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bitchface24-7 · 4 months ago

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COYOTE UGLY - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: When you’re not at the lab researching and developing Hextech, you’re in Zaun at the BDSM club Coyote Ugly as the bartender. Having this job ensures your team has enough money to continue working without any headaches. Well you’re in for a massive migraine since the man you’ve been in love with since you were kids is gonna find out about your dirty little secret.

warnings: secrets, bdsm etiquette, dom!viktor, love confessions, abelist comments (Viktor refers to himself in a negative light twice, referencing what others have called him) traffic light system, spanking, afab terms used for the smut section, dirty talk, vaginal sex, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, squirting, I’m gonna write this as a 5 + 1 kinda deal. Ok? Ok. Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f

p.s. This fic very obviously references Coyote Ugly (2000), and I know it is a bar in the movie but I didn't want to do a whole plotline on The Last Drop vs Coyote Ugly; and I didn't have the energy to write and characterize Silco LMAO. So I hope none of y'all are mad I tweaked it to be a BDSM club/bar instead. I've loved this movie ever since I was a kid. Now I'm tempted to do a Practical Magic (1998) fic too 😭😭

The Five Times Viktor Gets a Clue About You, and the One Time His Suspicions are Confirmed

One.

Viktor’s known you for almost two decades by this point. You’re well into your twenties and can do whatever you please. But Viktor’s got suspicions regarding you. Your excuses, your secrets. He knows you better than he knows himself.

So when you walk into the lab one day with a stack of cash, both Jayce and Viktor can’t help but look at you as if you were a project they were working on. You’ve peaked their curiosity and suspicion.

“So,” Viktor starts as you give the money to Jayce, and walk back to your desk, “Where did that money come from?”

You lightly scoff, “Don’t worry about it, V.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about it! That’s a lot of money miláček! Please tell me you got it legally.”

You whip around with a snort, “Don’t worry Viktor, it’s all legal. I just got paid from my second job. I already took a cut for myself; the rest I’m donating to the lab for our research.”

Viktor’s lips thin at that. You already took a cut for yourself and still had that much money to just… give away?

“Whatever you say, miláček.”

You’re gonna regret that. You’ve just peaked Viktor’s curiosity; and what’s the saying?

Curiosity killed the cat… but satisfaction brought it back.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Two.

Viktor’s curiosity is peaked once more when he sees a glimmer of sparkle at your navel as your shirt rises, as you try to get something off the shelf for him.

Viktor hums as he puts his pen on the hem of your shirt to lift it a bit more. You gasp as a fresh breeze brushes against your abdomen.

“Whats this, hmm?”

You sputter a bit before dropping your arms and tugging your shirt down quickly, “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Your belly button is magical and shimmers on its own?”

You sarcastically hum, “How’d you know?” you add a dramatic gasp, just because you can. Viktor quirks an eyebrow at you, “You can just admit you got a piercing. Its quite common down in Zaun.”

“Whats the fun in that.” You pout, “I got it forever ago, a bit before we left for the Academy actually.”

“You got your navel pierced when you were seventeen, and I never found out about it until you were twenty-six and I was twenty-eight?”

You playfully shrug, “Guess you aren't as observant as you think you are.”

Viktor clenches his jaw, “Don’t tease me miláček. You won't like where you end up.”

“Try me.”

With that, you walk away with a sway to your hips as Viktor's grip on his pen tightens to the point he thinks it's going to snap in half.

You're going to regret that.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Three.

“What is that?!” Jayce exclaims as you lounge on the couch, taking a small nap. “What? What! What're you screeching about Jayce?”

“That!” he squeaks, “On your lower back! Is that a…”

Viktor finishes the thought, “A tattoo?”

You twist your torso and look down. There's the perpetrator, a small tramp stamp that kind of looks like the Hexcores magic, and in the centre is a heart.

“Yeah.” you casually state as you go back to nap.

“Why does it look like the Hexcore?”

You take a quick peek over to Viktor before muttering, “Why not? I care about you guys and decided to get a tattoo to commemorate it.”

Jayce awes a bit but Viktor just narrows his eyes at you. There's more to it than just that. Because if not, then why did you put it in such a… risque place? Unless you wear low-rise pants or extremely cropped shirts; no one would ever see it.

Unless you're completely naked.

Viktor rubs his nose as you reposition yourself, your hip jutting out as your top rises even farther.

Viktor casually stands up and walks over to where you're resting on the labs couch. Lightly touching your lower back, he feels you flinch as he presses his hand harder onto the fully healed tattoo, “You must be cold, here. Let me fix that.”

And with that, Viktor pulls up the fleece blanket to cover your torso.

You look to Viktor and your eyes have darkened, your lids slightly narrowed. Your lips are lightly pursed as you examine Viktor. Viktor just smirks at you.

The longer this goes on, the more clues Viktor gets.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Four.

Jayce keeps pacing in the lab. Back and forth, back and forth. Viktor is worried Jayce is going to wear the floor down to the baseboards.

“Are you okay?” Viktor quietly asks, looking at Jayce in concern. He's never seen him so… frazzled before.

“No. There's a small gathering happening later today with the council members and high-level individuals. There was supposed to be a bartender to make the meeting not as mind numbing but the one Mel booked previously is sick. Now we need to find a replacement for…”

Jayce looks at his watch and runs a hand through his hair, “Three hours from now.”

Before Viktor can put his two cents in, you pipe in, “I can do it.”

Jayce whips around to look at you, a manic gleam in his eyes, “You’re not joking, right? You can actually bartend.”

You nod once, “I can actually bartend.”

“Shes not lying Jayce. She was a part-time bartender at the Last Drop when… when Vander was the owner.

Both you and Viktor look down, Vander was a good man. He took care of everyone as if they were his own kids.

Jayce clears his throat, trying to dissipate the mournful aura in the lab, “Wow, you're like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Many hidden talents.”

You snort, “More like a coyote prowling in the forest. Challenge brings mastery, dear Jayce.”

Viktor quirks an eyebrow at you. That's an… odd choice of words. No one ever refers to themselves as a coyote unless they frequent…

Oh.

Everything is slowly piecing together, he just needs one more piece of proof before he pounces. Viktor almost feels like he's insane; he's a frequent member of the well-established BDSM club down in Zaun; Coyote Ugly. He's sure he would’ve seen you before. But there's the off chance you work when he's not there. He only goes on Saturdays, on a bi-weekly schedule.

Maybe you knew that and planned your schedule around Viktor's desires.

For this last bit of proof, Viktor’s gonna bring his attitude from Coyote Ugly to the lab. Hopefully, he doesn't traumatize Jayce (or you if he's wrong.)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Five.

Viktor is good at what he does. Many people look at him and assume he's a virgin due to his disabilities. They think he's submissive due to the fact he's more lean and lithe as a man.

He's not.

He can get anyone down to their knees. He can get anyone to listen to him. He doesn't typically use this power in his day-to-day life, but he's going to bring it to the lab today. Luckily for him, Jayce had a mandated meeting to go to and couldn't weasel his way out of it.

He sees his target in the corner of his eye.

You.

You're standing by the blackboard, wobbling in place. Viktor isn't sure how well you've slept, if you've eaten anything today, or if you've even taken a break.

Viktor gets up from his own spot, and makes his way to the small kitchenette in the lab and prepares a basic sandwich and sweet milk for you. He places the items onto your desk and you're none the wiser.

Its not until Viktor clears his throat do you look away from the blackboard.

“You can barely stand straight. Here, come take a small break. Eat something.”

You smile lightly at the care, “Oh Viktor, I’d love to but I can't. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough; I can feel it! If I stop now, I wont ever complete this runic sequence!”

“I insist.”

“No, I really can't—”

“Sit.”

With that, you sat down at your desk immediately. You've never heard Viktor's voice go like that. So dark, so commanding, so… sensual.

You feel almost ashamed. Here Viktor is, making you food, a drink, and worrying about your health. And you were too much of a brat to see it.

You take half the sandwich and bite into it as your stomach growls at you. Shit, he's right. You haven't eaten in several hours and now your body’s catching up to you.

Viktor tilts his head, observing you.

“You were right, thank you.”

Viktor puts his hand on the nape of your neck and squeezes. You shiver and lean into the touch.

“You’re welcome. Don't make me have to do that again.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide and glossy. Your lips pouted lightly. Viktor's grip tightens on your nape and you somewhat successfully suppress a whine.

That's the final puzzle piece.

“I wont.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, Viktor can see you blue screen.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Plus One.

Viktor's changing up his routine, visiting Coyote Ugly on a Friday rather than his usual Saturday. The trek down to Zaun wasn't too bad, but the difference is air quality was highly noticeable.

Slowly but surely, Viktor makes his way to the club. He's in his usual outfit for this scene, an all-black ensemble with the buttons of his shirt undone almost dangerously low. He can feel the looks of desire shot his way. He's always on the top of the submissive’s lists at Coyote Ugly. And every coyote he's taken has been incredibly satisfied.

But ever since this theory of his sprouted, he's been hyper-focusing on it. On you. So he hasn't been able to take any of the coyotes to bed. They're desperate.

But there's a certain coyote that's already caught his eye.

He sees you working the bar as if it were second nature. Mixing drinks, pouring shots, opening beers, and chatting up the patrons. You seem so at home here.

Viktor gets a lovely eyeful of your outfit when you hope up on the bar with a megaphone, “Same shit, new day! We follow the rules and—”

All the patrons echo your words back to you, “We don't touch your girls!”

You smirk, “And with that, let the party begin!” a bell is heard ringing in the background but all Viktor can do is appreciate your sexiness.

You're in an all-black outfit as well, but its all leather. Your top is closed by a single button, so Viktor damn near gets an eyeful of your breasts. He can see your abdomen down to the top of your navel, your belly button piercing glittering in the club's lights.

Your leather pants are skin tight and low enough that Viktor's worried you can't bend over in them without flashing someone. He sees you turn around to hop off the bar and there it is. Your hexcore inspired tattoo.

Viktor feels his pants tighten at that. Its almost like a branding in his mind. Look at that. She's mine.

A few girls get up onto the bar and dance to the songs playing on the jukebox. With a distraction in place, he makes his way to the bar to order a drink.

Your back is to the bar as you clean some glasses, “What can I getcha?”

Viktor ensures his voice is loud enough so that you can hear him, “A whiskey sour, miláček.”

The sounds of cups almost breaking puts a smile on Viktor’s face. He's got you just where he wants you. You whip around with a deer-in-the-headlights look, “Vi—Viktor! What're you doing here?! You usually come on—”

“Saturdays. Yes, I know. But I've heard wonderful things about a certain bartender and wanted to see her for myself. The only bartender I've ever met is Thomas.”

You inhale sharply, “What gave me away?”

“Little things. The money, your body modifications, referring to yourself as a coyote.”

You hit your forehead with the palm of your hand, “I'm an idiot.”

Viktor shakes his head, “No, you just got too comfortable. Besides how you reacted a few days ago when given an order sealed the deal.”

Your face feels hot, almost unbearably so. Goddamn it.

“Does this… ruin anything between us?”

Viktor scoffs, “Absolutely not! Do you know how long I've fantasized about a scenario like this happening?”

