pounding, he was filling up like a 10-year-old facing his first crush. 

And finally it was his turn. Josie and Natasha managed to get everyone out by pretending to go shopping for dinner - which wasn't exactly a lie. Bob was worriedly silent as you cleaned your station. You turned to him and smiled. 

"Would you like something to drink while I finish preparing the area? I have some ginger ale, Reuben told me you usually like it?"

Bob just nodded, speechless. How can you be so thoughtful? 

He thanked you as you handed him the glass and watched you print the last stencil.

"Nervous?" you asked, tilting your head to meet his gaze, "Where do you want it?"

"Y-Yeah, a little bit," he swallowed and scratched his neck nervously, "I, uh... maybe here?" he gestured to his ribs, the side that had no tattoos.

"Josie told me you already had a tattoo, right? Do you want them mirrored, like symmetrical?" you asked as he took off his shirt. You blushed. This man was really, really beautiful. His friends were too, you'd seen Jake and Mickey shirtless, but Bob... Bob had this charming boyish face and a body that you could see yourself curling up against in your bed for a cuddle in rainy weather. He had that old American charm with his wire-rimmed glasses, that little curl of hair that fell perfectly on his forehead, and that shy smile. You wanted him to take you out on a date anywhere he wanted and listen to his surprisingly raspy voice talk about absolutely anything... but you had to be professional.

"Yes," he replied, "I think it could be quite harmonious..."

"I think so too," you smiled at him and prepared his skin before placing the stencil. You let him check to see if he liked the placement. He turned to you and his crooked smile made you feel all warm inside. He was absolutely adorable.

"I love it," he said, excited like a little boy on Christmas Eve, "it looks amazing!"

"Well, let's get to work then, Lieutenant!" you chuckled and let him lie down. You put on your gloves and turned on the machine. You saw him take a deep breath and exhale slowly; surely to calm his nerves. "Ready?" you asked quietly and he nodded.

He didn't flinch or move once during the session. You saw him grimace from time to time, but he was perfectly still. You tried to talk to him to ease the process without pushing him too hard, and to your own surprise, he was quite talkative. The two of you debated which was the best Lego set you owned - it was obviously the Millenium Falcon. He really made you laugh when he explained how Bradley accidentally broke his glasses and how Josie scolded them for being reckless while playing soccer on the beach. And you both agreed that Reuben and Josie would make great parents. He walked you outside when you said you needed a smoke break.

"I don't smoke that much, I'm trying to quit," you shrugged, "but some days are harder than others."

"Yeah, I get it, I'm not a heavy smoker either, but it helps... relax, I guess," he said, lighting your cigarette and then his. You smiled and agreed. In the distance, the sun was slowly setting, casting orange and pink hues in the sky. Bob blew his smoke slowly through his nose and sighed.

"I love sunsets," he said, "it's always a different color show..."

"I'm sure it's nicer when you're actually in the sky, isn't it?"

"Oh yes it is!" he replied excitedly, "Sometimes with the clouds it's like being surrounded by cotton candy. It's so pretty, but it makes me hungry." 

You laughed and his smile grew wider.

"So you have a sweet tooth?"

"The worst," he sighed with a soft grin, "I think I might be addicted to sugar. I mean, we all are a little, but sweet things are my weakness."

The way he looked at you when he said that made you blush furiously. And he blushed too, surprised at his own behavior. But you didn't seem bothered, so he wasn't embarrassed. You bit your lip and sighed with a smile before looking back at him.

"So if I asked you to come with me to the fair and eat our body weight in candy and cake on Sunday, would you agree?"

"Yes," he blushed, surprised at his own eagerness to accept your proposition. He chuckled and nodded, "I would gladly agree."

"It's a date then..." you smiled and exchanged numbers. Then you resumed your conversation about whatever was on your minds. Bob had never felt so comfortable with anyone, and neither had you. Unfortunately, the rest of the Daggers made their way back to your shop to pay you for the tattoos and take some pictures of them. They were all happy with the results and Mickey promised to come back for more. Bob couldn't stop smiling and looking at you as if you were holding the stars, and neither could you. You said goodbye to everyone, hugged Reuben and Josie - asking their growing baby in her belly to behave - and kissed Bob on the cheek when he last existed. You had to stand on tiptoe to do it, which he found adorable.

"See you Sunday, Bob," you almost whispered.

"Gladly Bee, can't wait," he smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You waved him goodbye and he felt all light and happy on his way to his car.

