#cs!floyd

[thatbennybee]

JD accidentally missing the events of Cord Strike because he was in a vacation in the neverglades

Yeah he probably would...

Yeah it'd prolly go something like this i imagine

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[xjulixred45x]

Azul would be impressed by CS!Yuu’s natural charisma, using her talents in dancing and singing at the Monstro Lounge to lift his customers spirits while also coming out one at a time with meals and drinks, giving everyone a smile as she hopes they’ll come again

The Monstro Lounge ends up becoming very popular and busy whenever CS!Yuu is working, either as entertainment or as a little waitress *trainee*

Azul is impressed by CS!Yuu’s abilities despite her age, showing she’s very smart and capable

CS!Yuu becomes the little Pearl of the Fish Mafia, as she’s able to handle a lot of work while keeping her bubbly smile that encourages others to come back again for the food

Floyd calls CS!Yuu ‘Shrimplet’ because she’s a ‘Young Shrimp’ and likes whenever she suddenly starts to dance and sing catchy little tunes and songs from her world (He either joins or watches her dance and sing, it’s a coin flip with him)

You can’t tell me Floyd wouldn’t dash and snatch CS!Yuu up and run off with her in his arms to play games, nap or do something fun *Ignoring everyone chasing and yelling at him to put her down right now!*

Jade or Azul make a beverage after CS!Yuu because she was dining with Grim and wanted a drink that looked as fancy looking as the students but something she can actually drink (The drink ends up becoming very popular at Monstro Lounge) and it is, yes, a Shirley Temple, but they name it after Child Star!Yuu

CS!Yuu is more willing to eat Jade’s mushrooms because growing up in her time she couldn’t be picky with food

Fun Fact: Shrimps and Eels have a symbolic relationship, Cleaner Shrimps help clean Moray Eels and Moray Eels provide Cleaner Shrimps with protection, as CS!Yuu helps the Tweels with cleaning duty as well as helping them with any tasks and the Tweels in return protect CS!Yuu if they notice any bullying or teasing that’s ‘not nice’

Their whole entire dynamic is a very wholesome and platonic Fish Mafia with CS!Yuu being their little Entertainer (It’s very wholesome and cute)

This ends up being so much funnier if CS!Yuu gets the upper hand and outsmarts Azul, as he originally saw her as a naive child, but now he realizes they’re birds of the same feather and is now much more affectionate and friendly towards her (Like how he now is with Jamil) only, Vil steps in to pull CS!Yuu away with a glare that tells Azul to back off!!

This is what I have so far with the Fish Mafia (I refuse to spell out their dorm because I can’t remember all those letters 😭)

💖 Anon

I LOVE THIS!! It definitely feels quite in character for the Octavinelle trio to a certain extent.

Child Star! Yuu probably wanted to start working at the Monstre Louge before the events of Book 3. After that, as compensation, Azul lets her participate, seeing that, unlike her classmates, she DOES have a good singing voice (he'll never admit he feels bad about almost killing a little girl).

Honestly, Azul was expecting a decent performance, but nothing extraordinary (Vil: poor fool), he just wanted to get the debt out of the way. What Azul didn't expect was that Yuu would also be good at dancing and entertaining the general public, even without a specific script. Yuu's improvisational ability and the way she connected with the audience was genuinely extraordinary for someone so young.

Not only that, but people even outside the dorm LOVE HER, and can he really blame them? It's a novelty, and a very good one at that. So Azul allows her to continue coming whenever she wants, alternating between working as a singer or as a waitress apprentice (with Jade and Floyd supervising her, obviously).

Speaking of the twins, Yuu now practically has her own bodyguard duo. Sure, they love to bother her from time to time or give her cleaning duties, but they stop when Yuu calls them on Azul or when they go too far. They also make sure no one tries to mess with the little shrimplet (many students have tried to take advantage of their age difference to make tasteless jokes, take advantage of Yuu's physical disadvantage, or, at best, exclude her from activities).

Jade is happy that someone is finally eating his mushroom dishes so eagerly, though he's slightly worried that Yuu won't even hesitate for a second to eat whatever you put in front of her as long as it's not rotten (it reminds him of a certain hyena...). The idea that he and Azul decided to make a drink so Yuu could have something like the other students is very sweet.

Floyd definitely tries to encourage Yuu to be more chaotic, or at least let him be chaotic for the both of them. Yuu is so used to the point that at some point during the day, Floyd will just come, pick her up like a stuffed animal, and drag her off to do something with him (while having several students looking on, worried, confused, etc.), much to the displeasure of Vil and the other members of Pomefiore, who will probably try to chase him in vain (he has long legs, that's coal).

I don't know why the idea of Yuu and Floyd dancing makes me so happy. Probably because Floyd is so tall, he has to either 1. lift Yuu up to his height (and probably spin her around more than he should, lol), or 2. Floyd has to bend down a lot to even get on decent level with Yuu (he'll have a sore back later, but it was worth it!).

We already know that it's Yuu (the player) who ultimately defeats Azul in Book 3, but that doesn't mean our Yuu doesn't also have a part in his downfall. After all, pretending to be innocent is a great tool, something Azul respects. It's ironic how before he acted like he wanted to suffocate this girl just for existing, and now he gets stressed if she doesn't come to visit at least once a week.

Absolutely, Azul and Vil are pretty tense right now. Azul has tried (and will probably continue to) get Vil to sign a very partial contract to "share" custody of Yuu, which Vil cursed without thinking much about. It's like a constant tug-of-war, but at least they have the decency not to be violent when Yuu is present or looking in their direction (they're definitely giving each other death glares when she's not looking).

Anyway, the perks of being the fish mafia's favorite.

_______

(ESPAÑOL)

AMO ESTO!! Definitivamente se siente bastante en personaje para el trio Octavinille hasta cierto punto.

Child Star! Yuu probablemente quiso empezar a trabajar en el Monstre Louge desde antes de los acontecimientos del libro 3, después de eso, por compensación, Azul le deja participar al ver que, a diferencia de sus compañeros, ella SI tiene una buena voz para cantar (el nunca admitirá que se siente mal por casi haber matado a una niña pequeña).

Sinceramente, Azul estaba esperando una actuación decente, pero nada extraordinario (Vil: pobre iluso), solo quería quitarse la deuda de encima. Lo que Azul no esperaba era que Yuu también fuera buena con la danza y entretener al público en general, incluso sin tener un guion concreto. La capacidad de improvisación de Yuu y la forma en la que congeniaba con el público era genuinamente extraordinaria para alguien tan joven.

No solo eso, sino que la gente de incluso fuera del dormitorio LA ADORA ¿y realmente puede culparlos? Es una novedad, y una novedad muy buena. Así que Azul permite que ella siga viniendo cuando quiera, alternando entre trabajar como cantante o como aprendiz de camarera (con la supervisión de Jade y Floyd obviamente).

Hablando de los gemelos, Yuu ahora tiene prácticamente su propio dúo de guardaespaldas. Claro, ellos aman molestarla de vez en cuando o darle sus tareas de limpieza, pero se detienen cuando Yuu los acusa con Azul o cuando van demasiado lejos. Además, se aseguran que nadie intente meterse con el camaroncito (muchos estudiantes han intentado aprovecharse de la diferencia de edad para hacer bromas de mal gusto, aprovecharse de la desventaja física de Yuu o en el mejor de los casos excluirla de actividades).

Jade está feliz de que alguien finalmente se coma con tanto desespero sus platos con hongos, aunque está ligeramente preocupado de que Yuu ni siquiera dude un segundo en comer lo que sea que le pongas en frente con tal que no esté podrido (le recuerda a cierta hiena…). La idea de que el y Azul decidieron hacer una bebida para que Yuu pudiera tomar algo como los demás estudiantes es muy tierna.

Floyd definitivamente trata de animar a Yuu a ser más caótica, o al menos dejarle ser caótico por los dos. Yuu está acostumbrada a este punto que en algún punto del dia, Floyd simplemente vendrá, la levantara como un peluche y la llevara a hacer algo junto a él (mientras tienen a varios estudiantes mirándolos preocupados, confundidos, etc) muy para el desagrado de Vil y los otros miembros de Pomefiore que probablemente intenten perseguirlo en vano (tiene piernas largas el carbón).

No sé por qué la idea de Yuu y Floyd bailando me pone tan feliz, probablemente con lo alto que es Floyd el tiene que 1-levantar a Yuu para que este a su altura (y probablemente procede a hacerla girar mas de la cuenta lol) o 2-Floyd se tiene que agachar muchísimo para siquiera estar a un nivel decente con Yuu (¡el quedara con dolor de espalda más tarde, pero valio la pena!).

Ya sabemos que es Yuu(el jugador) quien le termina ganando sobre Azul en el libro 3, pero eso no quiere decir que nuestra Yuu no tenga parte que ver su caída también, después de todo aparentar ser inocente es una gran herramienta, algo que Azul respeta. Es irónico como antes el actuaba como si quisiera ahogar a esta niña nomas por existir, y ahora se estresa si ella no viene de visita al menos una vez a la semana.

Totalmente Azul y Vil están bastante tensos ahora. Azul ha intentado (y probablemente siga) hacer que Vil firme un contrato muy parcial para “compartir” la custodia de Yuu, el cual Vil maldijo sin pensar mucho. Es como un tira y afloja constante, pero al menos tienen la decencia de no ser violentos cuando Yuu esta presente o mirando en su dirección (definitivamente se están dando miradas de muerte cuando ella no ve).

En fin, las ventajas de ser la favorita de la mafia pez.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[callsign-mayhem]

i'm with the band (part 3)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female!Reader & Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader (final pairing to be revealed at the end...) Word count: 8.2k CW: Use of Y/N; the reader is kinda alternative

You discover that your best friend Bob can play the drums, and since you have some musical gifts of your own, you decide to start a navy band. It's supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but what happens when lines get blurred between you and Bob, feelings come to the surface, and a certain Rooster gets jealous?

This is a multi-part fic.

Part one Part two

Bradley had no problem with Mondays. In fact, he would go so far as to say he enjoyed them. This was primarily because you brought coffee and doughnuts to work for the whole squad to share. 

It had started a few weeks into your permanent station on North Island, and you’d done it every Monday since. 

Bradley had gone so far as to arrive early for work that day. So early, he was there before you. When you walked into the meeting room—a doughnut tray in your arms and eight coffees in holders precariously balanced on top—he was reclining comfortably in one of the seats. When he realised how much you were carrying, he jumped up. 

‘Bradley!’ You exclaimed, surprised. ‘What are you doing here so early?’

He took the coffees so you could set the doughnuts down without spilling them.

‘Oh, you know. Early bird catches the worm and all that.’ He said flippantly, flashing you a lazy grin.

What he really meant was, ‘early bird catches Y/N Y/L/N before everyone else arrives and steals her attention.’ 

You put your hands on your hips—those damn hips, all he could think about was the sight of them in that dress from dinner a couple of weeks ago. 

‘Well, lucky you because you get the first pick of the doughnuts and the coffee while it’s still piping hot.’  You beamed, although, for some reason, unbeknownst to Bradley, you couldn’t quite meet his eye. 

‘You’re so sweet, Y/CS.’ He grinned. 

‘Well, thanks.’ You smiled, blushing profusely. God, you were adorable. 

He couldn’t tell if it was awkwardness, shyness, or if you were upset about something, but he knew something wasn’t quite right. He finally had you all to himself, and you couldn’t even look at him. Currently, you were busying yourself putting sugars in a few cups (because you knew how everyone liked their coffees), replacing the lids and writing an initial on the top so you wouldn’t forget which was which. 

‘You okay, sweetheart?’ Bradley asked, flipping open the doughnut box and selecting one at random. 

He scanned your face for answers, but you gave nothing away. 

‘Yeah, I’m okay,’ you replied. ‘Just exhausted.’ 

Bradley wasn’t convinced, but he could tell you weren’t up for discussing whatever was wrong. Reluctantly, he let it slide and bit into his doughnut—chocolate sprinkles and icing, Nutella all the way through. 

He was working out the best way to ask you to dinner (ballsy) when the door to the break room swung open, smashing into the wall behind it. Both of you jumped all the way out of your skin.

‘Jesus Christ.’ You hissed, spinning around. 

It was Mickey. Obviously. 

‘Sorry.’ He smiled sheepishly. 

‘Very on-brand entrance.’ You muttered.

Mickey practically skipped over to the table, eyes wide at the sight of the massive doughnut box. 

‘What have we got this week?’ He asked.

‘One of everything.’ You told him. ‘Although, I think the lady put an extra cinnamon swirl in there.’

Mickey turned his nose up. ‘No thanks. Nutella?’

Your eyes flickered over to Bradley, who had a mouthful of doughnut and chocolate sprinkles stuck in his moustache. He froze as Mickey followed your line of sight. 

‘Seriously, Rooster?!’ He exclaimed. ‘You know they’re my favourite!’

Bradley shrugged. ‘Should’ve got here earlier like I did.’ 

Mickey cocked a brow. ‘Yeah, ‘cause that’s why you’re here before everyone else.’

Bradley could’ve happily rammed the rest of his doughnut in Mickey’s mouth for that remark, but he refrained. Suddenly, your cup of coffee had gotten really interesting. 

Thankfully, Javy and Reuben breezed in. Bradley admired their natural confidence. They were unruffled, always the calmest people in the room. Bradley only pretended to be the calmest person in the room. He was a phoney, thoughts constantly swirling around inside his head. 

‘Good mornin’.’ Reuben greeted. 

You handed him his coffee—two sugars and a splash of creamer—with a smile that made Bradley want to put his fist through something. 

‘Coffee for Payback.’ You said, reaching over to grab Javy’s. ‘And coffee for Coyote.’ 