“I have an idea…” your tone is breathless as your eyes are as wide as saucers. No way is this happening. No way are your dreams coming true.

Before anything else can happen, you do a special knock on the bar. Thomas whips his head over to look at you and seems shocked.

“This is officially a Code V. I need you to man the bar tonight.”

Thomas just smiles and takes over no problem, you hop over the bar and stand next to Viktor, a beaming smile on your face.

“A Code V?”

“When I officially get the man of my dreams, I get to have a shift off. No ifs, ands, or buts!”

Viktor smiles sweetly at that.

“So…” you add before your confidence dissipates, “Wanna go upstairs?”

Viktor knows that private rooms are located upstairs if you want to… have some fun. He just nods, a sly smirk on his face, “Lead the way, miláček.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You and Viktor rush up as best you can to one of the private rooms. Before anything happens, Viktor enquires if you know about the stoplight system. You do. And with that, you two touch each other in a way you’ve been dreaming about since you both started puberty.

A bit of kissing here, a bit of groping there. Before you know it, Viktor’s fingering open your pussy as you whine and pant at the pleasure Viktor is presenting your body with.

It’s wet, slick, and so hot. Viktor’s hand is slapping against your clit, causing a loud schlick sound that makes your ears burn in embarrassment. Viktor just revels in the sounds and faces you make; he never thought you could get any prettier. Looks like he was wrong.

“Please… Please… Put it in.” You beg, your eyes watery at the constant assault Viktor is giving your g-spot. Viktor kisses his teeth, “Put what in?” He cockily asks.

“Y-your cock. I want your cock in me. I want to fuck you into the bed. Please Viktor, please? I want it so bad… I need it…” You beg, your voice wobbly in your desire. Viktor growls low in his chest as removes his fingers from your pussy. “You're such a good girl, begging for me. C'mon sweetheart, I'm all yours.” With that, you ensure Viktor is comfortable as he sits up against the headboard, you saddle him and slowly sink onto his wonderful cock.

You gasp out a long drown out moan at the feeling. Viktor’s pushed right up against your g-spot, he’s stretching you out. Your pussy is moulding itself to Viktors cock, nothing else in this world will satisfy you now. One hand holds your waist as the other rubs your back.

“C’mon.” In a low, throaty voice, you moan. As if you had to use additional effort to get the words past your parted lips. Your voice is whiney and breathy. As if putting Viktors cock in you knocked all the air out of your lungs. When you lower yourself more, Viktor, who is rubbing your back with his free hand, feels something deep inside his gut tighten up a little more as you persistently try to fit the final few inches of his cock inside. You feel dizzy at that, you're so stuffed… and there’s a few inches more.

Needy. You're so fucking needy; and Viktor loves it.

He squeezes, quickly prickling your flesh beneath his fingertips into a supple hue. Viktor wishes he could mark you like that for good, wishes that squeezing hard enough would leave bruises and indents to last a lifetime. Last several lifetimes. Even if you aren't aware of it, you still attract admiring looks from other people, which irritates Viktor. Ever since you two were teens, people would look lecherously at you. And you never noticed. But at the mere thought of everyone seeing you so marked up, something wild, primal, and almost startlingly possessive gets hold of him. Even though Viktor would know who did it, they wouldn't.

They would question who defiled you so throughly; and not once in their tiny minds would they think Viktor “The Cripple” “The Weirdo” fucked you so good you're bow-legged for days. With a trail of hickeys down your neck and chest, red marks on your wrists and a glazed look in your eyes. Viktor needs to calm down, he’s getting ahead of himself.

Before he can stop himself, Viktor tangles his fingers into your sweaty, untidy hair. You shiver at the feeling. His hands are so strong, so beautiful to look at.

“Viktor! Please! Please let me move! I need it…”You beg. You've needed this since you were fifteen and you noticed how handsome Viktor was becoming.

You lean closer to Viktor, your tits close enough to his face he can easily suck a nipple into mouth. This small shift caused his cock to press even harder into your g-spot; making a long whine and a few tears to slip out of you. Seeing that causes Viktor to freeze a bit before asking, “Colour?” At that you desperately cry out a pathetic, “Green! Please!”

If Viktor had shown even a tiny bit less restraint, the pitiful little "please" that slips from your mouth might have killed him right there.

You start to bounce, a nipple still firmly in Viktor's mouth. One hand stays on your hip as the other tweaks your other nipple. You use the headboard as support to ride Viktor to your heart's content. Fuck his cock is huge, you swear you feel it in your lungs. You could've been doing this for ages. You pitifully whine at that thought; so much time wasted.

“You look so pretty like this, you know,” Viktor mumbles appraisingly as he lets your nipple go, rocking back and forth at an almost painfully slow pace, trying to give you even more pleasure. Your thighs are trembling, splattered with lube, sweat, and an unprecedented amount of wetness from your arousal. You make a tiny, barely there noise in response, pushing weakly back against him. Viktor holds you still. “So fucked out, just for me. So cock-drunk aren’t you? My little fucktoy. My good girl. My prettiest girl” Viktor showers praise on you, who just groans at the sweet attack.

You pull up as far as you can against Viktor’s strength, the head of his cock catching on the entrance to your pussy, before dropping back down aggressively and picking up a steady rhythm. Viktor lets out an appreciative moan at that. Fuck you feel so good. He's gonna become obsessed with your pussy after this. Viktor's head tilts back to rest against the headboard as he moans, you pepper hickeys all across his pale neck. He's not the only one with possessive tendencies.

You go faster and faster, rougher and harder with each bounce, but you still take into account Viktors weaker leg. You're both moaning, yours goes up a pitch when Viktor starts to rub your clit.

Viktor whispers into your ear as he ravages your pussy, “You like that? You slut. Do you like having my big cock stretch you out? Do you like me abusing your g-spot, moulding your pussy into the shape of my dick? Nothing else will ever satisfy you again, will it Pretty Girl? No. It won’t. You’ll be desperate to have my dick rearranging your guts again.”

You just moan and starts to cry at the whispered words alongside the pounding your pussy is getting. The knot in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter, you instinctively know you can’t cum without permission. So you ask,

“Viktor… Can I cum? Please? Can I cum?

Viktor just snarls at that, nipping your ear and slapping your ass with a heavy groan, “Oh fuck… you’re such a good girl aren’t you? Asking for permission to cum without me even having to telling you. Cum. Cum right fucking now.”

And you do. With a gush of liquid, you cum hard. Your body jerking, eyes rolling into the back of your head, with your mouth ajar in a silent moan that trickles down to a pleased whine. Viktor starts to fuck into you, wanting to cum too. You start to overstimulate yourself, desperate to feel Viktor cum.

Little “Uhs.” are punched out of you at each thrust due to the painful pleasure. In no time, Viktor cums too. His hips pressed flush against yours; his sharp hipbones causing a nice bruise to form. You both simultaneously moan at the feeling of Viktor pumping you full of his cum. The two lose their strength and flop down onto the bed.

You're cuddled up, now efficiently cockwarming Viktor. You're both our of breath, and immensely pleased.

“We should clean up.” Viktor pants, you giggle breathlessly, “I don't think I can move.”

The silence is comfortable, enjoyable. You’ve almost fallen asleep when Viktor casually states, “I love you. I've loved you since I was sixteen.”

You look up at him and give him a sweet smile, before pressing your lips together in a loving, passionate kiss, “and I've loved you since I was thirteen. Looks like I've got you beat.”

Viktor just chuckles as he runs a hand through your hair, “I'm exhausted. We’ll get cleaned up when we wake up.”

“I couldn't agree more. But I want a round two before that.”

“Seriously?!”

You slap Viktor's chest playfully, “We could've been doing this for a little over a decade. I'm making up for lost time!”

Viktor kisses your forehead and contently sighs, “Can’t argue with that miláček. Can't argue with that.”

With how vigorously you two went, it’s no surprise you fell asleep in a few minutes. Wrapped up together, as content as can be.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That's a wrap! Please be nice to me, I haven't written smut since like 2022-2023. Hope y'all liked it!

For the tattoo, search up “cybersigilism heart tramp stamp tattoo” on pinterest to see what kind of tramp stamp you got LMAO

#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane imagine #arcane smut #viktor imagine #viktor smut #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #fem!reader #banners by cafekitsune

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uncharismatic-fauna · 1 month ago

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Back with the Black-footed Ferret

The black-footed ferret, also known as the American polecat or the prairie dog hunter (Mustela nigripes) is a species of mustelid native to central North America; its historical range stretched from southern Canada to northern Mexico. Its habitat overlaps with that of prairie dogs, and largely consists of prairie, scrubland, and steppe environments.

Black-footed ferrets rely on grasslands for food, and the average adult maintains a territory of 148 acres (60 ha). They are highly solitary, and both males and females will fiercely defend their space from other ferrets. Within this range, the prairie dog hunter feeds almost exclusively on prairie dogs; when prairie dogs aren't available, their diet is supplemented with mice, squirrels, and rabbits. Adults hunt mainly at night, and during the day they will shelter in abandoned prairie dog burrows. While fearsome fighters, both adults and kits are vulnerable to predation from birds of birds of prey, owls, coyotes, badgers, foxes, and bobcats.

Though they generally are not social, American polecats do interact with other polecats once a year to mate, generally in March or April. Females will actively seek out and entice males, and individuals with both sexes likely mate with multiple partners. After mating, the female returns to her territory, and after a 45 day pregnancy she gives birth to a litter of 1-6 kits. The young are blind and deaf at birth, but grow quickly and are weaned at about 6 weeks old. In the fall, they leave their mother to establish their own territories, and reach full maturity by the following year. Adults can live up to 12 years in the wild.

Both male and female black-footed ferrets have similar appearances. Like other ferrets, they have an elongated body and triangular head, to better help them squeeze into small burrows in search of prey. The paws, the tip of the tail, and patches around the eyes are marked in black; the rest of the body is tan, russet, or brown with a light cream underbelly. The average adult measures 50 cm (19.7 cm) long and weighs 650 g (1.43 lb); females are slightly smaller than males.

Conservation status: M. nigripes is considered Engangered by the IUCN. Threats come from habitat destruction and the decimation of their primary food source, as well as human-introduced disease. There is only one known wild population left, though there are a number of captive-bred populations in zoos and reintroduction programs. One group, currently run by Native Americal tribal biologists, is raising funds to continue their work restoring black-footed ferrets to their native habitats (April 18, 205).

Photos

Clyde Nishimura

J. Michael Lockhart

Chris Prague

#black-footed ferret #Carnivora #Mustelidae #polecats #weasels #ferrets #mustelids #carnivores #mammals #grasslands #grassland mammals #scrubland #scrubland mammals #north america #central north america #animal facts #biology #zoology #ecology

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lulunothulu · 2 months ago

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“Valentine’s Day”

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Description: Hangman hates Valentine’s Day almost as much as you both hate one another… or do you?

“I hate Valentine’s Day,” Hangman says, taking a swig of his beer and looking around The Hard Deck.

“Of course you do,” you respond. “You’re a fuckboy who’s never been in love.”

Coyote snorts a laugh and Phoenix high fives you with a grin. Next to Phoenix, Rooster looks between you and Hangman—eyebrows raised.