The rest of the group was completely forgotten, but they were watching from a distance. They were surprised and so lost by what they had just witnessed, except for Nat and Josie who were really proud of their part in it. They discreetly high-fived and giggled.

"What did you do?" Reuben finally asked his wife, curious.

"Me? Nothing," she smiled at him before looking at Bob, who didn't stop smiling. She took her husband's hand on the way to their car and chuckled, "I just encouraged fate."

[foreverrandomwritings]

Okay so my request is something that someone wrote for me for a different fandom but I’m slowly loving Jake and Bradley. Anyways I am Texas born and raised so I call everyone love, honey, sweetheart etc. but I got in trouble for doing it and apparently I offended everyone and such. And then something else happened where someone is hating on my personality. Can I just a fluffy fluff with either Jake or Bradley whomever you think it fits best. Where the reader is like slowly trying to change/caving into herself and not be as bubbly or happy and they notice and have a conversation and such about loving them as it. I’d love it if it was romantic. However if this is too much and you don’t want to write it I will not be offended. You do whatever you feel comfortable with and I will support you 💕

No Keying Cars

Summary: You overhear a conversation that plants a seed of doubt in your mind.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Afab!Reader x Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Warnings: Men being mean, swearing, broken noses, anxiety, insecurities and fluff.

Word count: 2929

Masterlist

The boys were used to your Texas charms, it was one of the many things that they loved about you. It made Jake feel at home which was perfect because he was always homesick. It always gave Bradley the comfort he desperately needed. Your relationship worked out well and none of you had been happier than you were together. Well that was until you heard Harvard, Yale and Fritz having a conversation about you being entirely too much at one of the many squads monthly get togethers. 

“You agree that she just talks way too much right?” Yale and Fritz hummed in agreement. You stopped right around the corner of the doorway to the kitchen. You weren’t sure who they were talking about but the next sentence confirmed it was you. 

“Also what’s with her calling everyone love and babe and shit? Like how fucking annoying, I’m not your boyfriend so stop fucking acting like it. Though I know Jake and Bradley have to be sick of that shit to.” You choked back a sob as you heard Yale’s comment. You’d been told so many times in your life you were a bit much. But Jake and Bradley had never made you feel like you were an annoyance. They had been the only ones that made you feel valid in your attitude. Though now doubt started to eat away at you. Were they annoyed with you? Were they just lying to you to save your feelings? 

“Don’t even get me started on the way she acts all fucking peppy and happy all the time. There is no way she can be that perky. It's gotta be an act right?” Harvard and Yale laughed together at Fritz’s statement. You decided to turn around and walk back outside instead of wandering into the room to get your drink. 

“Where’s your lemonade at darlin’?” Jake took your wrist lightly and brought you down to his lap. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder and watched Bradley running around the yard with Reuben's daughter on his shoulders acting like an airplane. 

“Decided I wasn’t thirsty, hon-Jake.” The blonde gave you a confused look at the way you said his name but before he could ask you about it, Natasha dragged his attention away from you when she asked him something about work. You took the time to continue to think of everytime you had used a term of endearment with one of your shared friends, they never seemed bothered when you did. Though you guess it could be that they were all putting on an act and maybe they didn’t like you as much you thought they did. Maybe all the spa days with Natasha and her girlfriend Sylvia and movie nights with Bob and Halo were just them being nice to you. 

“Hey baby you okay?” You hadn’t realized that Bradley was standing in front of you until he spoke. You shook your head trying to clear your thoughts before giving him a soft smile. 

“Yea, just not feeling too well.” He looked at you curiously before handing you his water which you took a sip of gratefully. Jake’s hand on your back brought you a sense of comfort. 

“Do you want to go home?” You pondered the question for a moment. On one hand you didn’t want to feel like a burden to those around you anymore and really wanted to leave. But on the other hand you knew that the boys valued their time with the squad and you didn’t want to take away from that. So you shook your head and assured him that you were fine. After a couple more reassurances he gave you a kiss on the head before going to ask Maverick about going back up to his hangar soon. The rest of the night went smoothly and you fell asleep cuddled up between your boyfriends when you eventually got back home.

You figured the next morning you’d feel better. That the anxiety that ate away at you the night before would have cleared your system but you were sorely mistaken. Throughout the work day you were careful about the way you talked to everyone. You toned down your usual cheerful attitude and didn’t send Bradley or Jake a single cute cat video on your lunch break. 