Javy put his arm around your shoulder, and you rested your head on his chest for a second. ‘Thanks, Y/CS. You’re the best.’

Bradley ground his teeth together. He knew his jealousy was misplaced, but there it was, rearing its ugly, green head anyway. 

Nat, Bob and Jake were the last to arrive. It was almost time to get out onto the runway. Honestly, Bradley was looking forward to it. He needed to think about something other than you, which he found himself needing a lot recently. 

Now that Bob was here, Bradley’s chances of getting your attention were slim to none. You were perched on the edge of the table, chatting animatedly with your best friend who stood in front of you. Bradley almost scoffed out loud. Any closer, he’d be on your lap. 

Unfortunately, Mickey was prattling on at Bradley, so he only heard snippets of your conversation.

‘—practise tonight.’

‘Fletch is bringing—’

‘—torn between Bon Jovi and—’

Bradley had so many questions and nobody to get answers from. Did you mean Fletcher Adams? Bradley knew he only had one option, which didn’t seem appealing. He knew he was about to open himself up for a lot of teasing and questioning, but his curiosity burned within him. He just had to know. 

On the way out to the hangar, Bradley pulled Natasha aside. 

‘Walk with me?’ He asked, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. 

Natasha’s face crumpled in confusion. ‘Okay, weirdo?’

Bradley took a deep breath. ‘Do you know if Y/N is friends with Fletcher Adams?’

‘Yes,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘So is Bob.’

‘What are they doing with that ass, and what does any of it have to do with Jon Bon fucking Jovi?’ 

Natasha snickered, only aggravating Bradley more. ‘The real question you should ask is what it has to do with you.’

Bradley couldn’t take it anymore. ‘You know what.’ He snapped.

‘Ah, so you’ve finally seen the light, have you? Not lying to yourself anymore?’ She was almost giddy with this particular turn of events.

‘Are you gonna tell me what’s going on or not?’

Nat sighed. ‘I’ll tell you, but you won’t like it. And you can’t mention it to anyone.’

Bradley’s insides twisted. He was imagining you and Fletcher fucking Adams as a couple, or worse, you and Bob. He almost wanted to close his eyes for the devastating blow he was sure was coming. 

‘They’re in a band together. Y/N and Bob started it, Fletch is on guitar, and they’ve got Elliot Green from air and space ops on bass.’

Well, that wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

‘What?’ 

‘I know. Think they’ve landed themselves a gig, too.’ 

Bradley’s head was spinning. This was so far outside the realm of what he’d been anticipating that he felt disorientated. He hadn’t even realised that he’d stopped in his tracks until Nat stopped, too.

‘You good, Bradshaw?’ She asked, all the lightheartedness gone from her voice.

‘Erm, yeah. I’m good.’

‘I told her she should’ve asked you.’ Nat told him, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘But she thought you’d find it lame. Didn’t think you’d want any part of it.’ 

Bradley felt as though he’d been slapped. ‘Are you serious? Why the fuck would she think that?’

‘I told her the same thing. Too late now, I guess.’

‘Yeah.’ Bradley said, swallowing thickly. ‘I guess it is.’ 

You were practically drooling watching Bob drumming to ‘Animal I Have Become’ by Three Days Grace. As Elliot had said, the song had a delicious bassline, and you and Fletch were breaking in your new guitar pedals. It had been your idea to learn this song, partly because it was one of your favourites and partly because you knew it would get people moshing.

At your gig. 

It still hadn’t sunk in yet. Between the thought of playing in front of people, Bob’s muscles in that t-shirt, and Bradley calling you sweetheart earlier, you had no idea how you were managing to focus on singing and playing guitar.

By the time you reached the song's end, you were ready for a break.

‘Shall we take five?’ You asked breathlessly. 

Elliot and Fletch both agreed. You didn’t wait for Bob’s response before heading into the house. He kept drinks in the mini-fridge, but you needed a change of scenery. 

In the main fridge, you found a four-pack of your favourite Monster, which Bob always kept on standby. This reminder was not helping you to take your mind off things. You cracked one open and leaned against the counter, taking a few deep breaths with your eyes closed. 

Your conversation with Nat felt like it had taken place years ago, yet it was all you thought about. Bradley or Bob? You still didn’t fully believe that Bradley even liked you. 

That would be insane, right?

‘Y/N?’ Bob was standing in the doorway, frowning. ‘Are you alright?’ 

You tipped your head back and sighed. ‘Just got a lot on my mind. I’ll be okay.’

‘You wanna talk about it?’ He asked, taking a few steps closer. 

He wasn’t wearing glasses because he opted for contacts when drumming, and he wore a black Vans baseball cap over his sandy hair. Sweat glistened on the side of his neck, and his t-shirt clung to his body in all the right places. You dragged your hand over your mouth and tried not to release the unholy sound that was climbing up your throat. 

‘No.’ You said, shaking your head for good measure. ‘Let’s just get back to it.’

He looked extremely concerned. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ 

You headed back into the garage, Bob close behind you. 

Elliot and Fletcher sat on the floor, sheets of music spread out around them and cans of coke in their hands. The band had met for practise every night this week after work. It was Thursday, and you’d put together half a setlist already. You knew deciding on the rest of the songs wouldn't be difficult, so everything should have been perfect.

The problem was nobody could come up with a name for the band. 

It had been grating on all four of you for weeks, and you didn’t seem any closer to a solution. All of you were just hoping that a name would fall out of the sky in time for your gig at The Hideout. 

‘Ready to pick it back up?’ You asked.

Fletcher wordlessly held up a sheet of music, which you took. 

You scoffed. ‘You can’t be serious.’ 

Elliot looked up at you, doe-eyes wide behind his glasses. ‘Come on, Y/N. You know it would be awesome.’

‘And your voice is fucking killer.’ Fletcher added. ‘You could totally pull this off.’

You looked at both of them in disbelief. ‘I really don’t think I could.’

Bob appeared next to you. He somehow still smelled of freshly laundered cotton and bergamot, which baffled you since he was quite literally dripping with sweat. 

He took the sheet of music from you. ‘I don’t think I know this song. I know the band, not the song.’

You knew it quite well. ‘I Like It Heavy’ by Halestorm was one of the songs you played when getting ready for a night out or in the gym to hype yourself up. To put it simply, it made you feel like a badass. Fletcher connected his phone to the speaker and found the song so Bob could hear it. 

You stood awkwardly with your drink, imagining you singing this in front of people and imagining singing it in front of the likes of Jake and Javy. And Bradley. Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing the words and bopping your head. 

When the song ended, your three bandmates were staring at you expectantly. 

‘What?’ 

‘You already know every word.’ Elliot pointed out. 

You chanced a look at Bob, who was smirking. Yes, that’s right. Bobby Floyd was fucking smirking. 

‘I think we should add it to the setlist.’ He said.

And by God, who were you to deny him when he was standing there looking like that?

‘Fine.’ You relented. 

Bob sat back down at his drumset, and you downed the rest of your drink. The plan was to practise ‘Animal I Have Become’ one last time, but Elliot and Fletcher apparently had other ideas.

‘There’s an instrumental version on YouTube.’ Elliot said slyly. 

‘And?’ You asked, even though you knew what they were getting at. 

‘Sing it for us.’

Perhaps drinking an energy drink hadn’t been your brightest idea. The nerves you felt at the thought of singing this song were suddenly unbearable. Really, you didn’t know why. It was just a song. Sure, it was a gutsy song and would require you to push your voice to the breaking limit, but didn’t you do that anyway?

Fletcher took your silence as his cue to play the song. You stood before your microphone and closed your eyes, envisioning your most confident version of yourself. You took another deep breath.

And then you sang. 

You left your body for the entire length of the song. As much as it had terrified you at first, singing a Halestorm song felt as amazing as listening to one. In a way, it had purged you of a lot of negative feelings. Almost like you’d been exorcised. 

When the song ended and you opened your eyes, Elliot and Fletcher stood up. They clapped, clearly impressed. As much as you valued their opinions, it wasn’t their reactions you so desperately sought. 

Bob gazed up at you from behind his drum set. His eyes weren’t starry like when he heard you sing, play guitar, or breathe; they were dark, all pupil. You knew lust when you saw it. It wasn’t a look you’d ever seen on your best friend before.

It also wasn’t something you planned on forgetting anytime soon. 

Bob Floyd had never put this much effort into getting ready before. As he stood in front of his open closet, debating between two pairs of Carhartt pants, he wondered how women did this daily. And he didn’t mean it misogynistically. In fact, his first experience with outfit anxiety had given him even more respect for women because, boy, he was stressed.

And it wasn’t like it mattered anyway. Bob felt a little stupid that he was getting so worked up. The Dagger Squad had been on plenty of nights out. You’d seen him in navy uniform, flight suits, sweat gym clothes, pyjamas—everything, really. So why was he worried now? 

The Dagger Squad hadn’t been on an outing since Juniper and Ivy, and earlier that day, Javy and Jake had suggested a night out. A real night out, they’d called it. Ultimately, this meant pre-drinks at The Hard Deck and then a visit to the newest nightclub that had opened Downtown. 

Bob hated nightclubs. He’d step foot in maybe two his entire life, and both experiences had been memorable for all the wrong reasons. He was only going because you were going. And because Bradley was going.

It would be a cold day in hell when Bob let you go to a nightclub with Bradley Bradshaw without him. 

In the end, he didn’t choose either of the pairs of pants he was going to wear. He went with black Dickies jeans, black Converse, a Smiths t-shirt and a black and white flannel to go over the top. He’d decided to wear contacts tonight because he felt his glasses messed with the vibe he had going on. He also threw on a baseball cap for good measure because wearing one made him feel less exposed. 

He patted some Bleu de Chanel onto the sides of his neck and headed out the door. Sadly, he wasn’t picking you up tonight. You’d gone over to Nat’s house to get ready, and it was ‘girls only.’ Saying this, Bob wouldn’t be surprised if his two favourite ladies showed up with Mickey in tow. 

He headed straight for the bar when he arrived at The Hard Deck. It was a busy night, and he waited patiently for ten minutes before being served.

‘Hey, Pen.’ He greeted. 

‘Lieutenant Floyd.’ Penny smiled. ‘You look handsome tonight.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘Corona Extra?’ She asked, already reaching into the bottle fridge behind her.

‘Actually, Penny, can I get a Maker’s Mark? On the rocks.’

Penny blinked. ‘Bourbon?’

Bob flushed. ‘I’m partial to one from time to time.’ 

Penny scooped some ice into a whiskey glass and grabbed the bottle. It was way more than a double shot, but that was Penny all over. She treated The Daggers like family. 

‘On the house, Bob.’ She grinned. 

‘Thank you, Penny.’

‘A few of the guys are at your usual table.’ She told him. ‘And before you ask, she’s not here yet.’

Bob didn’t know how to respond to that, so he thanked Penny and was on his way.

Jake, Javy, Mickey, and Reuben were all sitting in their usual corner. When Jake saw Bob approaching, he wolf-whistled, causing everyone else to stop their conversation and look too. Bob hated this kind of attention and didn’t know what he’d done to earn it. It wasn’t like they’d never seen him out of uniform before.

‘Turns out our baby on board isn’t much of a baby after all.’ Jake said.

Mickey was squinting at Bob in a way that made him uncomfortable. ‘There’s something different about you, Bobby.’

‘The hat?’ Javy offered.

Reuben sipped his beer. ‘It’s the glasses.’

Mickey’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. ‘Hey, that’s it! I’ve never really seen you without them.’

Bob’s neck and cheeks suddenly felt extremely hot. He wished somebody would change the subject. ‘Where’s Rooster?’

‘He’s picking the girls up.’ Jake told him. ‘Phoenix’s place is like, a block away from his.’

Bob smiled pleasantly. ‘Is it?’

‘You never been there?’ Javy asked. 

‘Not to Rooster’s place, no.’

‘Well, they should be here any minute.’

Bob felt like he’d missed his mark big time. He sipped his bourbon, and Reuben eyed him curiously, like the all-seeing, omnipresent being that he was.

‘Not like you, Floyd.’

‘I wish people would stop saying shit like that.’ Bob snapped.

Reuben recoiled. ‘Damn. Sorry, man. Just an observation.’

‘No,’ Bob said, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry. That was out of line.’

‘Everything alright with you?’

‘Everything’s fine.’ 

Luckily, Bob didn’t have much time to feel like an idiot.

‘Heyyyyyy! There they are!’ Javy called, standing up.

Bob turned around to see Bradley leading both you and Nat towards the table with a hand on the small of your back. Once he’d finished being pissed off about this, he took in your appearance. Dark flared jeans, cherry-red platform Docs, a white tank top and a deep red leather jacket to match. Your hair was bouncy, like an 80s rock star, and you were wearing dark red lipstick. 

‘Who is this absolute vision?!’ Mickey yelled. 

Jake and Javy both wolf-whistled for the second time that night.

Bob knocked the rest of his drink back. 

‘Well, you said it was a real night out.’ You reminded them. ‘So I pulled out all the stops.’ 

Jake looked Natasha up and down. Black skinny jeans with rips in the knees, cropped white tank, leather jacket with fringe, black cowboy boots—it was hard to miss the way Jake’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

‘And Phoenix. You wear those boots for me?’

Nat rolled her eyes. ‘In your dreams, Bagman.’

‘Well, if you feel like stepping on anyone later,’ he winked. ‘You know where I am.’

‘Okay! After that weird remark, Y/N and I are going to get some drinks. Anyone want anything?’

The group gave their drinks orders. Much to your surprise, Bob asked you for a bourbon.

‘Maker’s Mark tonight, huh?’ 