It’d been no secret that the two of you hated one another. Hangman is the perfect example of a cockiness. You could’ve sworn he liked pissing you off as much as he does in a daily. Getting under his skin was almost a sport to you. The only time you ever acted remotely sweet toward him, was when you were: 1. Drunk or 2. Ovulating.

You just so happened to be on your way to getting drunk tonight.

“Have you been in love, Bullseye?” Hangman asks, leaning forward and into your space. “Or are you saving a spot for me in that black heart of yours?”

You smile up at him, clenching your jaw so tightly, it hurts. “I’m not drunk enough to answer that.”

You push him back, palm firmly on his chest, and begin walking away—toward the bar. Only, Hangman follows behind.

“Mind if I pay for it?” He asks from your side.

“Why?” You’re suspicious and rightfully so. Hangman is not the type just offer to buy anyone a drink, least of all you.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he states. “Let me be a gentleman.”

“Okay? You’re not my valentine.” You’ve both just reached the bar but you only have eyes on him. He froze his brows and tightens his lips before opening it to say something but Penny interrupts him—pulling your gaze from him.

“Another beer?” She asks you.

“Yes,” you tell her. Then, facing him again, add, “Hangman here said he’d put it on his tab.”

You glance at him but he’s still watching you and he looks…jealous? His suntanned skin looks like it’s steaming under the lights of the bar. His green eyes are the darkest shade you’d ever seen them. And his jaw? Clenched beyond comprehension.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “It’s on me.”

Penny nods and flashes you a look before turning to retrieve the beers.

“You are okay?” You ask Hangman when she’s gone.

“Who’s your valentine?” He asks.

“Who said I had one?”

“You implied that you did.” You almost choke out a laugh, but stop when you see how deadly serious he is.

“What are we in elementary school? Are you being for real right now?” You ask. “You don’t even like me.”

He steps closer to you, the faint warmth of his hand on the bar next to your hip the only indication of how close he is. He smells clean, with a hint of cologne—not too strong or overpowering. You have to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact with him, and almost gasp at how remarkably handsome he is up close.

You’d known he’d been handsome, hell everyone knows. But standing in front of him now, under these moody lights, you can see why women fall for him.

“Do you have a valentine?” he asks.

“And if I do?” You ask. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

You have no idea where that flirtiness came from, but it makes him smile. He takes another step closer to you, your hips conjoined at different heights.

“Then,” he starts. He’s so close to you, he doesn’t have to shout over the loud music and chatter. “I’d say to tell him that you have a new valentine.”

“And what? That would be you?”

He takes a breath, almost realizing what he’s about to say. His eyes glanced to the right before falling back onto yours. There’s something so sincere and commanding about the way that he looks down at you, that you can’t help, but believe what he says next.

“Yes.”

“But you hate me,” you tell him.

“No, I don’t.”

“—And I hate you.”

He smirks down at you, leaning his head to your ear before whispering, “No, you don’t.”

His breath on the shell of your ear, makes you shiver and gasp softly. The hand closest to the bar, fully encapsules your hip, the other matching its movement. You can hear him inhale to say something else, but Penny interrupts the moment.

“Your beers,” she says. You turn away from Hangman, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks and take the beer.

“Thank you,” you reply.

You begin to walk away when you feel Hangman’s hand wrap around your wrist. You turn to face him and his eyes are glossy. Not in a drunk way, but something different. You know something shifted after that small moment you had with him.

And you definitely know deep down you liked it.

You rip your arm out of his hand and begin to walk toward your friends, trying to forget the way his eyes lingered on you and how much you wanted to kiss him.

This is insane. I can’t be feeling this way, not after years of hating him.

But now come to think of it, why did you hate him? Is it because he’s the only person who knows you inside and out? Is it because he’s the only other person who can ever push you and your buttons? Or maybe it’s the way that his cocky grin almost always falls on you after you correct something he’s done.

There was no fucking way that you secretly liked him…right?

Back with your friends, Phoenix nudges you softly and pulls you to another pool table.

“What was that all about?” She asks, pointing her chin at Hangman.

“I honestly don’t know,” you reply. “He wanted to know if I had a valentine. Like if we’re in elementary school or something.”

Phoenix’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open. “No fucking way. He actually asked you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’d been talking to Bradshaw, and asking him how likely his chances would be if he asked you to be his valentine,” she explains. “Bradley and I were confused because we thought you two hated each other. But the look on Bagman’s face told us otherwise.”

“Okay?”

“Y/N,” she starts, “I think he was serious. He wants you to be his valentine, possibly more.”

You stare at her with wide eyes before cracking a smile and beginning to laugh. You laughed so hard you double over holding your stomach, tears streaming down the corners of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, wiping your tears away. “Seresin does not like me.”

“I don’t know,” she starts. “Think about it. Does he bother anyone else as much as he does you?”

“Well,” you start.

Now that you thought about it, you’re the only other person he seems to annoy the most, and on purpose for that matter. Sure, he and Rooster got into little arguments every once in a while. But he’s never gone out of his way to annoy or tease anyone else like he has with you. Never mind the subtle flirting.

“Oh my god,” you finally say. “He likes me.”

“He likes you.”

“What do I do?” You ask.

“Well, do you like him back?” Phoenix lifts a brow, a small smirk beginning to form on her lips.

“I don’t know.” And it’s true, you didn’t know. “Does it feel nice to know that someone might like me? Sure. And it’s not like he’s ever done anything remotely bad to me. I just thought that he was being cocky and a show boat because that’s how he is.”

“Shit, what if he was acting like that around you because he thought that was a way to approach you?”

You turn your body fully to face her and lean on the pool table. “You think he was doing that ‘if a boy is mean to you, he likes you’ thing they told us in elementary school?”

“I think he was trying to do what always works for him.”

“What do I do?” You ask.

“Go talk to him,” she tells you. “See what’s going on in that big ass head of his.”

You chuckle at that and turn your head toward where the guys are. Hangman is already looking at you, his lips corked up to the side in a cheeky smile.

You nod your head to the right, silently telling him to follow you to the back of the bar. When he nods in confirmation, you turn to Phoenix and smile.

“I’ll be right back.”

You make your way to the doors, pushing them open and stepping out into the warm beach air. You cross the porch and lean onto the wooden railing, waiting for Hangman to appear.

At the sound of the door opening and closing behind you, you look over your shoulder. Hangman stands there, hands in his pockets and a shy smile on his face.

You’ve never seen him look shy before.

His dimples are out, his smile tentative, and he’s blushing. Blushing.

“Hi,” you greet.

“Hi,” he responds.

You both stand in awkward silence before you sigh, placing you hands on your hips. The motion makes his eyes gleam in anticipation, and you realize he might like this a lot more than you thought.

“I’m just gonna go out and say it,” you huff. “Do you like me?”

Hangman’s caught off guard. His green eyes widen, cheeks reddening, and smile faltering before regaining its composure.

“Answer truthfully,” you add when he opens his mouth. “I don’t want a cocky remark.”

“Yes.”

You’re both stunned. Speechlessness was something Hangman has never seemed to experience, and you could tell by the shocked look on his face.

“Is that why you’re always teasing me?” You ask.

“I try not to,” he starts. “I just don’t know how to approach you.”

The candor in his words and tone makes you step closer to him. Your arms drop to your sides before you take the three steps it takes to come face-to-face with him.

Well, toe-to-toe since you’re a good head shorter than he is.

“You wanna know what would’ve gotten my attention,” you snap your fingers, “that quickly?”

“What?” He swallows, his throat bobbing. He licks his lips, a small smile beginning to form on his lips.

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“Asks me to be your valentine,” you shrug. He opens his mouth but you raise your hand to stop him. “And do it nicely.”

Hangman smiles slowly, biting his bottom lips before shaking his head in astonishment.

“Bullseye,” he starts. “Will you be my valentine?”

“See, was that so hard?” You tease. “And yes, I’ll be your valentine.”

“That’s all it takes?” He asks, tentatively placing is hands on your hips again, just like he did at the bar.

“That’s all it takes.”

“What should I do if it’s not Valentine’s Day?” He asks.

“Be upfront and ask me out,” you shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow,” he smiles. “Now, how would I ask to kiss you tonight?”

“Don’t ask,” you respond.

So he doesn’t.

Imma leave y’all hanging bc I have a Rooster fic coming later today 🤪 (also yes, this was supposed to be posted on Valentine’s Day. I just could not bring myself to do it for some reason.)

#glen powell #fanfic #glen powell x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw

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optimist-pine · 1 year ago

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Bodyguard

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: people are naked, but it's barely even borderline suggestive

Summary: You need a bath, but there's no way you're going alone

Era: Season 1, the Quarry

Your skin practically crawls from the buildup of dirt, sweat, and who knows what else that's managed to accumulate over the past three days. You still haven't quite adjusted to the reality of not having on-demand access to a hot shower and your scalp is all oily, and itchy, and eugh - gross. A little shiver runs down your spine at the thought - well, maybe that's just more sweat...

The bold shades of the sunset are beginning to fade as you make your way to the Dixon brothers' camp. Currently they're the closest thing you have to neighbors, your tent being between theirs and the rest of the group. You're dying for a quick dip and rinse in the pond, but you don't actually want to die for a bath, and you know it's a dumb idea to go alone. Everyone else seems busy though and you've come to the conclusion that Daryl seems to be your only option.

Most of the others actively avoid the brothers, and you can't say you blame them. Merle's constantly stirring up trouble and being a general annoyance, and Daryl's quick to jump to his defense. But, on the rare occasion when Daryl isn't being held under Merle's thumb, you catch glimpses of a very different person than what he usually puts out.

He's sitting in an old lawn chair by the side of a fire when you approach, poking a stick around in the coals. Little sparks shoot off where the fresh evening air hits them, and the smell of woodsmoke fills your lungs.

"Hey." You greet. A spot of doubt begins to arise within you, but you quickly stamp it out. With recent events you were beginning to discover that there wasn't much room left for second guessing or overthinking anymore.

"Need somethin'?" He asks, eyes flicking up to you for a moment before returning to the flames.

You hang your thumbs in your belt loops, fingers tapping against your hips. "If you're not busy, I was hoping maybe you could go down to the water with me? I'd ask someone else but they all seem rather occupied at the moment... and I don't think Shane'd let me go alone." You say.

He looks up, jaw set awfully close to a scowl. "I ain't gonna be yer damn bodyguard." He huffs.

"No- I don't want you to watch me or anything like that- I guess I'm just asking for companionship?" You reply. "You could do whatever you're gonna do here, but just do it down there?" You hike your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the pond.

He stays silent, but a sudden chorus of laughter flows out from the direction of the rest of the group. You study the way the firelight smooths out his rough edges, and you can't help but wonder if the look in his eyes is just boredom or if it's really loneliness.

"Unless you prefer Merle's company, then by all means I'll leave ya to it." You continue, trying your best to ignore Merle sawing logs in the tent, and erase the image of his hand too close to his crotch from your mind.

He jams the stick into the dirt hard enough that it remains standing when he lets go. "A'ight. Lemme get 'mah stuff."