When you got home you changed into your pajamas and crawled in bed. You turned on New Girl and let the voices of some of your favorite characters fill your head. The noise of the front door opening and closing had you turning over in bed towards the window. The voices of your boyfriends calling for you had you burrowing further down in the bed, remaining perfectly still in hopes they would think you were asleep. 

“Oh I think she’s asleep, Bradshaw.” You let out a quite shaky breath at the sound of his footsteps walking back out of the room. An hour or so went by of you laying there staring at the wall, before you decided to find out what the ruckus was in the kitchen. 

“Was your nap good honey?” Bradley’s voice greeted you as you padded into view. You gave him a soft hum in reply before taking a seat at the island. It was very abnormal for you to take a nap after work. You were normally bounding to the door in glee to greet them when they got home. So you knew they were most likely starting to suspect something was different. 

“We're making your favorite for dinner.” Jake gave you a big smile which would normally have filled you with warmth but now you just felt like they were going out of their way for no reason. 

“You guys didn’t have to do that.” You picked up a piece of mail and opened it, even though it was just a bill you still looked at it intently. Not wanting to see the looks on your boyfriend's faces. 

“We know we don’t have to but we wanted to.” Bradley slipped your preferred drink beside you and you whispered a quiet thank you to him. 

“Are you still feeling under the weather from last night?” Jake eyed you curiously as you put down the paper in your hands. 

“Yea, I think I might be coming down with the bug going around or something.” You watched as they set the table and took all the food over. With a small sigh you grabbed your drink and took your seat at the round table. Jake was on your right and Bradley on your left. They asked you if you wanted to take a couple days off work to recover but you dismissed them, assuring them you’d be fine. 

The three of you conversed about your days. When Jake mentioned dessert you excused yourself to bed claiming a headache. You missed the way they looked at each other in silent conversation. You slipped away from the table and crawled back in bed. This time actually falling asleep. 

The next day was pretty much the same as the day prior. You went about work monotonously, then you got home and crawled in bed. The boys came home and asked if you needed them to get you anything or do anything for you and you waved them away with a sweet smile. 

“Sweetheart, do you want to talk about anything?” Bradley asked you as he slipped into bed behind you wrapping his arm around you and dragging your back to his chest. 

“I’m alright, love.” You whispered the assurance to him, his brows furrowed at the tiredness in your voice. 

“But you know you can talk to me or Jake if you need to, right?” Him and Jake were both worried about you, you huffed at the thought of them stressing over you. 

“I know Bradley. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” You moved back to bury yourself further into his arms, reveling in the feeling of being wrapped up in his warmth and surrounded by his scent. 

The next morning Bradley went into work as usual but Jake hung back since his morning meeting was canceled. You had decided to call out of work in hopes of focusing on your mental health. Jake pestered you the whole morning before he went in to work. 

“I can stay home today if you want me to. Mav wouldn’t mind if I missed one day to take care of you.” He ran a hand up your thigh, squeezing slightly from his squatted position between your legs. 

“There’s no need to do that Jake. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.” You placed a hand on his cheek and brought your lips to his in what you hoped was a reassuring kiss. 

“Do you want me to tell Nat you want to cancel your girls night tonight?” You had completely forgotten about your plans for a group massage.

“No, I think I might need the night out.” A plan started to form in your head, because if anyone would be honest with you it would be the female aviator and her amazing partner. So you would ask them what they thought about you. 

“Okay, well if you end up needing anything, me and Bradley are just a phone call away. I’ll see you later.” He gave you a final kiss before leaving you sitting on the couch. You sat there most of the day, the tv on in the background. You thought about what you were going to ask the pair later. When you finally decided on your questions you took a shower and sat down with a book. When the alarm on your phone went off notifying you that you had thirty minutes till you needed to be out the door you got up and got ready to go. 

“Bradley told me you’ve been acting weird the last couple of days, are you okay?” You weren’t surprised that Bradley had talked to her. They were best friends after all. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that. Do you guys think I’m too much?” You turned your head on the table you were laying against and eyed Natasha curiously. 

“What?” She gave you a bewildered look as she processed your question.

“Do you mind the way I call you love or honey or sweetheart sometimes?” You fired off another question their way. 

“Why would you think that?” Sylvia piped up from the other side of Natasha. You could hear the surprise in her voice. 

“Uhm. I just do.” Natasha gave you a look that said she didn’t believe you. You tried to keep your face emotionless but knew you failed when she narrowed her eyes at you. 