You knew him well, and you knew that he only ever drank whiskey when you came to his place for movie nights some weekends or when he was drinking to get drunk. And when he was drinking to get drunk, it was usually because he wanted to be someone else for a while. 

You gave him a look that said, ‘We’ll talk about this later’ before sauntering off to the bar with Nat. This was when Bob noticed that the back pockets of your jeans had big, red stars stitched into them.

All the guys noticed, but none of them said anything. Bradley, however, looked at you like you were something to eat. 

Bob was beginning to get a bad feeling about tonight.

Seriously? How was Bradley supposed to look at anything but your ass in those jeans? Those red stars were basically a sign saying, ‘Look at me.’ He wanted to hate himself for it, but you were just so damn fine. 

He’d intended to spend the night pissed at you, but he wasn’t supposed to let on that he knew about the band. And besides, even if he could, he wouldn’t have been able to stay mad at you. Sure, he was slightly hurt that you hadn’t asked him to join or at least tryout and that you thought he would call you lame, but maybe that was his own fault. Maybe he hadn’t done a good enough job of showing you who he really was, showing you that he wasn’t like the others. He was like you. 

Tonight, he planned to change that. 

Bob already had a bee in his bonnet, that much was obvious. He was drinking neat whiskey, for one, and he’d clearly chosen that outfit thinking it was something you’d find attractive. Bradley had no qualms with Bob Floyd. They were friends; they’d had each other’s backs on the mission (and always would), and Bradley had actually been to a couple of local gigs with Bob since being permanently stationed in San Diego. 

Bradley wouldn’t say that the tension between him and your best friend had started after your impromptu shopping trip—the moment Bradley considered as the start of your friendship. No, the tension was new, and it had only begun in the last few weeks. It was because Bob had finally figured out how he felt about you.

Bradley liked Bob, but if there was a chance in hell you might feel the same way about him as he did about you, Bradley wasn’t going to turn you down for Bob’s sake. 

Sorry, Bobby. 

You and Nat came over, each with a tray of drinks in hand. After handing them out, Natasha took the seat between Bob and Jake, leaving you no choice but to sit next to Bradley.

DING DING DING! FIRST POINT TO BRADLEY BRADSHAW!

Bradley smirked. He could feel Bob’s eyes burning holes into him as he raised his glass, and you clinked yours against it. Bradley knew you and Nat had already had a couple of glasses of wine while you were getting ready. He knew this because you’d been unable to look him in the eye when speaking to him all week, and now you were staring him down. It was almost as if you were making up for lost time and making the most of your courage. 

‘What are we toasting to?’ You asked.

Bradley glanced at your lips. What he wouldn’t give to smear that pretty lipstick, to have it stain the collar of his shirt and the skin underneath. 

‘To us. For making it through another week.’

‘To us.’ 

You sipped your vodka lemonade, eyes never leaving his. Bradley shuddered. 

‘Alright,’ Jake announced. ‘Eclipse opens at eleven, so we’ll head over just before. Don’t wanna be standing in line for hours.’

Everyone seemed happy with this plan. Night clubs weren’t really Bradley’s scene, but he’d find a way to have a good time. If you hadn’t come tonight, though, Bradley definitely wouldn’t have come either.

Mickey, who sat opposite, stole your attention. The two of you started talking about a movie Bradley hadn’t watched, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind that much. He was just happy to listen to you talk. 

It was nearly 10:30 PM when Javy suggested a round of shots to see you until you got to the nightclub. 

‘The last time we got shots, Nat threw up in my rose bushes and Bob had to put us both to bed.’ You recounted while Nat groaned in embarrassment. 

Bradley glanced at Bob, who seemed to be stuck somewhere between a laugh and a wince. Bob caught your eye, and Bradley watched you have an entire conversation just through eye contact. 

There was definitely more to that night than what you’d just said, and you and Bob were now caught up in one of your private, nobody-else-exists moments. 

SHOCKING TURN OF EVENTS AS BOB FLOYD EVENS THE SCORE BY EARNING HIS FIRST POINT OF THE EVENING!

‘I say shots are a great idea.’ Bradley announced. 

Nat—who was on Bradley’s other side—leaned in close to whisper: ‘Why, so you can put her to bed this time?’

Bradley’s mouth twitched, but he refused to give himself away. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Trace.’

Javy and Bradley went to the bar to order eight tequila shots, along with lime wedges and salt. 

‘Shit’s about to get messy.’ Javy remarked as they headed back over to the table.

‘Why’d you say that?’ Bradley asked.

‘Every messy night I’ve ever had has started with tequila.’ 

Bradley tried to shake off the feeling that maybe Javy was right, but even he had to admit that the night felt loaded—heavy like a black stormcloud full of rain. 

‘Not too late to turn back.’ Bradley offered.

‘Yeah,’ Javy chuckled. ‘It is. It’s already in motion.’ 

Back at the table, everyone picked up their shot glasses. 

‘To a messy night.’ Javy toasted, grinning like a madman. 

Everyone downed their shots. You looked at Bradley as you slammed your glass down and picked up your lime wedge, sucking on it desperately. He had no idea where the confidence came from, but instead of putting the salt on his own hand after discarding his own lime, he put it on the back of yours and licked it off in one stripe. 

Shock and mischief danced in the depths of your eyes as you followed suit. 

Did that really just happen? Bradley thought he might pass out. 

The nightclub—Eclipse—was a walkable distance from The Hard Deck. You were almost there when Mickey grabbed your arm, pulling you to the back of the formation. Both Bradley and Bob spared you a cursory glance as you were practically dragged past them. Nat appeared at your other side, eyes almost bulging out of her head. 

‘Y/N.’ She whisper-screamed. ‘What the actual fuck just happened in there?!’

Mickey might as well have rubbed his hands together like an evil villain. 

‘You guys saw?’

‘Uh, yeah?’ Nat was looking at you like you had three heads. ‘Everyone saw.’

Your stomach churned. ‘Everyone?’

‘Well, not Jake and Bob.’ 

You breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Ok, that’s good.’

‘Why? ‘Cause you’re still deciding?’ Mickey asked.

You were starting to hate the person you were becoming. ‘I’m starting to feel like a cheap whore.’ You admitted. Nat and Mickey both laughed, but you were being deadly serious.

‘You’re far from a cheap whore.’ Nat said. ‘You could make six figures working three days a week.’

  Now it was your turn to laugh. God, it felt good to laugh. You loved your friends so much. 

‘Let me put it like this,’ she started, all business now. ‘What you just did with Bradshaw—can you picture doing it with Bob? Does he make you wanna do sexy, daring shit like that?’

You didn’t have a simple answer to this question. You thought of Bob, playing drums, all sweaty and hot. But Bradley didn’t need to be doing anything. Merely breathing, he was sexy. So, did that mean your answer was no?

‘What she’s asking is if looking at Bob, you know…makes your body react.’ Mickey said, winking. 

You and Nat both stared at him vacantly.

‘This honorary girl membership is only gonna get you so far. I’m not revealing all that stuff with you!’ You considered this for a moment. ‘But for the record, it has a few times.’

‘But not as much as Bradley?’ Mickey questioned.

‘Not as much as Bradley.’ You agreed.

‘And do you believe he has a thing for you?’

The man in question had his arm around Reuben’s shoulder. They were walking together, laughing at something Javy was saying in front of them. God, what an amazing thing it would be to be loved by him and to feel his light from all sides.

‘There’s something there, but how serious is he? Would it be a one-time thing?’

Natasha shook her head. ‘You really, really do not know him at all if you think that.’

‘Well,’ you pouted, displeased by the accusation. ‘Maybe I ought to get to know him, then.’

Mickey waggled his eyebrows. ‘Oh yeah? What’s that code for?’

You and Nat groaned in unison. ‘For fuck’s sake, Fanboy.’ 

The line for the club wasn’t long at all, thanks to Jake’s idea to get there slightly early. It had only been open for a month or so, and it still had that shiny, new feel. There were multiple different rooms spanning two floors, but The Daggers opted to stay in the main room—at least for now. Jake, Reuben and Nat went to the bar, leaving everyone else to find a table. It was getting busier by the second, but Mickey was able to snag a booth right next to the dancefloor. 

The booths were C-shaped. You scooted right along to be in the middle, giving you a clear view of the dancefloor. Since you were nowhere near drunk enough to get up and dance yet, you shrugged off your leather jacket and made yourself comfortable. 

Bob slid in next to you, and Bradley came around and sat on your other side. Your belly did a weird flip as you tried to work out who you were supposed to be talking to. Mickey—who was trying so hard not to laugh that he actually looked constipated—clambered in next to Bob. 

‘So,’ he chirped. ‘This is nice, huh?’

You glared at Fanboy, wondering if he was close enough that you could kick him underneath the table. 

‘Perfect.’ You grimaced, voice dripping with acid. 

When Nat came over, she looked at Bob, then at you, and finally at Bradley. Bob was talking to Javy, so he didn’t notice her amused giggle. 

‘Alright,’ Jake announced loudly, his signature smirk plastered to his face. ‘Drinks were two-for-one, and shots were a dollar each! Happy hour!’ 

‘Damn,’ Javy exclaimed. ‘They might as well be giving them out for free!’

There were three trays on your table, carrying sixteen drinks and twenty-four shots. You could feel the hangover you were going to have tomorrow morning already. 

‘That’s…a lot of drinks.’ Mickey pointed out, sounding slightly terrified. 

Jake clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You don’t say.’ 

Nat handed you one of your vodka lemonades, and you took it gratefully, desperate for something to do with your hands. It shouldn’t have felt as awkward as it did sitting between Bob and Bradley, but you knew too much for it to feel normal now. Hell, you felt too much for it to be normal. 

The music—which wasn’t anything you knew—blared loudly enough that the bass pounded in your chest like a second heartbeat. It was warm, warmer, still being sandwiched between two men you had crushes on, and your drink went down far too quickly. When Bradley reached over for his drink—a dark rum and coke—his leg brushed against yours, and you ended up staying that way. It was meaningless contact, but it was enough to make you dizzy. 

‘Alright, let’s get a couple of these shots gone.’ Reuben suggested. ‘If we wanna get a few more drinks while happy hour is still on, we’re gonna need to clear some space.’

The idea of buying more drinks when there were this many on the table already seemed ridiculous, but you knew once everyone got riled up, the ridiculous ideas would sound like the smartest ones. 

Everything was a good idea when The Dagger Squad were out drinking together. 

Whoever had decided on the shots had gone for a pick-n-mix approach. There were Jagerbombs, B-52s, fireballs, sambuca shots, lemon drops and a green one that you vowed not to touch. 

‘What are you gonna have?’ You asked Bradley.

His eyes scanned the table before landing on a Jagerbomb. 

He held one out to you. ‘You want one of these too?’

Shaking your head wildly, you said: ‘Absolutely the fuck not.’

Bradley laughed at your terror. ‘Why?’

‘The last time I drank Jagerbombs was in college, and I woke up with bruises on my face.’ You explained, wincing at the memory.

‘Okay, you’ve gotta give me a little more than that.’ He said.

‘Well, I vaguely remember being upright, and the next minute I was on the floor. I didn’t know I was on the floor until my friend Emily picked me up. She had to flirt with the security guard so we didn’t get kicked out.’

‘I can’t imagine you doing something like that, Y/CS.’ Bradley replied. He seemed to have gotten even closer to you without realising. ‘You’re very reserved.’

‘Not always.’ You winked, feeling bold.

You allowed Bradley to sit in stunned silence for a moment or two while you nudged Bob and asked him to pass you a fireball. He was ever so happy to oblige, even being so bold as to grab one for himself. The two of you downed your shots and grimaced in unison, sending you both into fits of giggles.

‘Not like you to do shots with us, Bobby.’ You said, nudging him playfully. 

Bob offered you a lopsided smile. ‘It’s good to let loose once in a while.’

‘There’s letting loose, and then there’s going off the rails.’ You tried to sound lighthearted, but you were genuinely concerned about his out-of-character behaviour. ‘Neat whiskey and shots are generally considered off the rails for you, Bob.’

Bob huffed. ‘Why does everyone seem to think I’m boring? Or that I’m a kid or something.’

You frowned. ‘Nobody thinks that. It’s not a bad thing that you’re more reserved.’ This was all very troubling. ‘When have you ever needed to get drunk to prove something?’

‘I’m not trying to prove anything.’ He insisted. ‘I just wish people would stop treating me like I’m twelve years old or second-guessing me whenever I do something that’s ‘not like me.’’ 

The two of you appeared to have reached an impasse. 

‘Okay, well, I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I was just looking out for you.’ 

‘I can look out for myself just fine.’ 

You knew he didn’t mean it to come out the way it did, but it had, and here you were, pouting. He had never taken that tone with you, never said anything of the sort, and he most certainly hadn’t ever downed two shots in quick succession while you gaped at him like a moron. Before you could come up with a response to his remark, he had turned back to Mickey. 

Alright then. If that was how it was going to be…

‘You know what, Bradley. I think I will have a Jagerbomb.’

Bradley—who had been filming Javy and Reuben’s terrible dancing—cocked an eyebrow sexily.

‘You sure about that, sweetheart?’

And if this didn’t sound like a challenge…

‘Oh yeah, I’m sure.’ 

Bob didn’t know this song. He didn’t know it, and he didn’t like it. What he did like, however, was watching you dance to it. You and Nat were in the middle of the dancefloor with Reuben and Javy, pressed against each other, dancing in a way that he supposed could have been considered sexy. 

Actually, yeah. It was very sexy. 

He hadn’t moved from his spot in the booth. He hadn’t even needed to move when you decided you wanted to get out and dance because you simply climbed right over him. And now he was expected to get on with his life as normal as if you hadn’t been straddling him. Sure, it was brief, but it was still etched into his brain.