"Awesome, I'll be over at my tent when you're ready." You smile, pleased and a little surprised that you'd managed to get him to say yes. Admittedly, Merle wasn't so bad when he was passed out, but it was reassuring to know that you were at least preferred company over an unconscious jerk.

---

Dirt and gravel crunch under your boots as the two of you walk, your knapsack bouncing steadily against your back with each step. "Thanks for coming with me. I'm not necessarily afraid of the dark or anything, but there's a lot worse things in the woods now than just coyotes." You explain. "And it's just nice not to be alone."

He simply grunts in response.

Good thing you didn't ask him along for his conversational skills.

When you reach the edge of the water you find a rock close to the shore to set out clean clothes and a towel. You see Daryl settle down, back propped against a boulder as he starts rummaging around in his own bag. "Whatcha gonna work on?" You ask.

He pulls out a whetstone and a couple large hunting knives. "Cleanin' mah tools." He replies.

You begin to undress, but a feeling of uncertainty causes you to pause. "Man, I wish I didn't feel like he's sitting up there right now with those binoculars..."

"Who? Shane?" He asks sounding surprised.

"Yeah." You shudder. "Guy gives me the creeps."

You hear scrape of the knife grinding against the sharpener. "Well, hurry up an'ere won' be anythin' ta see." He says.

"Yeah..." You keep your eye on Daryl while you finish, but he doesn't lift his gaze even once beyond sharpening his knife. "I won't be long." You assure him as the cool water rises around you.

As soon as you're far enough in you dive forward, the rush of water instantly reviving and refreshing your whole body as it flows past. You rise upwards as giddiness fills you and you break the surface with a laugh. "This is heavenly!" You gasp. You continue diving and twirling, every sore muscle and painful bruise easing away.

You pause to catch your breath and a small splash has you immediately alert. You left your knife up on the shore with Daryl, but you hadn't heard any sounds of alarm from him so surely it's not a walker. But when you look to the shore the sight has you almost equally as shocked. Daryl is chest deep in the water - bare chested that is - ripples being sent out across the still expanse as he sinks further in.

"Hey!" You yell. "I asked you out here because I thought you weren't some sorta pervert!" You hope it's dark enough that nothing in the water is visible because he's only getting closer.

The moon is full and bright, and the way it reflects off the water makes him look almost ethereal. "Can't protect ya if I'm up'ere an' yer alla'way out 'ere." He reasons.

"I don't need protecting." You roll your eyes. "And all the weapons are up there, Dixon!" You send a splash of water directly into his face.

He returns the splash. "Looked like I was missin' out on alla fun." He shrugs. "'Sides, ya never know when somethin' might jus'-" he disappears under the surface of the water and barely a second later something wraps around your ankle, tugging you under the surface.

When you're released you bob back up to the top wanting to be stern, but you're too busy giggling and swallowing mouthfuls of water to do so. When he surfaces behind you, you turn and splash him again sputtering, "Daryl you- that's not- I can't-" and end up full on belly laughing while trying to stay afloat.

You think you catch the shadow of a smile on his lips before he turns and floats away, like he's done nothing worthy of retaliation. 'Oho boy is he gonna get it.' As quietly as possible you lower yourself in the water, and using shadows from the moonlight, you swim under his head. Reaching up with both hands you use all your strength to grab his shoulders and pull yourself above the surface while pushing him down as hard as you can. Then you make a break for it.

You hear him gasp for air, coughing and sputtering as you swim as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

"Get back 'ere, woman!" He shouts, his tone highly amused. "Yer gonna hafta pay 'fer that!"

You don't realize how loudly you're laughing until the beam of a flashlight is suddenly shining directly in your face.

"Everything alright here?" Shane questions, standing on the shore not far from your and Daryl's discarded clothes. A few of the others are with him; Dale, Andrea, T-Dog, and Morales.

Even in the chilly water you can feel your skin begin to flush all the way down your neck. "Yes! All good!" You squeak out, squinting in the harsh brightness.

"We heard yelling." Andrea chimes in.

You're confident that in all your life you've never been more embarrassed. "That was laughing, guys. I wanted a bath and I asked Daryl to be my bodyguard. We were just, uh, blowing off some steam and I guess we got a little loud... Sorry if we worried anyone." You glance at Daryl who appears to be doing his best impression of the invisible man.

You can make out Dale's hat exceptionally well even in the darkness. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Their hesitation to leave sparks frustration within you - do they really think so lowly of Daryl? Is that what this is all about? Sure, nobody really knows him all that well, but you're all practically strangers and he's done alright by you. The desire to defend him takes over and you snap at the group, "Ah, what're y'all, the fun police? Go ruin somebody else's night and leave us be."

You don't take a good breath until they're all headed back to camp, and it's once again quiet and dark. You sigh, tilting your head back to watch the stars so high above as you float. "Dead people walking around eatin' living people - ya think they'd have bigger problems to deal with than a couple'a skinny dippers." You remark.

A quick exhale of a laugh, not quite a snort, echoes across the pond. "People're always jealous of'a good time if they ain't havin' one." He says quietly.

You pull your fingers through the water, feeling the tension push against them. "So... are ya feeling jealous, or did ya have a good time?" You ask.

"S'pose it wasn't too bad." He says. "But I ain't yer damn bodyguard."

And you grin.

---

Yeah, maybe it's a little awkward getting dried off, getting dressed, and walking back to camp but you sleep more soundly than you have since you arrived. And maybe you're a little annoyed with the way everyone seems to have nothing better to do than gossip, but that new gleam in Daryl's eye when he looks at you wipes it all from your mind. And maybe a lot of things suck, but at the end of the day there's someone who actually likes you, and maybe that's enough.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #optimist pine #twd season 1

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callsign-mayhem · 1 year ago

Text

heartbreak feels so good (part 1)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 8081 CW: Shitty boyfriends, angst, fluff, slow burn.

Your boyfriend's callsign is Viper, which is fitting. Bradley doesn't know how much longer he can watch this man destroy you, but luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

Use of Y/N, but no description of reader. THIS IS A MULTI-PART FIC.

Part Two Part Three

After another day of having your feelings totally ignored by your boyfriend, you were looking forward to some alone time. Elijah was so hot and cold that you felt as though you were in a constant state of fight or flight, just waiting for him to either make your day or ruin it completely. Most of the time, it was the latter, and although good days with him were few and far between, they were enough to make you stay. See, you didn’t half-ass anything—least of all relationships—so when you were in something, you were in it. You told Elijah that much after your first date. You’d been sitting in the front of his beemer eating ice cream, having the first of many deep talks. Between sweet, sticky kisses, you’d told him that you were dating to marry. He told you he was, too.

He said, ‘I’m yours if you’ll have me, Y/N.’ And that was that.

And it was almost a year ago. You’d survived a somewhat tumultuous winter with him, desperately trying to cling on to the version of him he’d been during the summer. As time went on, he stopped putting his mask on, secure enough in your relationship that he no longer felt the need to pretend to be caring and considerate. The days were starting to get longer, and the weather was warming up again, but Elijah was so far from the man he was at the start that you might as well have been in a relationship with a different person. Every morning, you woke up with no idea what personality to expect that day, whether or not he was going to take all his personal drama out on you, even though you only ever loved and supported him.

Today had been one of those days, and as you finished up with the F-18 engine currently in pieces in front of you, you silently prayed that he wouldn’t text you asking to come over. He was also a naval aviator, but you were working on different parts of the base today. Thank God. Elijah’s callsign was Viper, fitting since vipers prey on small animals by envenomating them and watching them die slowly.

Coyote appeared behind you, helmet tucked underneath his arm.

‘Hey, we’re all heading to The Hard Deck for beers,’ he told you. ‘You comin’?’ You grabbed a rag and made an attempt to wipe some of the oil off. ‘I don’t know,’ you sighed. ‘I want to, but then I’ll have to bring Elijah, and I don’t really wanna see him tonight.’ ‘Why do you have to bring him?’ Coyote frowned. ‘He’s a lousy drunk and never lets you have any fun.’ ‘If he finds out I went out with all you guys, he’ll think I’m up to something.’ ‘Like gettin’ with me?’ He joked, wiggling his eyebrows. ‘Probably,’ you laughed. ‘You or one of the others. Or maybe he’ll accuse me of getting with all of you if he’s in a particularly bad mood.’ ‘Listen, if you wanna come, you’re welcome. We’ll just make sure nobody posts about it, and we’ll get you a fake moustache or somethin’.’

It broke your heart to think about all your closest friends having a fun night without you. Over the past year, you’d lost count of the amount of experiences you’d missed out on because you didn’t want to make Elijah upset or angry with you. The worst part was it was a double standard. He went out without you all the time, didn’t tell you where he’d gone or who he was with, and expected you to be okay with it. If you weren’t, you could kiss your peace goodbye; he’d spend the next week making your life a living hell, ignoring you entirely until you apologised to him for being hurt by his actions.

‘You know what Javy? Count me in.’ He grinned. ‘Thatta girl.’

It was hard to regret coming out when you felt this good. It had been months since you’d gone on a night out without Elijah, which was to say it had been months since you last enjoyed yourself. As you sipped your second sex on the beach, you mused that some kind of higher power must have been looking out for you because you’d yet to receive a single text from your boyfriend. Most of the time, when you spent the night apart, he’d call you incessantly. It was annoying, sometimes bordering on obsessive, and you didn’t need him to tell you he was checking on you, or rather, checking that you were alone in your apartment. That much was obvious.

Dating an insecure man was not for the weak.

You were sat at one of the high tables next to the window watching Jake, Mickey, Javy, and Reuben play pool. Nat was opposite nursing a beer, glowing in the golden light of the evening. Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up, smiling at the notification.

‘Rooster’s on his way,’ she told you. ‘He wasn’t gonna come out tonight, but I told him he didn’t have a choice. It’s not every day Y/N Y/L/N leaves the comfort of her apartment.’ You scoffed. ‘That’s not exactly how I’d put it.’ ‘No?’ Nat raised a brow.

You hadn’t drunk in months, and despite only being on your second drink, the booze had loosened your lips significantly.

‘No. It’s not that I’d rather stay home, it’s that staying home makes my life easier because then I don’t have Elijah breathing down my fucking neck.’

Little did you know, Javy had told everyone about your conversation earlier. Not because he was a gossip but because he was worried about you. It was rare for you to open up to the squad about your relationship, but it wasn’t hard to guess what happened behind closed doors. They all worked with Viper, for one, and they were familiar with his temperament. Not only that, but you dropped off the face of the Earth a few months after you started dating him, and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

‘I don’t know why you’re still with him, Y/N. He’s an ass.’ ‘I know,’ you sighed, frowning into your drink. ‘It’s just not as straightforward as just leaving. I still love him. If I can make this work, I don’t have to start all over again with someone else.’ Nat nodded in understanding. ‘I get wanting to make it work, but at what cost? You don’t see your friends, and he uses you as an emotional punching bag. You can’t even come to the beach with us without him checking on you every five minutes,’ she reached over the table and took your hand. ‘He’s killing you.’

This was the first time someone had spoken their mind to you about the situation. While you already knew all of it, hearing it from one of your best friends hit home. Vodka made you emotional, and if not for Bradley, you would have broken down there and then.