“Tell me what you’re talking about. Now.” You let a groan slip through your lips as the masseuse dug into a particularly tense spot. 

“I heard Harvard, Yale and Fritz talking about me at dinner over the weekend. They said that I was too much, that it was annoying that I used terms of endearment so often and said Bradley and Jake were probably sick of me.” You were chewing on your lip nervously. You knew how close the group was and didn’t want to step on toes. Which was one of the one reasons you hadn’t told Jake or Bradley. 

“Those guys are assholes. You can’t believe a word they say. I’ll have a talk with them tomorrow.” She was a steady calm of rage as she spoke. You knew that nothing you’d say could change her mind so you didn’t even try.

“I vote we key their cars.” Sylvia spoke up and the two of you broke out into fits of laughter at the prospect. 

“We aren’t going to do that.” You and Sylvia protested but Natasha made you both agree you weren’t which you both did. 

“Have you talked to Jake and Bradley?” A loud sigh slipped through your lips at her question. Natasha rolled her eyes at the obvious answer on your face.  

“No. I didn’t want to bother them.” Sylvia’s head popped up from over Natasha’s back. Her masseuse paused her movements as you gave her a look of surprise. 

“You know those boys worship the ground you walk on right?” Your cheeks heated at her rhetorical question. Because you knew they always treated you right. Never made you seem like you were annoying them or bothering them in any way. You laughed at yourself realizing how silly you had been acting. 

“I’ll talk to them soon, I promise.” Your promise seemed to be enough for them because all of you put your heads back down and continued your massages in content silence. The three of you grabbed dinner after leaving the spa and you decided that you'd talk to your boyfriends the next night. When you got home they were already in bed. You got ready for bed silently and slipped under the sheets with them. 

You went about the next day as usual. Your attitude was much more cheerful at work and you were looking forward to getting home. Though there was still some doubt running through your mind. Even though you couldn’t think of a time where they seemed fed up with you, you were still nervous that maybe what the three men said rang true. You stopped and bought flowers on your way home and were putting them in respective vases when you heard the front door opening. 

“Honey, we’re home.”Bradley called out and they went straight to the bedroom bypassing the kitchen all together. They were both surprised when they didn’t find you in bed. You stood leaned up against the counter waiting for them to find you. A smile grew on your face as you heard them fighting with each other on who was going to find you first. 

“I found her, Bradshaw.” Jake called out as he spotted you. He ran up to you and spun you around gleefully. 

“The funniest thing happened at work today.” Bradley said as he came into view. Jake sets you down, giving you a chaste kiss. Then Bradley was scooping you up nuzzling his face into your neck. 

“What happened?” You giggled as his mustache tickled your skin. 

“Natasha broke Yale’s nose. Then Mav announced that Yale, Harvard and Fritz are being transferred.” Your jaw dropped at Jake’s words, you did not expect Natasha to get violent.  

“Oh.” Was all you could say, Bradley pulled back and eyed you. He expected you to be a bit more surprised at the news. 

“Any idea why she would do that?” His mustache twitched as he spoke, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side. 

“Uhm, I may have an idea.” You shrugged at him nonchalantly, pulling back from his grasp to move around the flowers in one of your vases. 

“Care to share?” Bradley asked at the same time Jake spoke up.

“Does this have anything to do with why you’ve been acting weird?” Your hands paused around a rose as you nodded.

“I overheard them talking when I went inside for my lemonade. They were saying that I was annoying and too much. Said that you were both probably fed up with me.” They both knew of the insecurities you had from some bullying you went through growing up. 

“Oh sweetheart. Why didn’t you say anything?” Jake moved your face towards his and looked for a clue on how you were feeling.

“I didn’t want to bother you guys. But Nat and Sylv both made it very clear that there was no way they were right. So I was going to talk to you guys tonight. But it seems that you guys beat me to it.” You watched his face for any signs that what they said could be true. But you found none, there was just pure love within his eyes. 

“Now I want to punch them.” Bradley piped up and you snorted, though you knew he was being slightly serious.  

“Sylv said we should key their cars.” You could see a spark of inspiration in Bradleys eyes as you glanced at him. Jake shook his head and kissed your cheek before moving around you. 

“Neither of you are keying their cars.” The look that you and Bradley gave each other did nothing to reassure him.

“More seriously though you know we both love you right?” Bradley settled both of his hands on your hips and forced his face into a serious expression. 