Bob wanted to blame his ungentlemanly thoughts on the liquor, but he knew that deep in his subconscious, he’d been thinking about you in this way for a while now. And he’d be damned if there hadn’t been a few occasions where he’d started to believe you were thinking of him in the same way. Band practice the other night was just one example. Of course, there was a high chance that he was making it all up inside his head, but for once, he doubted that. 

He saw the way you looked at him.

But then, there was also the small yet incredibly inconvenient matter of the way you looked at Bradley. 

Bob would be inclined to argue that Bradley had a much better chance than he did. I mean, you’d basically all but confirmed that you saw Bob as someone who needed to be looked out for. Hell, he couldn’t even do a shot without someone asking him if he needed to see a head doctor. 

You weren’t loud and boisterous, and most of the time you felt more comfortable around Bob than anyone else on the planet, but you were still a lot more adventurous than he was. You needed someone who could do both—quiet, but audacious when he wanted to be.

And, that was just Rooster all over, wasn’t it? 

‘No Scrubs’ by TLC came on and you and Nat went wild in the way girls do when a song they like comes on when they’re drunk. Bob couldn’t help but smile at your excitement. You were singing the lyrics at each other at first, but then—much to everyone’s amusement—you and Nat started singing them at Jake. 

‘'Cause I'm looking like class, and he's looking like trash, can't get with a deadbeat ass!’

To be fair to Jake, he stood and took it like a man. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the attention, especially where Nat was concerned. Bob was starting to think there was something behind their friendly rivalry, but neither of them would ever admit it. 

When the song ended, you were giddy and out of breath. Mickey was now on the dancefloor with Javy and Reuben, so there was an empty spot next to Bob. You took it, reaching for your next drink.

‘You good?’ He asked.

‘Perfect. I’m not gonna ask you if you’re good, because you don’t need me looking out for you.’ You said indignantly. 

Bob rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, now.’ 

As you sipped your drink, you watched him. Impressively, you drank half of it in one go, and then you reached up and took his hat off. He felt his hair stick up with static.

‘What are you doing?’ He asked, half expecting you to put it on.

‘This…’ 

You turned the hat around and put it on him backwards, adjusting it with narrowed eyes, trying to get straight. 

When you were done, you sat back and admired your handiwork proudly. 

‘There.’ You grinned. ‘Much better.’

‘And the purpose of that was…’

‘I like a guy in a backwards hat.’ You shrugged.

And with that, you were back off to the dancefloor with Nat. 

It had just gone midnight. Bradley was positively buzzed from all the shots he’d had, but he didn’t want to get too drunk. Why would he want to forget such an amazing night, or miss it while it was still happening because he was paralytic drunk? The idea didn’t appeal to him, so he’d been drinking water for the last half hour. 

‘Bradshaw!’ Jake yelled from across the table. ‘Put that down!’

‘No can do. I don’t feel like being carried home tonight, Seresin.’ 

Jake smirked knowingly. ‘Nah, you wanna be the one doin’ the carryin’, don’t ya.’ 

Hangman’s southern accent always got thicker when he was drunk, a fact that Phoenix found extremely endearing. Earlier, she’d asked him to say loads of different sentences, just so she could hear it. Bradley had every intention of asking her about this when they were sober.

Bradley raised his glass of ice water in response to what Jake had said, mainly for Bob’s sake. He was starting to feel a bit bad for the guy, but to be fair to him, you kept giving him reasons to believe he had a chance. The thing with the hat? What the fuck was that? For all Bradley knew, maybe Bob did have a chance, and he’d been reading this whole thing wrong. 

You and Nat were supposed to be getting more drinks, but you seemed to have disappeared. Mickey was nowhere to be seen as well. Lately, it seemed like the three of you were in on something that nobody else was privy too. 

Bradley made the excuse that he needed the bathroom, and instead went searching for you. Eclipse had multiple different rooms and bars, including a lounge where you could go to chill and cool off for a while. You weren’t in there, you weren’t outside on the patio, and you weren’t in the other room on the bottom floor which was playing 80’s hits. The vibes and the music in there seemed much better, and he made a mental note to check it out later. Maybe he’d take you with him and get you away from the rest of The Daggers. 

Bradley climbed the stairs to the second floor, narrowly avoiding a couple making out against the wall. Up here it was open plan, a big bar against the far wall, and a white dancefloor with little lights peppered across it. The outside edges were lined with white leather benches with pillows scattered across them, and there were candles burning in glass sconces on the walls above. It was as though he’d walked into an entirely different club. 

Up here, the DJ was playing Lana Del Ray, and you and Nat were in the middle of the dance floor (obviously), swaying along and singing. Mickey was at the bar, chatting up a girl, so Bradley didn’t go over to him. He indulged himself and watched you move for a while, hypnotised by the mere sight of you. The lights made you look ethereal. 

He’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad in all his life. Bradley was seriously debating interrupting you, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He couldn’t bring himself to put a stop to it, to the entrancing sight in front of him. 

Turns out, he didn’t need to. Nat had her back to him and you were in front of her whispering something into her ear when you spotted him. You started smirking while you finished whatever you were saying to Nat. Then, you kissed her cheek and you both started heading over to him. 

Nat didn’t stop, she walked straight past him towards the stairs, patting his shoulder as she walked past. It felt like a ‘Go get ‘em tiger’ kind of gesture. 

Bradley looked down at your face. You were gazing up at him, blinking prettily. How was it possible for someone to make blinking pretty? Your cheeks were flushed and you were smiling dopily at him. Clearly, the shots had hit you too. 

But it was the red lipstick he couldn’t get past. 

He reached up and brushed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and you nuzzled your face into his palm. The moment was full of possibility. It was as if time had stopped, and as cliche as it sounded, like nobody else existed except from you and Bradley. He liked it this way, wished it was like this all the time. 

The song faded, and ‘Dancing In The Moonlight,’ started. Bradley leaned down to tell you how much he loved this song, and in response you took his hand and led him out onto the dancefloor. Bradley almost couldn’t believe his luck. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but the Jagerbombs and the smile on your face gave him all the confidence and permission he needed to let loose. He probably looked like a gazelle on ice, but your movements were graceful and carefree. Aside from being up in the air, this was the best he’d felt in a long time. 

The two of you danced for a while. At one point, you looped your arms around his neck and danced close to him, like you’d done with Nat. He couldn’t hide his disappointment when you suggested going down to get another drink.

You linked your fingers through his. ‘Relax!’ You called over the music. ‘I’ve still got a few more dances left in me.’

With that, he reluctantly followed you downstairs. You didn’t let go of his hand and he didn’t let go of yours, which he took as a good sign. In a way, it felt like you were staking your claim on him, and that was definitely something he could get behind. 

Back in the main room, everybody was up dancing, even Bob. It was nice to see, but also strange. Kind of like seeing a bird in an aquarium. 

‘Sex on the beach?’ Bradley whispered into your ear.

You scoffed playfully, turning to face him properly. That look on your face—God. 

‘What did I say about asking me to dinner first?’ You remarked.

Bradley licked his lips. ‘Bet. How about next weekend?’

You pulled your head back in shock, and then let out a delighted laugh. ‘Wow, Bradshaw. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that.’

‘Well,’ he said, closing the distance again. ‘Clearly I haven’t made my intentions clear enough, then.’

You glanced down at your feet having lost your nerve a little. ‘I guess not.’

‘Well, let me make it clear for you. I like you, and I’d love to take you out.’

Shyly, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. ‘You know what, I’d love for you to take me out.’

Bradley beamed. ‘Well then, it’s settled.’ 

‘I guess it is.’ 

You gave it half an hour before dragging poor Nat off the dancefloor and outside onto the patio. There were lots of people out there smoking, talking and getting some air. Personally, you’d never needed fresh air more in your entire life.

‘Between you and Bradshaw, I get dragged all over the place.’ 

‘Sorry, Nix. I gotta talk to you.’

‘I know.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I left you alone with him for an hour and all of a sudden he’s buying everyone drinks.’

‘Was it him who bought that bottle of prosecco?’

‘Yep. It’s a big ass bottle.’ Nat emphasised. 

You groaned. ‘Bob is gonna be so upset.’

Natasha grabbed you by your shoulders and gave you a good shake. 

‘What was that for!’

‘You like Bradley, Y/N! Your body gets a reaction, you said it yourself.’

‘Nothing happened, but we’re going out for dinner next weekend.’ Your stomach twisted at the thought, nerves already getting the better of you. 

‘That’s great! So why don’t you look happy?’

‘I am happy.’ You told her, because you were. ‘I just feel guilty. I like Bobby, I really do. And I guess in the process of figuring my head out, I’ve messed with his a little.’ 

Nat made a sympathetic noise. ‘Then you need to be honest with him, and put it right. Don’t mess with his head any more.’

‘Okay.’ You nodded. ‘I can do that.’ 

Arm in arm, you headed back inside and to the dancefloor. It was getting late, and you got the feeling everyone would be heading off soon. Even if they weren’t, you would be. You were starting to see double, all truth be told.

You had every intention of giving Bradley another dance, but then you saw Bob. He was standing by the bar, and when you locked eyes with him, he nodded towards the lounge. He didn’t look sad, but Bob could be very stoic when he wanted to be. If he didn’t want anyone knowing how he felt, he could hide it well. 

There was a vast array of different shots on the table still. You knocked another fireball back for good measure, before following after Bob. 

You sashayed into the lounge like nobody’s business. Bob had claimed a loveseat in the corner with the intention of setting a few things straight, but now he finally had his chance, his mind was coming up short.

‘What’s up?’ You asked, taking a seat next to him.

Bob sipped his umpteenth drink, more for something to do with his hands than anything else. 

‘Bobby?’

Bob set his drink down on the table next to him and cupped your face in his hands. He didn’t give himself time to think about it, he just pressed his lips to yours. He could feel your shock, but he didn’t let up. Instead, he put a hand on the top of your thigh, finally starting to touch you in all the places he’d been wanting to for months. You were kissing him back, but not with the passion he’d been expecting.

He thought you wanted this too. 

You pulled back and laid a hand on his chest. It was gentle, but it told him everything he needed to know.

‘Y/N.’ He said hoarsely. ‘I-’

And then you were kissing him, and he could taste the cinnamon and the whiskey in your mouth. The sober, sane part of his brain knew that this wasn’t coming from a good place, that you were both too drunk to be making moves like this, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to pull away and it didn’t seem like you were going to either.

The whole world started and ended with your lips on his. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough. 

When you eventually pulled away again, your lipstick was smeared. 

‘Fuck.’ You gasped. ‘Bob, I’m sorry.’

‘Why are you saying sorry?’ 

‘I didn’t think this through. This shouldn’t have happened like this, I have things I need to talk to you about.’

Bob felt sick. ‘What things?’

‘God, lots of things really. I’m such an awful friend!’ You leaned over, elbows on your knees and head in your hands. 

Bob had no idea what was going on. This was the most confused he’d ever been in his whole life, but he had a nagging feeling that Rooster had something to do with this. Goddamn Rooster. Always in the way.

‘I gotta go. I can’t do this.’ You stood up and ran your hands through your hair. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I need to go home.’

‘Y/N, wait. You’re drunk, let me call you a cab, I-’

‘Bob, you deserve better than me.’ You choked back a sob. ‘You deserve so much better.’

And with that, you were running out of the club. Bob was seriously panicking. What if you got hurt? You’d had enough liquor to kill a horse, and to make matters worse, you were upset. Bob sprinted out of the lounge and back to the rest of The Daggers. They were all back at the table, finishing up their drinks.

He grabbed Nat’s arm. ‘Did you see Y/N?’

All it took for Nat to figure out what had happened was a quick look at his mout, which Bob was sure was smeared with your lipstick. She ran out of the bar with her phone in hand, Mickey hot on her heels. Bradley was staring at him, prosecco glass dangling from his limp hand. Clearly he’d figured it out too—it didn’t take a genius. Bradley looked ruined, and the guilt and anxiety were starting to creep in. 

It was moments like these were Bob needed his best friend most. He needed your advice, your comfort and your presence. But how could he ask you for comfort and advice when you were both in the same situation?

Bob was starting to feel a little like the universe was playing some big, cosmic joke on him. 

He should’ve listened to his gut instinct about tonight. 

A/N: The long-awaited third part! Honestly, the ending of this physically hurt! I have so much planned for the next part, including the first gig. I'm really looking forward to sharing it.

Taglist: @dearsnow@avythef1addict (tagging my fav online friend who singlehandedly gave me the courage to start writing this fic again!)

[kasiewrites]

Why Ace?

Y/cs: Ace

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x reader

Just a little fluff.

You’re sitting in the hard deck in a booth near the pool table, just drinking your beer when you heard someone coming up to you. “Hi, mind if I take this seat?” Bob asks, “no sure you can sit if you want.”

After sitting in silence for a while he finally asks you: “so how did you get your callsign?” “Oh um, well, a couple of people from my class were going out for trivia night and since I didn’t have anything else to do I asked if I could join and well, the short story is, uhm, no matter what the question was I always answered correctly.” You explain “so and then you know afterwards people just started calling me Ace, so yeah…. What about you why Bob?” You ask. “Uh, well, uhm, I was always quiet so they couldn’t name me after a mistake that I made or something stupid I said or did, so when it came time to graduate I just got called Bob and it stuck with me.” He explained.

After that the two of you just started normal flowing conversation and enjoyed the rest of your night.

[hotmalemugshots]

Floyd Irvin Jr Sanders

Arrest Date: 05/01/2025

Charges (3):

STALKING

BENCH WARRANT/DEF FEL

POSS CS PG 1/1-B >=1G<4G

[twstedteaparty]

rules/about the owner/general information

Rule1: you may request ships, short snipets, head cannons

Rule2:i will not write anything proship or anything gross.