He walked up to the table and engulfed you in a hug, practically pulling you off your stool. You pressed your face into his shirt, inhaling the scent of clean cotton and sandalwood. Half expecting Elijah to spring out and catch you in the act, you reluctantly pulled away.

‘Hey, Bradley.’ ‘Hey yourself, stranger. Can’t believe you’re gracing us with your presence.’ ‘I know, it’s been a while.’ ‘A while? Try six months,’ he glanced at your almost empty glass and Nat’s empty bottle of Heineken. ‘Can I buy you lovely ladies a drink?’ ‘Do you even have to ask?’ Nat retorted. ‘What’re you drinking, darlin’?’ He asked you. You smiled sheepishly. ‘Sex on the beach.’ ‘I can make that happen.’ He smirked.

Luckily, you didn’t have to come up with a response to that remark because he turned around and headed to the bar. You locked eyes with Nat, and both of you burst out laughing.

Just like that, all the negativity you’d been feeling dissipated like rain against hot tarmac.

Bradley came back with the drinks, and the three of you took the opportunity to catch up while the others finished their pool game. You shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were to find out that you’d missed a lot. Bradley had started dating one of the medics, but the relationship had crashed and burned almost immediately. He hadn’t bothered trying to meet anyone else since. Nat, after watching all her friends have such bad experiences in the dating world, had decided she was better off alone.

‘Honestly, I don’t blame you.’ You told her. ‘You should dump Viper,’ she said with a devilish grin. ‘And we can have a hot girl summer.’ Bradley laughed. ‘Can’t say I ever imagined you saying that, Nix.’ ‘Isn’t that what it’s called now? We can’t be that out of touch, surely.’ ‘I don’t wanna think about how old I am.’ You said, picking up your phone to see if you’d missed any texts from Elijah. You hated to think what kind of argument missing one of his calls would start. Nat and Rooster shared a knowing look. ‘It rings, you know? Out loud.’

Being this transparent was embarrassing.

‘I think I’m going to confiscate this for now.’ Ignoring your protests, Bradley swiped your phone and tucked it into his pocket. ‘If he calls or texts, I’ll let you know.’

You were tipsy enough not to try and take your phone back but not tipsy enough to be unbothered by the idea of Elijah calling and you not picking up.

‘If he calls, I need it back straight away,’ you told him sternly. ‘If I don’t pick up, I’ll never hear the end of it.’

Bradley rolled his eyes, but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you. He hated Elijah the most of all your friends. Perhaps sensing some tension, Nat slid off her stool and grabbed your arm, practically yanking you off yours.

‘Let’s go pick a song,’ she suggested. ‘We can get more drinks on the way back.’

Since it had been so long since you last visited The Hard Deck, she let you choose. You picked Rebel Yell by Billy Idol, your mum’s favourite. Admittedly, you’d been missing your home town a lot more than usual lately, perhaps because you were in such a weird place mentally. Things must be worse than you thought if you were considering running home with your tail between your legs.

As the night went on, you got drunker and drunker. Bradley watched with a bemused grin as you dragged Bob off to the jukebox again, since he was the easiest person to coerce into doing things. How Bradley wished it was him you were clinging to. Not that he was jealous of Bob—because that would be like being jealous of a puppy—he just desperately wanted to be the object of your affection.

While you and Bob went to change the music, Bradley struck up a conversation with Natasha and Reuben, who erupted into laughter when you pulled Bob’s arm so hard he almost toppled over.

‘It’s nice to have Y/N out, huh?’ He observed. Nat looked at him like he was the biggest dickhead in the world. ‘Come on, Bradshaw. He might be an ass, but she’s got a boyfriend.’

Bradley sipped his beer, desperately trying to come up with a believable response. Reuben smirked knowingly, which only made Bradley more annoyed.

‘I don’t have a thing for Y/N.’ ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.’ ‘Come on, Payback. You too?’ Reuben shrugged. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You look at her like she’s God’s gift.’

The reason Bradley looked at you like you were God’s gift is because you were, but nobody was supposed to know that.

‘Why do women stay with guys that treat them like shit?’ Bradley asked. ‘Depends on the woman,’ Natasha started. ‘But if you mean Y/N, it’s because she can’t do anything halfway. She told me earlier that it’s because she doesn’t want to start over with someone new, but I don’t think that’s it. She just loves so hard, and it takes a lot out of her. Why would she wanna start the process all over again if she already has someone?’ Bradley was incredulous. ‘Erm, I don’t know, maybe because he’s emotionally abusing her.’

You and Nat were close. In a way, she knew you better than you knew yourself, so she was the best person for Bradley to ask about things. Now, however, he was kind of regretting opening his mouth. Knowing why you were staying with a guy who treated you so badly didn’t make it easier to accept like Bradley thought it would; it only filled him with white-hot rage.

‘It’s not as easy as just leaving. She has to come to it on her own.’ ‘Yeah,’ Reuben chimed in. ‘You can’t convince Y/N of shit.’ Natasha scoffed. ‘Yup, and believe me, I’ve tried.’ ‘So what, we just sit around and watch him ruin her?’ ‘Y/N’s a smart cookie and one of the strongest people I know. She’ll come to her senses, and when she does, we’ll be here.’ ‘You know, I read somewhere once that you can’t save anyone. You can only hold their hand while they save themselves.’ Nat raised a brow. ‘Damn, Payback. That might be the wisest thing you’ve ever said.’ ‘Hey, why do you sound so surprised?’ ‘You really want me to answer that?’

Bradley had a lot to think about. Realistically, he knew there was nothing he could do. His only option was to let things unfold naturally and have faith that things would work out exactly the way they were supposed to. The only problem was, that sounded too much like ‘sit back and do nothing,’ which didn’t feel right either.

Bradley needed another drink.

In fact, he was just about to head to the bar when you came bounding over, dragging poor Bob behind you.

‘Roooooooooster.’ You cooed.

His heart just about melted when you started batting your eyelashes at him.

‘What’s up, Y/CS?’

Everyone else was watching the interaction expectantly, waiting to hear what you were going to say next.

‘You’re really pretty.’ Bradley laughed, hoping you were too drunk to notice the blush he could feel creeping across his cheeks. ‘Thank you. You’re really pretty, too.’ Nat, sensing the need to intervene, came around and gently grabbed your arm. ‘Hey, let’s get you a glass of water, huh?’ ‘But I need to tell Roo how pretty he looks.’

Bradley’s heart fluttered at your use of the pet name. He really didn’t want you to leave, but Nat was right. You needed some water and probably your bed.

‘You told him already, Y/N. And when you get back, you can tell him again.’

She started leading you away, and Bradley immediately missed your presence.

A very flushed-looking Bob took Nat’s empty stool. ‘That girl is somethin’ else.’ He murmured, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘I don’t think you should let her drink anymore.’ ‘I’m not her keeper,’ Bradley responded. ‘Can’t stop her from doing anything.’ Bob shrugged. ‘Maybe so, but you’re all she talked about. You and the fact that there’s no Fall Out Boy in the jukebox. Pretty sure she called it a ‘fucking tragedy.’’ Bradley leaned forward. ‘What did she say about me?’ ‘You know,’ Bob waved a hand dismissively. ‘You’re pretty. Her boyfriend is gonna kill her if he finds out she’s here with you because he thinks you have a thing for her.’ Bradley was at a loss for words. Reuben, however, was grinning like a fool. ‘What was that about not having a thing for her? Even her boyfriend’s caught on, man.’ ‘How many times do I have to say I do not have a thing for-’

An annoyingly loud ringing sound interrupted Bradley’s sentence. It didn’t sound like his ringtone, but the noise was coming from his pocket. It took him too long to remember that he had your phone in his pocket, and that it was probably Viper calling. Sure enough, when he took out your phone, he was greeted by a sickeningly sweet photo of you and your boyfriend on the beach. You and Nat were still at the bar, and he knew he should just let it ring so you could call him back later.

But something had a hold of Bradley, and he answered the call and pressed the phone to his ear before he could really process what he was doing.

‘Y/N’s phone.’

A beat of silence, then some of the most colourful language Bradley had ever heard in his life.

‘Who the fuck is this, and why the fuck have you got my girlfriend’s phone?’ ‘Y/N can’t come to the phone right now. She’s at the bar with her friend, gettin’ another round of drinks, and I just know hearing your voice would ruin her night. It’s ruined mine, that’s for sure. If you want, I can take a message, and she’ll get back to you in the morning.’

Reuben was nearly on the floor, trying desperately not to laugh in case Viper heard him. Bob had paled significantly, like he’d seen a ghost—or worse.

‘That you, Bradshaw? I just knew something was going on-’

Bradley hung up. The severity of the situation was beginning to hit, and despite the sick satisfaction he’d felt when he picked up the phone, he was regretting his decision already.

‘Y/N is gonna kill you, Rooster.’ Bob told him.

Nat made the sensible decision to cut you off, but she said you could stay out with them until closing if you promised to keep drinking water and stop fucking around with the jukebox. That was how you ended up in the corner of a booth with Bradley next to you to stop you from escaping.

Not that you’d want to escape.

Mickey had joined, and the guys were playing cards while you and Nat talked. She was catching you up on her life, and it made a change to think about someone other than Elijah for once.

That’s when it hit you.

You hadn’t checked your phone in hours, and you dreaded to think how many texts and calls you’d missed.

‘Bradley, can I have my phone?’

He set his hand of cards down on the table and reached into his pocket. When you reached out to take it, he pulled away.

‘Before I give this to you, I need to tell you something.’

A wave of nausea hit you.

‘What? What’s going on?’ ‘Viper called about an hour ago. You were at the bar, and I didn’t know what to do, so I answered it.’ Reuben leaned forward in his seat. ‘Oh, this is about to be good.’

You thought you knew what panic felt like, but up until this very moment, you had no idea. Bradley was lucky you didn’t throw up in his lap from the nerves.

‘What?’ ‘I’m sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t thinking-’

You snatched your phone from him, ignoring the kicked-puppy expression he was sporting. A slew of angry text messages that were borderline abusive greeted you. You skimmed them quickly, not wanting to read too many in case you started crying in front of the entire squad.

What started out as the best night you’d had in a while quickly turned into the worst. Your boyfriend's hateful messages reminded you why you never went out and why this was the biggest mistake you could have made.

The worst part was you saw it coming.

‘Move,’ you said, grabbing your bag. ‘Bradley, let me out now.’ ‘You can’t drive like this, Y/N. Let one of us take you home.’

Bradley sounded destroyed. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

‘Move.’

He nudged Bob, who stood up so Bradley could climb out of the booth. You were close behind him, and when your feet touched the floor, you nearly keeled over. Bradley reached out to steady you, but you shook him off.

‘Y/N. You can’t leave like this. How are you gonna get home?’

Ignoring his pleas, you made a beeline for the exit. Nat shoved Reuben into Mickey, trying to hurry them out of the booth so she could follow you, but you were surprisingly fast for a drunk person. Bradley was right about one thing: there was no way you could drive in this state. You ducked around the corner so Nat couldn’t see you and sank to the floor. Hot tears prickled behind your eyes as you did the one thing you didn’t want to do, but the only thing you could do.

You called Elijah.