“I know that honey. Just had some old doubts eating at me these last couple of days.” Your thumb brushed against his cheek as you smiled at him. 

“It was honestly the worst without hearing you call me sweetcheeks. Also I never realized how much I’d miss those cute cat videos until you weren’t sending them. Please promise to never deprive us of your magical personality again babe.” You felt your stomach start to flutter as butterflies flew through it rapidly. Jake always knew the right thing to say to brighten your mood.

“I promise.” You grinned at both of them, you knew at that moment you’d never find anyone better for you than the two men standing in the kitchen with you. 

“Good now let's go get ice cream.” Bradley didn’t leave any room for debate and had you thrown over his shoulder in a moment, giggles poured out of you as they walked you out the door. Because where Jake knew what to say to brighten your mood Bradley always knew what to do.

A/N:Firstly I want to apologize for taking so long to write this. Secondly I hope this is what you wanted. Lastly as always likes, comments, follows and reblogs are much appreciated.

Tags(open): @kmc1989 @sylviebell @wkndwlff @teacupsandtopgun @fanboyluvr @loving-and-dreaming @eternallyvenus

[agendabymooner]

☏ KITCHEN DEBRIEFING, cs55 voicemail blurb (f)

☏ MOONY’S VOICEMAIL — a series in which formula one drivers send a voicemail to the reader. what about? prompts may vary. (maybe fluff or smut, idk)

voicemail summary: carlos momentarily forgot that he was on his wife’s voicemail as he shared a conversation with his two sons, carlito and reuben.

content warning: dad!carlos x nameless!mom!reader, fluff, short blurb, carlos’ cooking catching strays from carlos the third, mentions of filipino + spanish food, this is literally just a voicemail message haha

note: i’m so convinced that carlos would have a son named carlos as well. this is kinda based off a character from my smau but well— she doesn’t have a baby yet, last time i checked. enjoy xx

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if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

“hello, mi amor. i know you’re at work right now but i’m just calling to let you know that i’ve been a good papì so far— i mean you did tell me i am one but still—“

“papì,” a small voice next to the phone interrupted carlos’ voicemail monologue. “mira woke up.” the ferrari driver let out an audible sigh.

“ay, dios mio,” carlos muttered.

“papa, no she hasn’t!” another voice echoed in the kitchen as fizzles of a frying pan rung out. the person who exclaimed then said, “almira’s asleep. she just moved a little bit. don’t listen to reuben—“

“—but she moved, carlito!” the tiny voice, now identified as reuben, insisted. “papí she moved like this-“ fabrics shifted as the boy moved. “the little baby was like that.”

“i know, i know, benito,” carlos, the dad, shushed his youngest boy quietly. “but mira’s napping now. she’s only moving but everyone moves when they sleep. she’s only getting comfortable, remember? mamí was working hard to get almira to sleep before she went to work today?”

“yuh huh,” reuben mumbled.

“and papì managed to get mira to sleep now,” carlos told reuben. “so that means that papì can cook your dinner. how does that sound?” 

“ooh- papa, what are you making?” the eldest boy, named carlos or ‘carlito’, asked with an intrigued tone. footsteps neared the phone as carlito let out a heavy sigh, “is it paella again, papa?”

“what? no,” carlos replied, almost baffled. “it’s pancit, bebe. and what’s wrong with paella, lito? you love papa’s paella.”

“mmm…sure i do, papa,” carlito hummed and teased. 

“okay, mr. sainz. can you cook?” carlos raised a brow at his son. 

“no but at least i don’t need to cook paella every time!” carlito quipped before laughing and running off.

“oh you—“ carlos muttered and clicked his tongue. “silly boy.” 

“i agree papì,” reuben replied, still standing next to the phone as he said, “i love your paella, papa. not like carlito— carlito is a silly boy.”

“you’re just as silly as him, benito,” carlos chuckled quietly. “thank goodness i love you two so much.”

“hm, papì?”

“yes?” 

“can you please add more chicken to the pancit?” reuben requested. “por favor?” 

“papaaaaa— almira woke up seriously this time!” carlito called out from another room, “i can see her moving in this— phone thingy!” 

“oh my goodness,” a click of the stove turned off the whole thing as carlos’ mouth gaped open for a moment. “oh my goodness, benito.”

“wha- que?” reuben asked, his tiny voice still near the phone.

“i forgot i was calling your mamì— call me later when you can, mi amor— okay bye. say bye, ben.”

“bye mamì! te quiero!” 

— beep —