Rule3:ageless blogs/minors don’t fucking interact with my page i beg

Rule4:any smut that is written will be crap because I’m a loser virgin.

Rule5: im open to rp (not currently ill make a post with my ocs most of the them will be twst related because that is the fandom this is for ill make a separate post for rp stuff)

Hi, I’m major (name change so all my blogs are connected) it’s nice to meet everybody. This blog will be 18 plus. I, my self am an adult, I will post when ever and what ever I feel like tho I will on occasion take requests. i have been playing twst for a little over a month.Most of this will be shit posty.

heres a few facts about me: -im 19 a legal adult -i work part time so it will take a bit to prosess requests and stuff -my favorite dorm in twist is ingihyde -my top three favorite characters are leona idia and vil -my top three least favorite charavterss are lilia sebek and floyd (i havent gotten idias dorm card beacause of them always showing up -ive made a couple twst ocs

cxr= cannon x reaer

cxoc= cannon x original character

Oc= original characters

Hc=head canons

Cs=crack ship

Ncc=non canon compliant

Cc=canon compliant

Everything will get tagged if it’s 18+

My main blog: @majorpainintheeass

My personal blog: @coffeandalesbian

[mnty-bubblegmyum]

I JJUST WANT YIU TO FUCK ME 🗣️🗣️ @p6ww6a

@p6ww6a I'LL HEC I'LL POSSES YOU

[adventuringblind]

Thank you for the tag @lellabellawrites (I DIDN'T KNOW WE WERE MUTUALS???? I'm sorry T_T)

My WIP's are a literal mess but HERE WE GO!

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs

OC is the reader insert just so we're all on the same page here!

Shorts & oneshots

LN/OP - BDSM AU - ANGST - (Protective Oscar? sure, wth not)

OP/LN/OC and CS/OC (Sorry Carlos)- Hurt/Comfort - Oops… I Lied - PART 1

LL/OC - ED Hurt/Comfort - Shame On Them for Shaming You

LN/OP/OC - BDSM AU - ANGST - Religious TrAuMa (FEAT. Oscar being a mess because he can't be everywhere at once)

OP/OC - HURT/COMFORT - COLLARS

LN/OP - Hanahaki

LN/OP - SMUT - It’s giving… boundaries - F2 GRID POLYCULE BECAUSE I SAID SO - (Vel, please stop letting me do these things)

LN/OP - SMUT/FLUFF - A/B/O - MPreg - The Consequences of OUR Actions, Oscar

LN/OP - SMUT - The breaking point is behaving... *shrugs*

LN/OP - SMUT - Free Use - (Dom Oscar bein a pervert AGAIN... does it count if he's not actually doing much? Also Jendo and Loscar and Lestappen and Charlos and Norstappen AND EVERYBODY FUCKING IG)

MV/CL - ANGST - Loves Fucking Embarrassing - (sorry Kelly I needed a Villian.... not sorry Jos because FUCK YOU)

LS/OP - ANGST - (question: how long can adrenaline keep you awake while driving and bleeding out because Logan decided to be self stabby RIGHT BEFORE THE RACE?)

LN/OP/MV - DBH AU - Do Androids Have Dicks? - PART 2 (and 3 and 4 and possibly 5 now???)

OP/LN - ANGST - Stop the Noise; It’s Too Quiet - PRETTY BOYS ARE SAD BOYS ARE CRYING

LL/LS/OP/OC - Hurt/Comfort - It’s A Little Dark In Here

Series

Matilda: Chapter Four

Kill me Kill me Kill me: REWRITE IN PROGRESS AND I'M SO EXCITED ABOUT IT

Pretty to Me: My Pretty Boy

Love, come in, the water is fine: New Landoscar series I'm working on

So okay... I have A LOT of WIPS. Apologies to anyone who can't manage their way through my messy writing. I'm a disorganized mess who can't plan my writing because I never stick to the plan anyway.

ASK AWAY PLEASE I WANNA YAP

Tagging: @481boxboxbaby (Mom is responsible for a lot of these btw) @nurse-floyd (cause you feed content I NEED) and idk @vellicora (Vel) has any wips but like she's responsible for a good portion of the things on this list as well <3

[princesslily444]

glass onion but the dagger squad:

bradley bradshaw - actor!!!! rich famous actor, kinda himbo maybe like the birdie jay of the group but much less offensive

jake seresin - kinda gives the miles bron of the group vibe, rich maybe old money, all hanging on to his ‘golden titties’

natasha trace - gives major claire debella vibes. maybe not a mother or anything but hardcore girlboss politician or lawyer or something like that

reuben fitch - IDK WHY BUT GIVING BENOIT BLANC VIBES?? like maybe the moustache just gives detective but in my mind hes benoit.

mickey garcia - he would probs be the duke of the group. defo not right wing mens rights vibe but gives twitch/yt streamer vibes maybe just a gamer?

javy machado - i cannot decide who he would be cs the only person left us cassandra/helen but he def does not give them vibes so maybe id make him an added person to the group and make andi an oc?? or shes just not part of this ig🤷‍♀️

robert floyd - def gives lionel vibes, super smart and nerdy, stylish and definitely quite scared of jake(miles) and finds it hard to say no to his demands

[scxttershot]

— character info sheet.

(repost, don’t reblog)

name: Floyd Lawton.

name meaning: Floyd, meaning "gray or gray-haired". There's many ways we could interpret the word "gray"; Floyd's life has been a series of miseries, so I'd argue it's indeed quite dismal! Lawton, derived from Old English and roughly meaning "old farmstead estate".

alias/es: Deadshot. Keep it simple, Floyd.

ethnicity: Presumably at least part English, at least in that way that a lot of Americans have English ancestry but have no real connection to the country. Headcanon-wise, he is the usual generic White American Admixture + Tongan on his mother's side. Passing for white is conditional, as always, and he gets pretty dark when he tans.

one picture / icon you like best of your character:

three h/cs you never told anyone:

Floyd can sing! I personally headcanon him to sound a bit like Justin Furstenfield of the band Blue October; smoky, raspy, haunted voice full of all the agonies he'll never say.

Managed to kill a target with only a NERF gun once. I refuse to elaborate, because it's a lot funnier if I don't.

After years of hanging out with the Six, Floyd doesn't actually give a shit about what pronouns you call him. He'll respond consistently to "Floyd" and that's all anyone needs to know about him. Still goes by He/Him but literally just does not care to correct people if or when they assume otherwise.

three things your character likes doing in their free time: 

Smoking, obviously.

Have mentioned he's into whittling; he'll whittle just about anything cleavable enough if left alone with it, including bars of soap and candles.

Oddly enough, playing Angry Birds. [just a personal headcanon] Zoe got him into it.

eight people your character likes / loves:

I feel like I'd be cheating if I listed the entire Secret Six but I will mention them regardless [sobs in I have never seen a decent Catman RPer]

His daughters, Zoe and Suchin.

Owen Mercer. @playedbetter it's partly a fondness because Floyd knows his father extremely well.

Mary! @babydxhl Smoke buddies.

@ people: yeah IDK interact with me more?? Shrug. My problem is mostly that he doesn't really know people.

two things your character regrets:

Killing his brother, Edward, on accident. This is just canon.

[headcanon] letting his mother take advantage of him sexually. We love survivor's guilt here at scattershot.com!

one phobia your character has:

Does seeing himself nude count? Floyd basically goes into autopilot when showering, having sex, etc. He will literally never get over this also.

Tagged by: I stole this lmfaooo Tagging: @minodalus , @cxpperhead , @playedbetter specifically for Lori, @telekinctic , IDK will think of more people later it's 1 AM and I am Neil banging out the tunes

[thatbennybee]

ChordStriker!Floyd ft. CS!Creek

Floyd is hanging out in Volcano Rock City keeping a lower profile... But after hearing the name of a troll he used to know from a sulky Creek pining after the Queen, he's sticking around a little longer to help him move on and perhaps learn more about that troll with a familiar name.

Creek is kind of pathetic in this au ngl.. I don't plan to kill him off, so I plan to bully him instead 🔥 Isn't he kinda pretty tho?? 💖💖

I had so much fun with making creek look cool, too bad he's lame as hell!! He's a psychedelic rock troll and he can actually float on his own!! He can't really read minds or fortunes like his Nan, Wind Blitz (Wind Breeze) or his sister, Cybil, but he can SORTA see the future with slightly better than usual intuition!! That counts, right?? 💔

[crypticsalutations]

A Conversation with Simon Edwards: Bassist, Backing Vocalist, and Co-Lyricist of Saturnalia

Saturnalia. A short lived, Leek based post punk project built between friends in the 1980's, but for Cryptic Salutations they represent so much more; the beginning of an era. Coming across The Cold Night Air deep within the forgotten recesses of YouTube one night a few years ago, I had no clue that a band with only four publicly released tracks would leave such an impression that their very existence would contribute to the birth of an entire blog. This blog. This one right here. When I started sharing tracks, I'd never planned to go in an interviewing direction. I just wanted to share my interest in obscure music with others and find a bunch of cool jams along the way. One thing I noticed consistently, however, was that many of these bands and artists I'd come to enjoy were pretty much faceless. Maybe one obfuscated photo here and there, or names that were seemingly untraceable, and Saturnalia was no exception.

Cover of Inside the Devil's Circle 7" single, previously the only identifiable image of the band online With only one black and white photo, as well as first initials and last names listed in one of their singles, Saturnalia were effectively... nobody. You had to know them to know them, pretty much. For some reason though, this anonymity intrigued me. It was just baffling that a band could drop 4 banger tracks, then disappear into the world without leaving so much as a foot print. Who were they, what was their inception like, and where were they now? This curiosity is almost singlehandedly what changed the direction of Cryptic Salutations. Every few months I would poke around online in attempt to get this thing rolling, but I hit road blocks time and time again. I'd already interviewed the likes of Steinhardt and Jonathan Lemon, so I figured I just wasn't looking hard enough... Until I stumbled upon, hilariously, a Facebook post. A Leek local was sharing his memories of Saturnalia, and also appeared to be part of their local music scene. It was the closest lead I'd ever gotten, so I contacted him, and it magically paid off! To make a long story short, I was put into contact with Simon, who played bass, sang backing vocals, and co-wrote Saturnalia's lyrics, and today he has offered to answer some of my burning questions regarding the how's, why's, and when's of the band. It was exciting enough for me to rise out of the coffin of hiatus-land, so I'm very pleased to bring you the interview here in full! Enjoy! Interview below

Cryptic Salutations: What is the story of Saturnalia’s beginnings?

Simon Edwards: The roots of Saturnalia came from four school friends jamming together in bedrooms and garages, learning to play our instruments, and figuring out how to play together. I played bass guitar, occasional double bass, and did backing vocals, Dave Woodcock played keyboards, Jonathan Kirk was on drums, and Steve 'Spacebat' Masters was on main vocals, guitar and sax.

In the last six months or so of the band's existence, we added a second guitarist, Martin Hedley.

CS: What first got you into music? Who were your inspirations?

Simon: Punk and new wave gave us the impetus to do something, without having to be virtuosos. A couple of the guys had also been into Pink Floyd previously, and later we were all quite open to all kinds of influences. Dave Woodcock and I got quite into jazz theory and tribal sounds. I'd say that some of the band's main contemporary influences were Ultravox (pre-Midge Ure), Psychedelic Furs, Japan, Joy Division, The Stranglers, Talking Heads and Chrome.

New photos courtesy of Simon CS: What was the band’s creative process like?

Simon: Ordinarily, someone would bring a chord sequence or a riff along to a rehearsal, and we'd jam around it, but on occasion Dave W or Spacebat would bring an almost complete idea. The lyrics were written by me or Spacebat, about half-and-half.

CS: Were there ever any live shows, if so, does footage exist, and did you enjoy playing live?

Simon: We played about fifteen or twenty live shows, mostly in our local area, in community halls, pubs, nightclubs, the local university student bar, but we also got to play one gig in London, at the iconic Marquee Club on Wardour Street. I don't believe any live footage exists, but I'd love to be proved wrong!

CS: Where has life taken you since the end of Saturnalia?

Simon: About a year after Saturnalia split up, I moved to London with Martin Hedley and my then girlfriend, and formed a band called Ask Virginia, which lasted a few years, played a few gigs and recorded loads of demos. I then joined Martin's resurrected band, Bible For Dogs, which was a frantic punk-jazz experience. I currently curate and present a specialist music show called Loose Canon, which is broadcast in the UK, Hong Kong and Bulgaria. I'm also a music promoter in my local area, specialising in alternative/indie/post-punk/punk.

Spacebat and Kirk now live about an hour from me, and we still get together now and again for a few drinks and a jam session. Dave Woodcock lives in Canada, but we see each other every couple of years. Martin Hedley lives on the south coast, and is in a horror swamp blues band called The Wattingers.

CS: In your own opinion, what do you think of the music industry then and now?

Simon: In the seventies and eighties, it was so much easier to get people to come out to gigs, at least in a small town, as there was so little else to do. Selling vinyl was so much easier, too – local bands like us would print a thousand or two thousand 7” singles, and easily sell most of them through local record shops.

CS: Of Saturnalia’s four tracks, did you have one that stood out to you as ‘the best?’

Simon: Of the four tracks on the Saturnalia singles, my favourite was 'Girl On The 8th Floor' - I think we'd all found our own musical voices by that point. All four of the original members had a creative hand in putting the song together, and I wrote the lyrics. I feel that the track still holds up well, is very evocative, yet still obviously of its time.