He didn’t answer the first, second, third, or fourth time.

Half an hour passed, and you didn’t move. At one point, you heard Bradley, Nat, and Reuben talking around the corner, coming up with a plan for where to look for you. They knew you were on foot because your car was still in the lot, and since you’d disappeared so quickly, you couldn’t have gotten far. If the situation weren’t so tragic, it would’ve been funny that you were hiding ten paces away, and none of them could find you.

It was getting very late. People were getting in their cars and leaving or jumping into Ubers. Soon, your Jeep would be the only car left. You couldn’t face the daggers, and you couldn’t drive home, so you picked yourself up and took a slow walk down the beach to where the water met the sand.

What a beautiful night to have your heart broken.

There was no way Elijah would ever forgive you for this, no way you’d ever be able to convince him that nothing had happened between you and Bradley. The sane part of you knew that it was crazy to feel guilty for simply enjoying a night out with your friends, but the sane part of you rarely won these days. The part of you that loved Elijah was always loudest and knew this could never have gone any other way.

You were just about to resign yourself to calling a cab when you heard someone yelling your name from the top of the beach.

You either had the best or worst luck in the world because it was Bradley.

He made short work of the distance, giving you no time to come up with something to say. He looked otherworldly in the pale moonlight. His hair was slightly mused, and the same insane part of you that loved what it loved was whispering at you to run your fingers through it.

‘We’ve been looking all over for you, Y/N.’ He sounded very concerned as he pulled out his phone and texted the others to let them know you were safe. ‘I’m sorry, I just needed to be alone.’

You hadn’t even realised you were shivering until Bradley draped his Levi jacket over your shoulders.

‘You needed to be alone, or you needed to call Viper back?’ The tears threatened to make another appearance. ‘It’s none of your business.’ ‘What makes you think it’s not my business? I care about you and don’t want to keep watching you get hurt.’ ‘Then stop watching!’

Bradley recoiled, and you immediately felt awful. How Elijah spoke to you like that day in and day out without feeling guilty was a mystery to you.

‘I’m sorry, Bradley,’ you sighed, pulling his jacket tighter around you. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just very drunk and very emotional right now.’

He softened immediately and seemed torn about whether he should let you stand there freezing or pull you close. You hoped he wouldn’t try to pull you close because you didn’t think you’d have the guts to tell him no. Good feelings had been so incredibly hard to come by as of late.

‘Why are you still with him, Y/N?’ Bradley asked almost pleadingly.

Wow. He didn’t waste any time getting right to the point.

‘That’s a loaded question.’ ‘I need you to explain it to me because it’s killing me.’

You thought about it for a moment, and Bradley waited with bated breath to hear what you had to say.

In the end, it was this: ‘I guess we accept the love we think we deserve.’

Until you said it out loud, this phrase held little meaning to you. Now that it was out in the open, it was very heavy. In the last few months you’d tried coming up with a decent explanation as to why you were staying with Elijah, and you fell short every time. Turns out all you needed to do was get drunk and have an honest conversation to figure it out.

Coming to the realisation that what you’d just said was true felt like being in freefall. Everything in your life was changing shape to fit around this ugly truth. The good things in your heart shied away in the face of this monstrous fact.

You didn’t think you deserved a healthy love.

Somehow, Bradley was more hurt by this than when you’d snapped at him earlier. He was staring at the ground, unable to meet your eye like you’d just told him he wasn’t worthy of love.

‘You don’t think you deserve to be happy?’

Hearing him say it was somehow even worse.

‘Apparently not.’

You were both quiet for a moment, and then, for whatever reason, you laughed.

‘This is news to me too.’

The waves crashed loudly, water lapping at your feet as the tide came in. You couldn’t stand out here having epiphanies all night.

‘Listen, Rooster, I need to go home. I’m sorry for snapping.’ ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said quietly. ‘But we should talk tomorrow when you’re sober. Maybe we could get coffee.’ You shook your head. ‘After tonight, I don’t think that’s a smart idea. I’ll probably be spending tomorrow trying to salvage what’s left of my relationship.’ ‘You’re not serious.’ ‘I am.’

He opened his mouth to protest but then appeared to change his mind. You watched as all the fight he had left in him dissolved. There was nothing left for him to say, and he knew it.

The irritating birds that constantly chirped right outside your bedroom window woke you up. It was too damn early, and your head felt as though it was splitting open. When you sat up, you were hit by a wave of nausea so strong that you had no other choice but to sprint to the bathroom, smashing into the corner of your chest of drawers on the way.

Which was to say, it was a bad morning.

After you had puked up the entire contents of your stomach, you jumped straight in the shower, brushed your teeth, and did your skincare. At least if Elijah showed up at your front door, you wouldn’t look like you got super drunk last night, even though he’d probably already guessed.

When you checked your phone, there were still no notifications from him, and when you called, there was no answer. This wasn’t unlike him, but it had been almost twelve hours since Bradley picked up your phone, and you would have thought he’d have something to say by now.

To distract yourself from your impending doom, you threw open all the windows in your apartment, made your bed, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher—all the usual morning tasks. It seemed a shame to waste such a beautiful Saturday, but you doubted you’d enjoy any of your hobbies when you were this anxious and hungover.

With nothing else left to do, you set about making some breakfast.

Just as you put your bagel in the toaster, somebody knocked on the door.

Your stomach twisted itself into an impossibly tight knot. You were rooted to the spot, unable to move until whoever it was knocked a second time.

You looked through the peephole, expecting to see Elijah standing there with his dark eyebrows knitted together in frustration. It was the only scenario that had crossed your mind, so when you saw Bradley standing there, you were very surprised.

You took a deep breath and opened the door, greeted by the warm scent of sandalwood once again.

‘Bradley?’

He was holding two iced lattes, which you were betting were vanilla—your favourite. Elijah hadn’t done that for you since the first week of your relationship.

‘Hey, Y/N. Thought you could use this.’

He wasn’t wrong. You ushered him inside, and he headed to the kitchen, where he

perched himself on one of the stools at your kitchen island. This morning, he was sporting one of his more toned-down Hawaiian shirts and dark jeans. His eyelids drooped, and you wondered if he’d slept at all.

‘I was just about to make bagels. Want one?’ ‘Sure, thank you.’

You busied yourself, putting bacon and eggs into a pan while he sipped his coffee. He eyed you with the curiosity of someone who had come over to check that you were all in one piece. Once he was satisfied that you were, he relaxed slightly.

‘Thank you for bringing me home last night. I really appreciate it.’ You told him earnestly. ‘You don’t need to thank me. You’d have done the same thing.’ ‘True, but still. And I’m sorry for snapping at you.’

Last night was gradually coming back to you in flashes, like a supercut. Each time you remembered a new detail, you cringed internally.

‘You also don’t need to apologise. Has he called you?’

While the eggs and bacon were cooking, you toasted another bagel for Bradley and buttered yours. Even though you’d known him for years and been quite close until you got into a relationship, you were struggling to admit that you were pretty much being ghosted. It was already hard to walk around on base knowing that everybody was aware of how Elijah treated you. When you didn’t respond, Bradley took that as a no.

‘Well, that’s his problem,’ he spat. ‘You did absolutely nothing wrong. Maybe if he were less of a control freak, you would have felt like you could tell him you were out with us rather than hiding it, and then he wouldn’t have found out the way he did.’

The toaster popped, and you jumped. It felt like somebody had run a cheese grater over your nerves. Bradley ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, clearly trying to reign in his anger.

‘I should apologise too,’ he continued. ‘I shouldn’t have answered your phone. It was a dick move, and I regretted it the instant I did it.’

You buttered the second bagel, put one egg on each of the bottom halves, and stacked two pieces of bacon on top before adding the top part. You didn’t say a word the entire time, and Bradley was starting to get antsy.

‘Y/N. Please talk to me.’ ‘I don’t know what to say, Roo. I’m struggling even to think straight right now. He knows it drives me fucking crazy when he’s having a go at me and doesn’t respond. I don’t understand why he does it, knowing how it makes me feel.’ Bradley sighed. ‘Because he doesn’t give a shit how you feel. He doesn’t give a shit about anything other than himself and how he feels.’

This wasn’t news to you, but again, it was more impactful to hear someone else say it out loud. Really, how long could you keep this up? Whether you thought you deserved it or not, you were starting to wonder if you might be better off alone than with someone who made living feel like walking next to a cliff with your eyes closed.

You pushed Bradley’s plate across the counter and picked up your bagel. Eating felt impossible, but getting through the day with this headache would be excruciating if you didn’t at least try.

‘Come and sit down,’ Bradley said. ‘It’s not good to eat standing up.’ Despite everything, you managed to laugh. And this time, it was a real laugh. ‘Why?’ A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t know. My mum used to say it all the time.’

You did as you were told, and you walked around the island, taking the seat next to him. The two of you ate in companionable silence, periodically taking sips of your coffees. This was how easy it should have been with Elijah.

When you were both finished, Bradley put your plates, pan, and utensils into the dishwasher. You were too tired to tell him to stop.

‘Thanks for breakfast.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for being you.’

Bradley’s smile mirrored your own. Unsaid words hung in the air, but you didn’t know what to say. His leaving didn’t feel right, but if he stayed and Elijah made an appearance, he’d most definitely break up with you.

But wasn’t this radio silence all the confirmation you needed that things were pretty much over, anyway? You were starting to wonder if this weekend had all happened exactly the way it was supposed to. Your eyes were indeed open, that was for sure. Of course, you’d known that the relationship wasn’t healthy, but this weekend had really driven the point home.

‘Do you wanna go for a walk along the beach?’ You asked, hopefully. ‘We could grab some ice cream at that little place next to the arcade.’

Bradley didn’t just look happy. He also looked relieved that you weren’t asking him to leave.

‘I’d love to.’

It was a beautiful Spring day, perfect walking weather. Honestly, it was the last thing Bradley expected you to suggest, so he jumped on the idea before you could change your mind and send him home.

Because he really didn’t want to go home.

He’d sensed that you didn’t want to talk about Viper, and you’d yet to bring up your conversation on the beach last night. Bradley was beginning to doubt that you even remembered everything you said—all that nonsense about not deserving a healthy love. Bradley didn’t take you as a liar, which meant you believed that you weren’t deserving of happiness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite so sad and also angry at the same time. So many emotions were warring for the top spot in his heart, and as a result, his brain was incredibly foggy.

A walk along the beach with you was perhaps the only cure.

‘Did you hear about Hangman?’ Bradley assumed you hadn’t. ‘No?’ ‘He’s getting deployed. He’s leaving next month.’ ‘How long is he going for?’ ‘Six months.’ You whistled lowly. ‘Damn.’ ‘I know. I think he’s looking forward to it, though. I sure am.’ ‘You know, I don’t think you hate him half as much as you say.’ Bradley chuckled. ‘Maybe not, but being nice to him wouldn’t feel right. Even after everything that happened on the mission.’

The two of you walked down the beach, chit-chatting about anything that came to mind. You were about halfway to the ice cream place when your phone pinged. Bradley guessed it would be Viper, but he never could have guessed what the message said.

It was a photo of you and Bradley walking down the beach, taken from behind. The picture had been forwarded to you from someone else.

E<3: always knew you were a slut.

You inhaled sharply, obviously hurt by the words on the screen. Not two seconds later, he sent another text.

E<3: PS: we’re fucking over.

The two of you had stopped walking. Bradley watched over your shoulder as you furiously typed a reply and deleted it again. You turned to face him, and his heart just about broke when he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t need to say a word. He pulled you close to him, wrapping you tightly in his arms. You stayed that way for a while, sobbing into his Hawaiian shirt as he rubbed your back soothingly. When you eventually pulled away, the first thing you did was apologise.

‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, sweet girl. He’s the one who should be sorry.’ You sniffled. ‘I don’t know what to reply.’ ‘Leave it for now,’ he said. ‘We can go get ice cream, take a slow walk back to yours. Then I’ll help you think of something.’ ‘I don’t know if I feel like ice cream anymore.’ ‘Well, that’s too bad because I do. Ice cream is the best remedy for heartbreak.’ ‘Did your mum tell you that too?’ ‘She sure did.’

It turns out Bradley was right about ice cream being the best remedy for heartbreak. The two of you sat on the wall, watching the waves while he munched on a mint chocolate chip cone and you butterscotch. It was hard to tell whether it was the best ice cream you’d ever had or if it was because you were with Bradley. If you remembered correctly, you’d had ice cream from this same place with Elijah before, and it hadn’t been this nice.

Thinking back on your memories with him only made you want to cry, so you did your best to shove them to the back of your mind. Despite the fact that he was actually a very shitty person, he’d been a dream at the beginning, and that didn’t just go away. The happy moments didn’t just suddenly turn to ash, as much as you wished they would.

‘What are your plans for the rest of the night?’ Bradley asked around his ice cream cone. ‘I don’t know, Roo. I’m kinda working on a minute-to-minute basis right now.’ Bradley nodded. ‘Okay, well, what would you say to junk food run and a movie night?’ ‘With you? ‘If you want to. I just don’t think it’s good for you to be alone.’ ‘I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me.’ ‘Is that what you think this is?’ ‘No, but I don’t want to be a burden. Or a charity case.’ ‘Y/N, you’re none of those things. I always want to spend time with you. Just so happens I have a good excuse today.’ You frowned into your ice cream. ‘Okay. As long as you’re sure.’

The two of you finished your ice cream and took a slow walk back to your apartment. When you got in, the first thing you noticed was a framed photograph of you and your now ex-boyfriend on the side table in the hallway. When your bottom lip started trembling, Bradley picked up the photo, put it face down, and then proceeded to run around your apartment and take down any others. It didn’t feel like the same place you’d left a few hours ago. It was haunted by memories that would never look right in the light of day. Even the happiest ones from the start were tainted with the ugliness of his cruel words and actions.

‘This place is so depressing.’ You grumbled.

Bradley stood in front of you with a stack of photos and one of Elijah’s t-shirts.

‘It’s not. It’s your home, Y/N. We just have to pack away his stuff and put it all in a box.’ ‘An ex-boyfriend box.’ Bradley smiled sadly. ‘Yeah, exactly. It might be over, and he might be a dick, but it was still a big part of your life, and it’s important to keep the memories safe in case you wanna look back on them someday.’ ‘Or in case I wanna burn them.’ ‘That too.’ Bradley chuckled

So you helped him gather all the mementoes from your relationship and put them in an old Dr Martens box. It all looked pretty pathetic, packed away in a shoebox.

‘I found one of his hoodies and a few other things.’ You called from your bedroom. ‘Can you grab me a bin bag from the top of the fridge?’

You heard shuffling, and then Bradley was standing in the doorway holding out the bag you requested.

‘Damn, he doesn’t even get one of the nice Trader Joe's bags?’ ‘No,’ you giggled. ‘He gets a trash bag because his stuff is trash, and he’s trash.’

You weren’t really at the stage where you believed that just yet, but saying it was really satisfying, and it felt good to laugh. Fake it till you make it or whatever.

‘Want me to give it to him tomorrow?’ ‘Thanks, but I should really be the one to do it. I haven’t even texted him back.’ You thought about it for a moment and then continued. ‘Would it be cheeky of me to ask if you’ll come with me? Maybe Nat, too? I could use some moral support, and he’s less likely to make a scene if the two of you are there.’ ‘Of course I’ll be there. I won’t say anything unless you need me to or unless he starts. I can’t make that same promise for Nix, though.’ ‘I haven’t even told Nat yet,’ you sighed. ‘I don’t think I wanna talk about it right this second.’ ‘I’ll text her. Don’t worry about it.’

From your spot on the floor, you looked up at Bradley. The evening sunlight was streaming in through the windows, casting an ethereal glow around him.

‘You should change your callsign to angel.’ A look of pleasant surprise flickered across his handsome features. ‘Why?’ ‘Because you’re literally my angel, Roo. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

Half an hour later, Bradley convinced you to go on a junk food run with him in the Bronco. He said tonight was a mandatory, post-breakup wallowing sesh because if you bottled up your feelings now, you’d explode later at a much more inconvenient time.

The two of you had been screaming along to all the classic breakup songs: All Too Well by Taylor Swift (yes, he knew all the words), Who Knew by Pink, What About Now by Daughtry… He’d driven the long way to the store because you got so into it.

Now, as you scanned the shelves in Target, you asked: ‘What is it about screaming sad songs that makes you feel better?’ ‘It’s cathartic,’ Bradley explained. ‘Helps you relieve the strong feelings.’ ‘You know a lot about heartbreak.’ ‘Well, I’ve had my fair share of sadness.’ You froze. ‘That was insensitive of me, I’m sorry.’ Bradley took the packed of Reeses Pieces from your hands so he could hold them. ‘Can you make me a promise?’ ‘What?’ You asked sceptically. ‘Promise you’re gonna stop apologising to me all the time. You have nothing to be sorry for.’ ‘Sorry.’ You smiled sheepishly. He shook his head. ‘That’s not what you’re supposed to say.’ ‘Okay, fine,’ you huffed. ‘I promise to stop apologising all the time.’ ‘Thank you,’ Bradley said, releasing your hands reluctantly. ‘Now, pick out five more things.’ ‘Five? There’s already five things in the basket.’ ‘Did I ask?’ ‘I’m gonna get fat.’ ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Wallowing means junk food, and I don’t know if you’re looking at the same basket I am, but that’s not enough junk food.’ ‘Christ Almighty, okay.’

He helped you pick out five more things, and then you headed to check out.

‘What movies are good for wallowing?’ You asked. ‘Well, we have to start with a couple of sad ones and then finish with a happy one.’

The cashier told you your total, and Bradley tapped his card before you could even get yours out. You gave him a withering look.

‘I would’ve paid for that. You paid for the ice cream.’ ‘So?’ ‘So we should take it in turns.’

Obviously, he carried the bags as well, and as you walked back to the Bronco, he couldn’t help but wonder if Viper made you take it in turns. If you were his girl, you’d never have to tap your card.

‘What’s your favourite sad movie?’ He inquired. You opened the trunk for him so he could put the bags in. ‘Technically, it’s not a sad movie. But there’s this part in Inside Out…Wait, have you watched it before? I don’t wanna spoil it for you.’ ‘The part where Bing Bong gets forgotten?’ You gasped. ‘How did you know?’ ‘Because it gets me every single time.’

The way you looked at him in that moment, like he had hung the moon in the sky—God, it was too much.

‘We’ll start with Inside Out,’ he told you, opening the passenger door so you could climb in. ‘And then we’ll think of something else.’

Without giving much thought to what he was doing, Bradley found himself buckling your seatbelt for you. You were holding your breath, and it dawned on him how easy it would be to kiss you if he were that sort of guy.

And as much as he wanted to kiss you, he was not that sort of guy. He wasn’t about to take advantage of the fact that some asshole had just taken a sledgehammer to your very beautiful heart.

‘Can we watch Bridge To Terabithia?’ You whispered.

Bradley hadn’t moved, and you were so close that he could feel your warm breath on his cheek.

‘Are you trying to break my heart, Y/N?’ ‘Yes. I want you to feel my pain.’

He was grinning the whole way around the car to the driver’s side and still grinning when he got in the car. You already had his phone in your hand, searching for more sad songs so you could continue your car concert on the way back to your apartment. He drove the long way again so the two of you could finish your rendition of ‘I Don’t Love You’ by My Chemical Romance, which Bradley didn’t know the words to. He tried his best, though, because you seemed to love it, and he couldn’t deny you anything.

By the time you got home, the sun had almost entirely set. While he set the snacks out on the coffee table, you went around lighting candles and switching on fairy lights. He’d never seen your apartment in the dark, and it was incredibly cosy. Even though it was relatively warm, you dragged all your blankets and pillows from your bed and made a little nest on the sofa. You were so adorable, it was hard to believe that someone could treat you badly.

If you were his girl, every night would look like this—except you’d be a lot happier, and there would be no tears.

Halfway through Bridge To Terebitha, you fell asleep. Bradley had been trying to keep his distance despite wanting to wrap you up in his arms, yet somehow—in your sleep—you’d ended up with your legs in his lap. He’d frozen at first, but once he realised you were dead to the world, he allowed himself to rest his hands on your knees. Really, it was that or sit with his arms crossed, and that would be silly.

For the duration of the movie, his attention flickered between you and the TV. Every time he tried paying attention to what was happening, his eyes wandered back to your peaceful face. He marvelled at your astounding beauty, the delicate way your eyelashes rested against the tops of your rosy cheeks. Bradley had always admired you, and you’d been good friends for years, but what he felt in that moment was something else entirely. By the time the end credits started rolling, he knew without a doubt that he’d set whole cities ablaze to keep you warm. Feelings as rapidly growing as his should have been terrifying, but Bradley wasn’t scared. Falling in love with you seemed to be as easy as wading out into a calm ocean on a warm summer’s day.

He knew you’d yet to learn that falling in love and staying in love should always be this easy. He knew it was going to take some time to convince you that you deserved healthy love, that the right person would never run away from you and keep turning around to make sure you were chasing them.

But Bradley was a patient man, and he would wait as long as he had to.

End of part one.

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dancethroughthethunder · 3 months ago

Text

Hiccups, Pens, and Other Ways Bob Might be a Wizard (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: Five times your teammate Bob knows and does the exact thing you need and one time you hope to return the favor.

Author’s Note: As is a theme in my fics, I love love love friends to lovers and a 5+1 fic. This one happens to be with the sweetest WSO around, who I'm convinced is a Nana's Boy and an acts of service guy. This work can also be found here at my ao3. I hope you enjoy! Divider credit to @/saradika

Your morning exercise is going to start any minute and you can’t stop hiccupping. Usually some nice slow sips of water get rid of your hiccups but for some reason that doesn’t seem to be working right now. Eventually you set your water bottle down and groan.

Hangman and Coyote are laughing hysterically each time you hiccup, as if they’ve never heard someone have them before, and you can tell that Rooster is trying his best not to laugh along with them.

“It’s not that” hic “ funny.” You say, rolling your eyes at your teammates and thankful that Mav hasn’t arrived yet to start the day.