Lyrics from 'Girl On The 8th Floor / The Cold Night Air' 7" single CS: If you could give your past self any advice, what would it be?

Simon: I'd tell my younger self to stick to his guns, not compromise musically, and generally be a bit more pushy.

CS: How was the name ‘Saturnalia’ chosen?

Simon: I really can't remember how the name came about, to be honest, but a three out of four of us voted for it.

CS: Are there any unique stories behind the lyrics? ‘Inside the Devils Circle’ has a particularly interesting narrative.

Simon: 'Devils Circle' was one of Spacebat's lyrics – I seem to think that he got the idea from a film, but I don't remember which one. Most of my own lyrics were written using a variation on Bowie's cut-up technique.

Lyrics from 'Inside the Devil's Circle' 7" single CS: Anything else you’d like to share or promote?

Simon: I'm sending you rehearsal room demos of three more Saturnalia tracks (CS Note: Find the track 'Oh Tara' below!!), which I hope you'll enjoy – feel free to play any of them to your listeners, if you'd like to. I'll also include a studio demo from another band I mentioned, Ask Virginia, from around 1986. Anyone who's interested in current alternative/indie/post-punk etc might like to listen to my radio show, Loose Canon – here's a link to my Soundcloud account, where there are a large number of archive shows: Link

Never before seen 'Oh Tara' rehearsal room demo

[xjulixred45x]

Floyd might call Child Star!Yuu a ‘Starfish’ or ‘Feather Star’

Feather Stars aren’t aggressive, rather they’re peaceful are reef-safe (Meaning they don’t cause harm or problems in their environment), self-sufficient, able to survive on their own (Like how CS!Yuu had to learn to fend for herself because of her time), they’re graceful when they swim (Like how SC!Yuu leaves others in awe to her dancing) and can camouflage (SC!Yuu learned how to mask into any role given to her for the Silver Screen and disguise her talents/abilities)

Starfish are more assertive compared to Feather Starfish, can adapt to their environments (from deep ocean depths to rocky shores) as well as regenerate their lost limbs, a good symbol to overcome hardships (Like how CS!Yuu constantly overcomes her many misfortunes and trials)

But what makes both species stand out is that they don’t have brains, rather they react upon reflexes and stimuli (To symbolize CS!Yuu’s childhood and preadolescent stage as she has a much simpler mentality compared to all the Teenagers and Adults in NRC, but also showing that CS!Yuu has her OWN ways to solve problems)

I couldn’t decide between them because both animal have ‘Star’ in their name, which fits Child Star!Yuu

💖 Anon

The part of "no brains" remind me a little of the jellyfish! But i get what You mean. I would Say it's Stafish, not only BC is the more "obvious" but BC of the aspect of mixing with the enviorment, like Child Star Yuu had to do in orden to he taken care of/survive in the industry.

[callsign-mayhem]

i'm with the band (part 1)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female!Reader & Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader (final pairing to be revealed at the end...) Word count: 7.6k CW: Use of Y/N; reader wears Dr Martens, but that's the only specific detail.

You discover that your best friend Bob can play the drums, and since you have some musical gifts of your own, you decide to start a navy band. It's supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but what happens when lines get blurred between you and Bob, feelings come to the surface, and a certain Rooster gets jealous?

This is a multi-part fic. Part two Part three

‘If I’d known you could play the drums like that,’ you said, looping your arm through Bob’s. ‘I’d have suggested starting a band months ago!’ 

As the two of you walked across the near-empty runway, you mourned all the time you’d wasted already and wondered how soon you could get a move on with your idea. Bob was smiling shyly, eyes fixed firmly on the tarmac. You knew he didn’t think he drummed well enough to be in a band. You also knew he had a habit of being too hard on himself. 

It was pure chance that had led you to discover Bob’s affinity for music. You’d been standing outside the front door of his house with a box of doughnuts in your hand, ready to surprise your friend, when you’d frozen. 

Somebody was drumming—drumming well.

 It sounded perfect, not just messy noise and missed beats, and it was coming from Bob’s small garage. Resolutely, you’d hurried back down the stairs that led up to the red front door and crept across the well-kept lawn. Once you’d safely hidden behind a fern closer to the garage, you’d realised that a backing track was playing over a speaker, which Bob was drumming to. It was a Catfish and the Bottlemen song—one of his favourite bands. Even now—days later—you still weren’t over it; how your heartbeat had fallen in time with Bob’s drumming and how alive it had made you feel. 

And then there was the small matter of how good he’d looked doing it. 

Bob Floyd had been your closest friend in San Diego since you were first called back to TOPGUN many moons ago. Both of you were Weapons Systems Officers; this similarity was the gravitational force that had pulled you together, but how much you had in common kept you that way. With this being said, you were having a hard time justifying your body’s reaction when you peeked around the fern and into the garage that day. He was wearing a white t-shirt, the front of which was soaked with sweat, his hair was uncharacteristically mussed, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. 

Eventually, you’d decided to announce yourself, but not before heavily debating whether or not you should just take yourself home and have a cold shower. In the days since, your brain had habitually dredged your unholy thoughts up from the dark corner you’d haphazardly shoved them into. The veins in his hands and forearms, the way his biceps moved when he hit the drums, the furrow of his sweat-slicked brow, his messy hair… It was too much. 

The two of you were nearing the changing rooms, where you’d go separate ways to shower and change. You knew if you let the idea of starting a band drop again, that would be it. Bob would have to give in eventually, so long as you were persistent. 

‘You’re so talented, Bobby.’ You said. ‘I can play guitar, and I’m an alright singer. We’d only need to find a bass player and a lead guitarist.’ 

Bob scoffed. ‘You’re more than alright, Y/CS. Now who’s the one putting themselves down?’

Your face heated up, and for once, you were glad that Bob struggled to maintain eye contact. 

‘Well, thank you.’ You murmured.

Momentarily disarmed, you walked a few paces in companionable silence. Surprisingly, Bob was the one to break it. 

‘I’m not saying no,’ he told you. ‘I’m just not thrilled at the idea of people hearing me play. I didn’t even tell you that I could.’

‘And that’s saying something,’ you grumbled. ‘Okay, let’s shelve it for now. What do you say we go out for drinks tonight, and we can brainstorm.’

Luckily, Bob wasn’t in the habit of saying no to his best friend. 

He probably couldn’t even if he wanted to. 

Summer was winding down, and although it was never freezing in San Diego, the evenings were beginning to get chillier. As you approached The Hard Deck and saw Bob sitting outside waiting, you were glad you’d decided to wear a jacket. 

He sat with his back to the bar, looking out over the sand and the ocean beyond it. The fiery sunset made it seem like the beach was doused with honey, and you were momentarily reminded why you loved your station so much. You didn’t want to startle Bob, who was—let’s face it—easily startled, so you walked around the car park and up the decking instead of going up behind him. He watched you close the short distance from the edge of the seating area to the table with an easy smile on his face. 

That’s how it always was with you and Bob. Easy. 

‘I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.’ He said as you took the seat opposite him.

‘Sorry. I was gonna drive, but then I decided it was too nice, and I didn’t know if we’d drink much.’

‘I never drink much.’

You reached over and ruffled his perfect hair. ‘I know, Bobby, but there’s a first time for everything.’

A Peroni was already waiting for you, and Bob was nursing an ice-cold Corona Light. He probably wouldn’t drink more than two tonight since it was a work night. Then again, he remained his sensible self on the weekends too. Jake and Bradley had tried countless times to get him to ‘let loose,’ and you’d backed Bob up every single time, telling them firmly that not everybody needed to get shit-faced to have a good time. Jake usually responded with some variation of ‘you don’t need a car to get places either, darlin’, but it sure helps.’ 

You took a sip of your pint, glad to find it had a dash of lime. Bob never forgot anything, least of all your drink order. 

‘So,’ you grinned devilishly. ‘The band.’

The corner of his lips twitched as he fought a smile. ‘There is no band.’

‘There is no band yet. I plan on changing that. I think we should make a poster to put up around base. There’s a notice board in the female changing rooms, so I’m assuming there’s one in yours, too. We could also put a few up in the barracks.’ 

Even though Bob seemingly didn’t want to start this band, he suggested asking Penny’s permission to put some in both bathrooms in The Hard Deck as well. 

‘While we’re at it, we could put a few up around town,’ you added. ‘Unless we want this to be a navy-only band.’  

Bob pushed his glasses up his nose and sipped his beer. You knew him well, including all his mannerisms and facial expressions. He was antsy and had the look he always had when Jake or Javy tried to extort personal information from him, like if he’d slept with anyone lately. 

‘There’s something you don’t wanna tell me.’ You stated. 

‘No, there isn’t.’ He tried to insist, but his heart wasn’t in it.

‘Look, Bobby. We don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll drop it now and never speak of it again.’ For whatever reason, you found yourself reaching out and taking his hand. It was cold from gripping his beer bottle. ‘But before you say yes to that with what I’m sure will be a massive amount of relief, I want you to know that you’re mega-talented. It’s not just a case of me thinking it—it’s an undeniable fact. If we find some decent bandmates and give this our all, we could have a lot of fun.’ 

Bob’s eyes were boring holes into the wooden picnic table. ‘I know we’d have fun, but would we have to play in front of people?’

‘If you really didn’t want to, we wouldn’t. But we’ve gotta find two more members and see if we can all work together before we even start thinking about that kind of thing.’ You squeezed his hand reassuringly. ‘It’s just a bit of harmless fun. What do you say?’

He met your eyes and smiled sheepishly. ‘Okay, fine.’

‘Yay!’ You shouted, practically jumping out of your seat to run around and hug him. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck from behind and leaned down so your face was next to his. After the initial shock had worn off, he reached up and put his hands over your forearms. It was the most awkward hug ever, but it was the best the two of you could do at such short notice. 

‘I’ll start working on the posters tomorrow when I get home.’ 

Bradley knew that you and Bob were close, and he understood why. You were both WSOs, both loved music, and you were both quiet. When the group was overly drunk or rowdy, or the conversation ended up in territories neither of you was comfortable with, you retreated into your own private world. Bradley had seen it happen more than enough times: the way you eased each other’s anxiety just by sitting close together, the knowing looks you shared when one of the daggers did something predictable, the inside jokes and references you made that left everyone else feeling like they were on the outside of something.

It was hard to ignore.

Bradley wasn’t as unruly as Mickey or as daring as Jake and Javy. He wasn’t as stern and fierce as Natasha and didn’t ramble about sports when drunk like Reuben. But he wasn’t a wallflower like you or Bob, either. He was something else entirely. 

Bradley prided himself on his ability to fit in anywhere. He could talk to almost anyone about anything, but still, he felt something was missing. He didn’t have one specific person he thought he was in tandem with. At first, he liked it. When he was young, he thought it meant he was just a social butterfly, able to jump from group to group and fit into them all. As he got older, he felt out of step, like one of his legs was longer than the other.

He wanted to find his person. The one he could sit with at the bar and judge everyone else with. The one he could communicate with through a single facial expression or private joke—whose mere presence would comfort him. 

Bradley was sitting inside with the rest of the daggers. They were only having a quiet few, then heading home. Natasha was thrashing Mickey at pool, and Jake was attempting to show Javy how he managed to get a bullseye almost every time in darts. Bradley and Reuben sat at a high table nearby, chatting about this and that. They were next to the window that looked out across the outdoor seating area, and Bradley had been glancing at you and Bob all evening. At first, he’d been waiting for you to wrap things up and come and join in. Then, when you came in to get another drink before heading back outside, he wondered if something had happened. Maybe it was something you didn’t want to talk to the rest of the daggers about. He watched as closely as he could without making it evident to the rest of his friends. Natasha was already convinced he had a thing for you—he didn’t feel like adding fuel to that particular fire today, thank you very much. 

Judging by the way you were talking exciting with your hands, he knew the two of you weren’t talking about something bad. Then, he saw you run around the table and hug Bob, and he wondered if he’d gotten this totally wrong. The whole group, aside from him and Natasha, were convinced that you and Bob were more than best friends. Jake and Javy teased you incessantly, and he was pretty sure that Mickey had started the bet on base as to how long it would take for the two of you to admit your feelings for one another. Bradley had ten bucks on this never happening because he was very close with Nat who was very close with you, and you always reassured her that you and Bob weren’t a thing. Bradley wasn’t a girl, but he understood that if you were lying, Natasha would know. Girlfriends always know when their girlfriends are lying, especially regarding guys. 

So Bradley was confused. He’d never seen you and Bob hug before, and you’d never spent a whole evening separate from the group, knowing said group was ten feet away. Something was going on, and Bradley was desperate to know what. Part of him wanted to take this to Natasha for a second opinion, but she would only accuse him of jealousy. 

Maybe he was jealous, but he didn’t need his best friend telling him that. How could he not be jealous when you looked, walked, and talked like that? When were you so intelligent, caring, and mindful of other people’s feelings? When you sang with him at the piano some nights, music coursing through your veins the same way it coursed through his?

Bradley had always known that you and Bob were close. He understood why. But just because he understood why didn’t mean he had to be okay with it. 

Bob was working out in the gym on base when you cornered him the next day. It had been a slow morning and an even slower afternoon, which was welcomed after almost a fortnight of incessant training courses. He was lifting weights with his headphones on when he felt a presence at the bottom of the bench. He finished his reps, lifted the barbell back onto its stand and sat up. You were standing with a stack of papers in your hands and a face that meant business, and you were saying something Bob couldn’t hear. He removed his headphones, just about catching the back end of your sentence.

‘—so all you need to do is put one in the guy’s changing rooms and stalls. Mav is taking some to Penny’s tonight.’ 

This was all happening very fast.

‘I thought you were making posters tonight after work.’ He said, scratching the back of his head.

‘I was, but I couldn’t sleep when I got home ‘cause I was too excited.’ 

It pleased Bob to see you so joyful and filled with passion. There was nothing he loved more. But he couldn’t help but feel strange about the whole band thing. You were never supposed to find out that he could drum, mainly because he didn’t think he was that great at it. He was embarrassed that you’d seen him so unfiltered, and in a way, it made him feel vulnerable. The prospect of other people seeing him in the same way made him more than a little nervous. On a daily basis, he blended into the background. The only person he stood out to most of the time was you; he liked it that way. He didn’t want to stand out to anyone else; he didn’t want anyone’s eyes on him. 

But he had to admit that making music with you did seem appealing. The two things he loved most in the world come together as one. If the band ended up being as good as you wanted it to be and you managed to score some gigs, he would find a way to be okay with it. 

Anything to keep that smile on your face. 

‘You wanna come over later?’ Bob asked. ‘We could order dinner, maybe try out a few songs. I haven’t heard you sing in a while, and you’ve never played your guitar for me.’ 

You flushed scarlet, and Bob wondered if you were just as shy when playing for people as he was. You hid it better than he did, like everything else. 

‘That’d be nice. We can start thinking about a setlist.’

‘I think we need to find some bandmates before we make a setlist.’

‘It doesn’t hurt to have some ideas for when we finally meet aforementioned bandmates,’ you said optimistically. ‘I think they’ll find our eagerness enticing.’

Bob couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You’re perfect, you know that?’

He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so it was somehow easier to keep eye contact. Like being half-blind made him more confident. He supposed if he couldn’t see your reactions clearly, he wouldn’t have to worry about what he said as much. 

‘Well, so are you.’ You replied timidly. 

‘My place at seven?’

‘It’s a date.’

Bob was only half blind, not totally. He saw your whole demeanour change when you realised what you’d said.

‘N-not a date,’ you stammered. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

He smiled. ‘It’s okay, I know what you meant.’

‘Okay,’ you breathed. ‘Your place at seven.’

Your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and you looked everywhere but at him, but he thought you were adorable. 

By seven-thirty, you were scarfing egg rolls at your best friend’s place. It was his turn to pick the takeout, and he’d chosen Chinese. Your laptop was on your knee, and you were going through your ‘Songs That Would Wake Me From a Coma’ playlist, explaining to Bob what you loved about each one. He had a similar playlist, and whenever you played something that was also on his, the smile on his face got larger. He’d been smiling at you all day, and you could scarcely believe he’d been on the fence about starting a band together. He didn’t seem nervous now, and the two of you had fallen into your usual, easy rhythm. 

After dinner, Bob helped you get your guitar and amp from your car. You had a black Fender Dreadnought for playing acoustic, but since you’d be playing electric in the band, you brought your Gretsch. It was the same guitar Patrick Stump of Fall Out Boy played, and it was your pride and joy. 

Bob’s garage was perfect for band rehearsals. He left his car on the drive and used the garage as his music room since his house was relatively small. This was how he’d managed to hide his talent from you for so long. What reason would you have to go in his garage? 

It was soundproofed since drumming was hands down the nosiest hobby a person could have, and he’d outfitted the place with creature comforts: a mini fridge for sodas and snacks, a small leather couch with blankets and pillows, framed band posters on the walls, a tasteful rug, and, of course, his drum kit. You’d never played, but it didn’t take a genius to know that it must have cost a pretty penny. You could tell that Bob took good care of it, too.

‘Bobby, this is going to be perfect. We’ll be able to practise here.’ 

‘We’ll probably have to get some more kit. Mics, some more amps. Pedals.’

‘Any guitarist worth their salt will already have that kinda stuff. I have tonnes of shit in my lockup. Haven’t got a mic or a stand, though.’

‘We can cross that bridge when we come to it.’

‘We’ve been saying that a lot lately,’ you grinned. ‘There’s a lot of bridges in our future.’

You got comfy on the couch, and Bob perched himself on the stool behind his drum kit. He watched as you expertly tuned your guitar, fingers moving over the pegs with the kind of surety that only came with doing something a million times. 

‘What shall I play?’ You asked.

‘Play me your go-to when you’re just playing for yourself.’

Since you always played for yourself, you had no shortage of options. But you settled on your favourite: the solo from Wrong Side of Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch. It was short but tricky and had taken you months to perfect. Maybe you were showing off, but you were proud that you could play it, and you’d be damned if Bob’s shocked expression wasn’t worth it. 

When you were finished, he stood up and gave you a round of applause. You had no idea what to feel. Embarrassment or pride? A mixture of both? 

‘Damn,’ Bob breathed. ‘That was insane. You’re a total rockstar, Y/CS.’ 

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ you chuckled. ‘But thank you. It took me so long to learn how to play that.’ ‘That’s like me and Psychosocial.’

You raised a brow. ‘Slipknot?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I didn’t take you for a Slipknot kinda guy, Bobby.’

‘I listen to a few of their songs,’ he explained. ‘But it’s more that they’re really fun to play.’

You gestured to his drum kit. ‘Well, go on then.’

‘No way,’ Bob shook his head. ‘I’ll screw it up in front of you.’

‘Please?’ You pouted. 

So you spent the next few hours taking turns playing parts of songs you knew, bonding over your shared favourites and introducing one another to new music. You were going to stop for the night, but then you discovered that Bob knew how to play some of the same songs as you, and you started playing together. 

You were the one who suggested starting a navy band—you knew it would be entertaining—but playing with Bob like this… There were no words to describe how incredible it felt. 

It was Reuben’s idea to go out for dinner that Saturday night, but now that day had finally arrived, Bradley regretted saying yes. It had been pouring rain all day, putting a pin in his plans to swim at the beach. Then, his dryer—which was second-hand and had always been temperamental at best—had finally packed up, with his soaking wet uniform for Monday still inside. The last thing he wanted to do was get himself ready and drive halfway across town to Little Italy, but every excuse he typed out to the group chat sounded meagre and childish. He ended up deleting them and getting himself in the shower, hoping that going out with his closest friends would lift his mood, even though he couldn’t be bothered to leave his house. 

Autumn was quickly closing in, and Bradley was glad he had a reason to wear his favourite jacket again— a vintage, fleece-lined Levi number covered in patches that had belonged to his dad. He took it from his wardrobe and laid it on his bed, along with a pair of black jeans, a Smiths t-shirt and his Chelsea boots. The day he’d bought—or rather, been forced to buy—those boots was still fresh in his memory. It wasn’t long after you’d all been called back to TOPGUN for the special detachment. In fact, it was only a few days after the daggers had received the news that they’d be staying in San Diego permanently. It was a day not unlike this one, and he’d been at the mall looking for a suit to wear to a wedding he was flying home for. He rounded a corner on his way to Starbucks into a head-on collision with you. He hadn’t known you long, only since that first night in The Hard Deck when everyone either reunited with old friends or made new ones. 

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ you gasped. ‘What an idiot, I’m so clumsy.’

Your shopping bags had fallen to the floor, and you were scrambling to pick them up, not having realised who you’d just bumped into. Bradley was so caught up admiring you in your long-sleeve dress and boots that he forgot his manners. He’d never seen you out of uniform and suddenly felt very cheated. 

You were gorgeous. 

‘No, it’s my fault,’ he insisted, crouching down to help you gather your things. ‘Sorry, Y/CS.’

Your head snapped up, and you met his gaze, a shy smile taking hold of your delicate features. ‘Rooster,’ you breathed. ‘How didn’t I know that was you?’

The two of you stood up at the same time, almost bumping heads. ‘Beats me,’ he chuckled. I’m big enough to see.’ 

Your laugh was a little more on the awkward side, and he briefly wondered if you’d missed his sarcasm. 

‘Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw,’ you’d said toyingly. ‘Callsign: Beanpole.’

Until now, Bradley hadn’t thought you capable of a jibe like that. You were quiet at work, only speaking when necessary, as though you believed that if you didn’t have anything to add to the conversation, it wasn’t worth speaking at all. The most he’d seen you speak was with Bob about work, and with Coyote, since you were his backseater. 

He was sure his laughter echoed through the entire shopping centre. 

‘You shopping for anything in particular?’ He asked, desperate to keep the conversation going and that smile on your pretty face. 

‘New boots,’ you replied. ‘Dr Martens have brought out their new Fall collection.’

Bradley glanced at the boots you were wearing and realised he’d just learned a little something about Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N. ‘I just bought a new suit,’ he told you. ‘I could use a nice new pair of shoes to go with it if you’d like some company.’

‘Well, sure. I don’t see why not.’ You blinked, taken aback.

Bradley couldn’t understand why you were surprised that he wanted to spend time with you. Before heading to the Dr Martens store, the two of you stopped at Starbucks. He explained that he was initially heading there before he so rudely knocked into you and asked if he could buy you a coffee by way of apology. You’d told him he didn’t need to apologise but accepted the coffee anyway. 

‘I’ll have an iced white mocha, please. If you’re sure.’ you told him politely. 

‘An iced white mocha,’ he echoed. ‘Sounds fancy.’

‘What do you normally order?’

‘Usually just a flat white.’ The disgust on your face as you glared up at him had him laughing all over again. ‘What’s that face for?’

‘You don’t go to Starbucks and order a flat white!’ You exclaimed. ‘That’s like going to a strip club and chatting up the security guard.’ 

Bradley guffawed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much. And he couldn’t believe that your quiet and composed self was the cause of it. 

‘What should I get instead, then?’ He asked. ‘Since you’re such an expert.’ 

‘Do you like iced drinks?’

‘Of course.’

You thought for a moment. ‘What about caramel?’

‘Yup.’

‘Then you should try an iced caramel macchiato.’

Nobody had been waiting behind you when you came into the store. Now, four people were waiting behind you and Bradley. The server had been trying to get your attention for a while, and someone tsked impatiently. 

‘An iced white mocha for Y/CS here, and I’ll take an iced caramel mach- machi… whatever she just said.’

‘Macchiato,’ you corrected. ‘It’s macchiato.’

Bradley gently nudged you with his elbow. ‘It’s leviOsa, not leviosA.’ 

It was your turn to nearly pee your pants from laughing. 

‘Can I get a name, please?’ The server asked frustratedly. 

‘Beanpole.’ Bradley smirked. 

You were still giggling like a couple of school kids when you got to the Dr Martens store. You already knew which boots you wanted, so you only had to ask the shop assistant to fetch your size. While you waited, you browsed the men’s section with Bradley, pointing out styles you thought might suit him. 

‘Wait!’ You exclaimed. ‘I know exactly which pair would look the best on you.’

Your excitement enamoured him; he probably would have bought anything you handed him to make you happy. It was a stroke of luck that the shoe you gave him was decent, something he probably would have picked for himself: a pair of black Chelsea boots, subtle but sexy with their thick soles and shiny leather. He’d never imagined himself in a pair of docs before, but he could undoubtedly imagine himself in these. When the clerk returned with your shoes, he asked if she wouldn’t mind fetching a size 12 of the ‘edgy-looking Chelsea boots.’ She’d smiled at his description, and so had you. 

‘Let’s just hope I can pull them off as well as you.’

You flushed, batting your eyelashes at him. If it were anyone else, he’d have thought you were being demure on purpose, just to be cute. But it wasn’t anyone else; it was you, and you were cute. 

He wondered if you’d notice that he was wearing them today. Usually, you pointed them out when he did, and he liked it when you singled him out from everyone else and called him Beanpole, leaving everyone else slightly confused. Even Bob wasn’t in on that joke. 

Once he was dressed and ready, he headed out to the Bronco. He had to run to avoid getting drenched, and he once again questioned his decision as he pulled off his driveway. Then he thought about you and realised he didn’t have music playing. For the duration of his journey, he sang along to old Bon Jovi songs, grinning like a fool at the thought of seeing you. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

It was only natural that you and Bob had travelled to the restaurant together since your house was on the way. Bob had an umbrella in the back of his pickup, so he went to your front door instead of texting to let you know he’d arrived. You received him in the most exquisite dress he’d ever seen, made even more jaw-dropping by the fact it was you wearing it. It was a deep navy, with a cowl neck and a ruffled hem. The top material layer was peppered with tiny crystals that gave the illusion of a beautiful starry night. Your hair fell in loose curls down your back, the top half pinned up with little star-shaped clips. As for your makeup… well, that was another story entirely. You’d worn more than usual, but you’d been careful not to make it seem overdone. 

Bob was speechless. Objectively, he’d always known you were a gorgeous woman but seeing you all dolled up like that had him pulling at the collar of his shirt, hoping to loosen it a little. 

‘Bobby. You look handsome.’

Since the restaurant Reuben had picked was fancy, Bob had opted for black suit pants, a white button-down, and a collared leather jacket. Standing next to you, he felt he must look overwhelmingly disappointing. 

‘And you look like a movie star. I should’ve laid a red carpet.’ Bob replied, sounding more confident than he felt. 

You shifted from one foot to the other, beaming like you’d won the lottery. 

‘I thought I’d meet you at the door with this,’ he explained, waving the umbrella. ‘I’m glad I did. Wouldn’t want your pretty hair gettin’ ruined,’ he stammered. ‘Or your dress.’

‘That’s kind of you, thanks. I don’t even know if I own an umbrella.’

‘Do you have a jacket?’

‘Yeah, let me just turn the lights off and grab it. I’ll be back in two seconds.’ 

As you turned around, Bob diverted his gaze from your figure, focusing instead on the colourful flowers you had growing in hanging baskets on your porch. 

You came back wearing a leather jacket similar to his. He held the umbrella over the two of you the whole way down your driveway and opened the passenger side door so you could climb in. He was momentarily worried that you’d struggle to step into his truck with heels on, but then he realised you weren’t wearing heels. You were wearing a pair of white Dr Martens with silky white ribbons as laces—in retrospect, he should have expected that of you by now. 

When you arrived at Juniper and Ivy, the host took you to a large table in the back corner near three floor-to-ceiling windows. It wasn’t dark yet, but the stormy weather made it feel like the middle of the night. The table was set for eight, with impressive settings and flickering candles. Mickey and Natasha had already been seated. You sat opposite her, next to the window, and Bob tucked you in. 

‘Thanks, Bobby,’ you said as he sat beside you. ‘You’ve been a true gentleman tonight.’ 

‘Anytime.’ He mumbled. 

It took a tremendous effort to ignore the sensation of Mickey and Nat’s eyes boring holes into the top of his head as he scanned the menu before him. However, it was harder to ignore the feeling of Mickey kicking him in the shin beneath the table. Bob glared at him over the rim of his glasses, silently asking what the fuck, man? Mickey raised his eyebrows in silent response, nodding his head at you. Thankfully, you were so absorbed in the cocktail menu that you hadn’t noticed. Then, the unthinkable. Mickey nodded at you, then back at Bob, then subtly did the thrusting action. He bit his lip and rolled his eyes to paint a detailed picture of what he was trying to insinuate. Natasha snorted into her glass of water, causing you to look up. 

‘Did I miss something?’ You questioned. 

Mickey’s eyes dropped to his lap as though he’d been chastened. 

He was prevented from having to answer, thanks to Bradley and Javy arriving at the table, instantly distracting you. 

‘Beanpole,’ you smirked. ‘If you keep wearing those boots, you’ll wear ‘em out.’ 

Bradley made straight for you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. You seemed just as surprised as everyone else. 

‘Show me which pair you’re wearing tonight.’ 

You swivelled in your seat and hiked your dress up so he could see your boots. The sight of the smooth skin above them was enough to turn Bob’s stomach to mush. He needed to pull himself together. 

Bradley tapped the tip of your boot with the tip of his to show his appreciation while Javy took the spot next to Bob. Bradley walked around the table next to Mickey, presumably so he could see you better. 

Bob wasn’t an idiot. If he’d showed up and the seat next to you was already taken, he’d have done the same thing. 

‘So,’ Bradley started, an insatiable smirk plastered to his face. ‘We’re waitin’ on Payback and Bagman?’ 

‘Reuben just texted me,’ Mickey responded. ‘They’re five minutes out.’ 

You leaned over slightly—your head almost resting on Bob’s shoulder—and showed him the 

cocktail menu. ‘I wonder if they make good sex on the beaches here.’ 

‘How did I know you were gonna order that?’

‘I can’t help it,’ you groaned. ‘They’re my weakness.’

‘I’ll order you one when the waitress comes over.’

‘We should’ve got a cab,’ you countered. ‘Then you could’ve had one too. I promise you’ll like them. It’s glorified fruit juice.’ 

‘We could go for drinks at that bar by your house sometime,’ Bob offered. ‘It’s walkable. That way, I can try one, and we don’t have to worry about driving.’

Bob genuinely wasn’t expecting you to get as excited as you did. ‘Yes! Why haven’t we thought of this sooner?’ 

Your conversation was (rudely) interrupted by Bradley, setting an ornately decorated cocktail in front of you. Bob had been so wrapped up in your proximity and the sweet scent of your perfume that he hadn’t noticed Bradley leave the table. 

‘Sex on the beach.’ Bradley stated, seemingly quite proud of himself. 

The spell was broken, and suddenly, it was no longer you and Bob. His eyes flicked from you to Bradley, noticing how you mirrored his pleased expression. 

‘Damn, Bradshaw, at least take me out to dinner before you start suggesting that.’ 

Everyone who had been paying attention laughed, even Bob. His was nervous, and when Natasha shot him a pointed look, this nasty sensation only increased. It was a look that said get her before it’s too late. 

You were only kidding, right? You’d have said the same thing if Mickey had bought you the drink instead of Bradley. Right? 

When Reuben and Jake arrived dressed to the nines, the waitress came over and took a drink order and your starters. Bob made a point of ordering you another cocktail. When you winked and asked him if he was trying to get you drunk, he felt as though all the balance had been restored in the world once again. 

‘Y/N,’ Natasha said. ‘You wanna come to the bathroom with me before the first course arrives?’

You shrugged. ‘Sure, why not?’ 

You waited for Nat at the top of the table since she had to walk around. She linked arms with you when she got to you, and the two of you headed off toward the bathroom, completely unaware of all the eyes on you.

Bob was aware. It was all he could do not to get up and walk out when Jake opened his mouth.

‘Who knew Y/CS had a body like that underneath her uniform?’ Jake drawled. 

Javy seemed to share Jake’s thought process. ‘I know, right? She looks like a damn supermodel in that dress.’ 

Bob accidentally locked eyes with Bradley, who was doing a worse job of hiding his anger than he was. He wished you’d both said no to this dinner and gone to the bar near your house instead. He wished he was listening to you sing or playing the drums to your guitar at his house. 

He wished he wasn’t jealous that the other guys had started paying attention to his best friend. 

He wished this meant anything other than what it did because he knew things were about to get a lot more complicated. 

Natasha looked drop-dead gorgeous in her pale blue trousers and matching oversized blazer. Her hair was loose and wavy, and you were obsessed with the smoky eyeshadow she’d done.

‘That outfit is to die for,’ you told her. ‘I love the colour on you.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiled. ‘But let’s talk about that dress. You look stunning.’

You scoffed. ‘This old thing.’

She opened the bathroom door for you, and you stepped inside. Nobody was in there, and before you knew what was happening, Nat dragged you over to the bench on the other side. 

‘Why does a bathroom need a loveseat?’ You wondered aloud. 

She sat you down and took both your hands, leaning forward excitedly. For what, you had no idea. 

‘We need to talk about the dress. And Bob. And Rooster.’ 

‘What do you mean?’

Nat rolled her eyes, squeezing your hands urgently. ‘Don’t be cute. Tell me you didn’t see all those guys turn around to watch you walk away just then!’

‘They did?’ 

‘Yes! Not to mention Bradley acting like a lovesick fool the second he saw you. Or Bob staring at you like you hung the fucking moon in the sky!’ 

This was too much. ‘Okay, system overload.’ 

‘You need to open your eyes.’ 

‘I need you to back up a few steps. How was Bradley acting like a lovesick fool?’

‘He didn’t even say hi to anyone else. The man didn’t even look at us. He went straight for you, and started on that little inside joke you have about your boots. And then he bought you that drink, which, by the way, he’d already gone up to buy before you even said anything out loud. He remembers from that time we all went to that seafood place, and you had the bartender make you a jug for the table.’

This was all well and good, but it didn’t necessarily mean he was lovesick, and you told Nat so. 

‘And as for Bob, that’s another story. That man worships the ground you walk on, and if you can’t see it, you should ask to borrow his glasses.’ 

It was almost comical that Nat was so riled up and self-assured. You could believe that Bob had a little crush. Hell, you had a little crush on him, too. But there was no way someone as confident and vibrant as Bradley could have a thing for you. That was one step too far into crazy town. 

‘They’re gonna wonder where we’ve gotten to.’ You said, hoping she’d just drop this.

‘We need to talk about it at some point. I’m dying here, Y/N.’ Natasha insisted. 

‘Breakfast date tomorrow?’

‘Yes. I swear to God, if I’m wrong about Bradley, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.’

‘Oh, you’re on.’

‘But if I’m right,’ she grinned. ‘You have to do the same.’

Another cocktail was waiting for you when you returned to the table. Bob’s brow was furrowed, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and smoothing the worry line above his glasses. For the second time that evening, it dawned on you just how handsome he was.

The rest of the meal passed without great event. The food was to die for, and everyone commended Reuben for his spectacular choice of restaurant. The atmosphere was great; friends surrounded you, and Bradley and Bob seemed to be taking turns buying you cocktails. Nat was drinking an old-fashioned, and the boys had taken to buying her one every time they went up for you. You watched as she reached for her phone and typed out a text, not in the least bit surprised when your phone vibrated on the table. 

You were glad Bob was chatting with Javy and Reuben about work because it would have been awkward if he had seen your phone now.

Both of you were giggling like idiots, utterly unaware of everyone else around you. Mickey was reading Nat’s phone over her shoulder, and Bradley watched you like a hawk. If you’d looked up at that moment, you’d have seen him gazing hungrily, eyes flitting from your face to the bare skin your dress didn’t cover. 

The cocktails had gone to your head quicker than usual. You’d lost count of how many you’d had, what with Bradley and Bob’s efforts to keep a drink in front of you at all times. The more you thought about it, the more it did kind of seem like a dick-swinging contest. 

After dessert had been eaten and the cheque split seven ways (Bob insisted on covering your portion), the dagger squad devised a new plan. Those who had been drinking wanted to keep on drinking, and the designated drivers wanted to start. Bob, Bradley, Mickey, Jake and Reuben had all driven, and they wanted to lose their cars and meet up with everyone at The Hard Deck to continue the night. Well, Bob wasn’t given a choice because if he was paying for your meal, you were taking him drinking and paying for everything he wanted. Plus, you didn’t want to go if he wasn’t going to be there. 

So, you and Nat were going with Bob to The Hard Deck—he would leave his car there for the night, get a cab back to your place and spend the night in your guest room. This way, you could drop him back to his car tomorrow morning. Nat insisted she also wanted to stay at your place, like a slumber party. Clearly, the drinks were hitting her, too. You were sure Mickey would have invited himself as well had he been in the car with you. He loved being an honourary girl. Bradley, Mickey, Javy and Jake were taking their cars home and meeting everyone else there.

Bob gave you and Nat the umbrella and ran to start the truck.

‘So,’ Nat giggled, wiggling her eyebrows. ‘Floyd is spending the night at your place.’

‘In the guest room.’

‘Still. He’s gonna be ten feet from you all night. How ever will you control yourself?’ She teased.

Bob’s truck was a monster, and you’d always thought it didn’t match his personality—a black Dodge Ram 1500, basically big enough to live in. Like his house, he kept it incredibly clean, and you were always scared of breathing inside it. 

You opened the back door for Nat, and she clambered in. Just as you were about to close the umbrella and climb in after her, Bob said: ‘Get in the front, Y/CS. I’m not a goddamn Uber driver.’ 

Well, that was it. Nat was literally doubled over in the back seat, and you ended up crouched on the pavement next to the truck in stitches. Maybe it was the alcohol and the good vibes you were tipsy from, or perhaps it was because Bob wasn’t even trying to be funny with that line—he was deadly serious. Either way, you couldn’t stop laughing. 

Bob had to get back out of the truck and help you into the front seat, so he was soaked when he got back behind the wheel. 

‘Oh, Bobby,’ you giggled. ‘Look at you. I’m so sorry.’

Your inhibitions were long gone, so it made perfect sense in your mind to reach out and take Bob’s glasses off and wipe them clean on your dress. Then, you took his face in both hands and gently swiped the water off his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. He’d closed his eyes, completely lost in the feeling. You’d momentarily forgotten that Natasha was in the backseat until she cleared her throat. Gently, you put Bob’s glasses back on for him and then busied yourself by connecting your phone to Bluetooth. 

‘Okay,’ Nat said. ‘If you two are finished, I need another drink.’ 

You struggled to connect to the audio system, so Bob quickly typed his password in and handed you his phone. Opening up Spotify, you hit shuffle on his liked songs. Rollin’ by Limp Bizkit came on, and you gasped loudly. 

‘This is a fucking great song. One of the best ever.’ 

Bob laughed as you reached out and turned up the volume, bopping your head along as he reversed out of the parking lot. You didn’t expect Nat to know it or like it, but she did, and you sang along obnoxiously the whole drive, first to Rollin’, then to Break Stuff. 

‘You know what they say, Bobby?’

He indulged you: ‘What’s that?’

‘Live, laugh, Limp Bizkit.’

A/N: I can't express how excited I am about this series. If only you knew what I've got hidden up my sleeve! I've been thinking about it for a long time. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future parts!

[playedbetter]

— character info sheet.

(repost, don’t reblog)

name: Lori Zechlin

name meaning: Diminutive of Laura, which means laurel, a symbol of victory and used by old world prophets. Zechlin apparently means feeling, adaptable, and noble.

alias/es: Black Alice.

ethnicity: German, in the way a lot of Americans aren't really tied to their ancestery though.

one picture / icon you like best of your character:

three h/cs you never told anyone:

She struggles heavily with depression and has had episodes of suicidal idealation, though thankfully has never gotten far enough as to have a plan.

She used to be a hellenic polythiest, specifically worshipping Artemis, Selene, and Demeter. She quit after developing her magic and getting kicked out of her witchcraft community. She still practices some witchcraft though.

Her favorite band is Get Scared.

three things your character likes doing in their free time: 

Bugging the other members of Secret Six, or Coven of Three.

Watching horror movies! She loves slashers specifically!

Sneaking into concerts.

eight people your character likes / loves:

Her parents

The whole of Secret Six, especially Floyd and Ragdoll.

Traci Thirteen (someone please rp her)

Zachary Zatara (someone other than me please rp him)

Klarion

Eddie Bloomberg

two things your character regrets:

Not doing something to stop her mom's death. It's irrational but she still blames herself.

Burning so many bridges in her life, outside of the people listed above there's not really a lot of people who like her.

one phobia your character has:

Accidentally hurting somebody that she loves.

Tagged by: @scxttershot (thank you!)

Tagging: @chaosmultiverse (Makoto), @clownfile, @outofthiisworld (Ophelia), @lcngdays (Sass), @ko3ak, & anybody else who'd like to do this!