“It really is. You sound like a little mouse. Maybe we’ll change your name to Squeaky.” Hangman can barely get out in between laughs. For some reason, this is what breaks Rooster’s composure and he starts laughing along, muttering something you can’t quite catch about cheese.

You’re not offended, and you’re not really annoyed with your teammates, you just really want these damn hiccups to go away. You’ve held your breath, tried slowly drinking water, and you just can’t get rid of them. You know that Hangman is right and you sound ridiculous and all you can do is hope that by the time your morning officially starts and you all observe the first flight of the day, you’ll be back to normal. It’s not like they’re your fault, but you’re sure that Mav will give you shit for interrupting and distracting the team if they’re still happening once the day starts. At this point, you’re almost desperate enough to ask one of the guys to try and scare you. Almost.

You hear footsteps down the hall, and pick your water back up, hoping that if Mav’s on his way in, you’ll get lucky and be able to kick your hiccups quickly once and for all.

“What’s your callsign?” Bob calls out as he comes into the room, flight suit on and helmet in hand. Bob and Phoenix are first in the air this morning, and you’re surprised he’s in the briefing room instead of out on the tarmac.

“What?” hic .

Bob clearly knows your callsign, you’ve known each other for years, you two go back before the Uranium mission. Besides, even if you only met a few months ago, it’s painted on the side of your plane and in true Top Gun fashion, everyone else calls you it pretty much exclusively.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go up?” You ask.

“I’ve got a few minutes. Humor me?” It’s Bob, so even though you’re confused, you do. You’re not sure that there’s much that Bob could ask of you that you wouldn’t do without much hesitation.

“It’s” hic “Hawk.” You tell him, knowing that your tone conveys your confusion.

“Oh no, it’s Squeak now.” As per usual, you and Bob both ignore Hangman. You are tempted to flip him off but know that with your luck, that’ll be the moment an admiral strolls by. You keep your hands down and your attention focused on Bob.

“Good. Full name?” Bob nods earnestly as he asks, and you’re sure you’re looking at him suspiciously, but you go along with it, giving him your first, middle, and last name in between hiccups.

“Last one – what’s your birthday?” Okay, now you’re sure he has to be up to something but you give him the month and date, turning to look at Rooster who just shrugs.

“With the year?” Once again, you do what Bob asks and repeat your birthday, tacking on the year at the end. “Oh shit gotta run, you’re welcome Hawk!” Bob looks down at his watch and turns around to run, presumably out to the tarmac.

“What was that?” You turn to ask the rest of the squad when suddenly you realize that somewhere between your full name and now, your hiccups have completely disappeared.

“RIP Squeak, she squeaked her last squeak.” Fanboy’s comment doesn’t make sense, but everyone is laughing anyway.

You head to the door to watch Bob run out to meet Phoenix on the tarmac, yelling out after him.

“Bob what the fuck? Are you a wizard?” Shaking your head in disbelief, you make your way back to your seat just in time for Maverick to come in and turn on the flight radio to begin the day’s exercises. Mav’s clearly in a mood so you’re extra thankful, even if you’re not sure what drew Bob to the training room in the first place or how his interrogation solved your hiccup problem.

Resolving to ask Nat later, you grab a pen and your notepad and start trying to pay complete attention to Maverick as he walks you through the morning’s plan even though your mind keeps trying to drift towards your favorite WSO.

“Damn.” You’re trying to finish jotting down some thoughts before your next meeting, but your pen doesn’t seem to be cooperating. “Nat, do you have a spare pen I can borrow?”

Judging by her grimace, you know what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Sorry, Hawk. Try one of the guys?”

You love your teammates, you trust them with your life – literally – but at the end of the day, sometimes they’re useless. This is one of those times. For a group of highly decorated aviators, it’s shocking how often one of you has to cave and buy an entire box of cheap pens to keep around for everyone’s use.

Given how often you and Phoenix have teased the guys for using a last-resort pen (as you’d dubbed them), you really don’t want to have to go grab one. Even if you hadn’t given the guys shit about it, you’re particular about your pens when it comes to your personal work notes.

Contrary to popular belief, not everything you do at work is officially on the record, required by law. There’s nothing in your meeting notes that would require them to be kept or maintained, by policy, so while they’ll be securely disposed of due to their reference to highly classified information, they’re yours to do with what you’d like. For you, that means writing them with a gorgeous gel pen in your favorite shade of purple.

It’s one thing when you’re submitting something official, on record, then you understand the need for a simple blue or black ink. Truly, you don’t mind all of the rules and regs, you wouldn’t have survived this long in the Navy if you did. Sometimes, though, it’s nice to branch out where you can, and for you an easy way is your note-taking. Your mom has always had the most beautiful handwriting, and is always taking notes, and jotting down thoughts and to-do lists in pens of all colors with stationery scattered around the house. While your handwriting is a far cry from hers, you definitely got her love of stationary and pretty pens.

You’d once swapped Hangman’s pen for a sparkly pink gel pen after he’d made a bullshit comment about your notes, calling you Naval Aviator Barbie. You’d only agreed to give his original pen back once he apologized to you and Nat, and admitted that your ability to do your job and your pen choice are completely separate. That, and you made him promise to buy you each two drinks the next time you went to the Hard Deck.

Was the punishment worth the crime? Not at all. You eagerly admitted to Nat later that you were already in a bad mood, and had lashed out even though you knew Hangman was just having fun. Sure he crossed a line now and then, but even you admitted that his pen comment wasn’t one of them.

To your amusement, he refused to give back the pink pen and occasionally left you notes written in it, or loaning it to the rest of the team when they inevitably turned up without a pen.

This time, it’s your turn without a pen. Normally you have a spare, but you suddenly realize that you forgot to grab an extra, last time you were in this situation. Looking down at your beautiful purple pen once more, you resign yourself to having to go grab a cheap pen from the box at the side of the room.

Sighing as you stand up to make your way to the box of shame cheap pens, you’re stopped by a hand on your arm.

“Did you say you needed a pen?” Bob asks.

“Yeah, I thought I had one.” You shrug. As much as you love your pretty pens, it really isn’t the end of the world, you’ve already spent a very silly amount of time thinking about it.

“I have one!” Bob smiles as he reaches into his pocket.

Bob, like you, appreciates a decent pen, though he’s more likely to stick to a standard blue. Which is why you’re surprised when he pulls an exact duplicate of the pen in your hand out of his pocket.

“Bob, you lifesaver. That’s my favorite pen! Thank you!”

“I know. It’s no big deal.” He brushes off your thanks and heads back to his chair.

You’re not sure how you got so lucky as to have Bob have one of your favorite kinds of pens ready for you, but you’re not complaining. In fact, it makes it even sweeter a few minutes later when Fanboy’s pen dies and he makes a show of getting a last-resort pen. As Fanboy grabs his new pen, you tear off the page you’re writing on and slide it over to Bob.

Bob reads your thank you note (in your pretty purple pen) and smiles, while you try and avoid making eye contact with Nat. She knows you too well to accept ‘it’s polite to say thank you’ as an excuse for your handwritten note, and you definitely don’t want to have that conversation with her at work, in front of everyone. You wouldn’t put it past her to say something, especially since she’s been on you about catching you staring at Bob lately. You know that eventually you’ll cave and talk to her about it, but for now you make a show of focusing on your new pen and preparing for your next meeting.

3:07 A.M.

Maverick’s Angels(Dagger Emoji)

You: Hey guys, ask me what I’m doing

You: Okay what are you doing, Hawk?

You: Thank you for asking! I’m currently sitting outside my building waiting for FD to shut off the alarm at my building for the third time. Third!! Twice now they’ve gotten it off just for it to start again within 30 seconds. I’ve been out here for an hour.

You: I will both beg and pay whoever is getting coffee tomorrow (today???) to get me a large instead

You: Please

You: I’m like 99% sure it’s Coyote’s week. Javy I’ll love u forever.

You: & if I’m wrong, I’ll love whoever puts my coffee in my hand (sorry Javy. or not. If it is you. Idk anymore).

6:15 A.M.

Bob Floyd: Swap coffee runs with me. I’ll go this morning, you can go next week.

Bob Floyd: Please.

Javy Machado: (salute emoji)

Sometime after the Uranium mission, after being stood up as a special detachment at North Island, you all fell into the routine of Friday morning coffee. You can’t even remember who started it, but someone suggested that once a week, someone stops by the coffee shop near base to pick up coffee for everyone. It’s close enough to base to not be wildly inconvenient, but the most important thing is that it’s off base. There’s only so much cheap government office coffee you can drink.

You have a standing order for Friday mornings, and a rotation for who gets it. No one person has to be the one to pay, pick it up, or bring it more than once in two months with your arrangement. As far as anyone knew, it was supposed to be Coyote’s week to grab the coffee, so when you run into the briefing room (later than you normally would but not enough to be considered truly late), you’re surprised to see Bob handing out coffees.

You’re so busy complaining to Phoenix about how tired you are that you didn’t even stop to look down at the coffee being put in your hand before taking a sip of it. It’s a large as opposed to your regular medium order and you’re so thankful you sent that 3AM text in the group chat. As you take a sip, you’re pleasantly surprised by the flavor.

On the weekend, the sweeter your coffee, the better. You love adding different syrups and flavors, trying whatever specialty latte or coffee the barista recommends. You’re just as happy with a simple medium iced coffee, black with one sugar, and you know that’s significantly easier for the weekly coffee roundup so on Fridays you keep your order simple. Which means you took a sip expecting an iced coffee, black with just a hint of sweetness, and instead you end up recognizing the taste of an iced maple latte, with a little cinnamon stirred in and what you think might also be an extra shot of espresso.

Rooster comes flying into the room to grab his coffee, and you barely have time to toss Bob an extremely grateful smile and mouth a quick ‘thank you’, seconds before Maverick strolls in, grabbing his own coffee and going to the front of the room to start the day.

When you woke up at your normal, much later than 3AM, time you had been pretty sure that your sleep-addled self was right, it was Coyote’s week to grab coffee. You’re so thankful you were wrong. Only Bob would have thought to change up your order and grab your number one favorite latte, knowing that you had a rough night (morning?).

It’s not until later when you’re chatting with Fanboy that you overhear Bob thanking Coyote for swapping coffee weeks with him. You’re sure Fanboy notices the way you pause, mid-sentence while you take in this information, but he does you the favor of not saying anything, steering you back to your conversation while you wonder what, if anything, Bob might have meant with your coffee.

You’re supposed to be heading out the door any minute to go see some local band perform. You should be leaving shortly, just as soon as Bob and Nat come to pick you up. The three of you will be going to meet Hangman, Rooster, Fanboy, and Coyote at the bar. Knowing how punctual Nat and Bob are, you were pretty proud of yourself for managing to be ready on time, until you couldn’t find your phone. As unnatural as it would feel to go out without it, it would be even worse since you were the one to download everyone’s tickets.

So far you’ve triple checked the pockets of your denim shorts, checked the pockets of the comfy robe you wore getting ready, looked under the cushions of your couch, scoured every counter and dresser top, and you just can’t find it. If only this venue was more old school, you’d be able to print out a copy of your tickets from your laptop but no, they have to use a rotating QR code.

“Fuck.” You groan, deciding to drop to your knees and check under the couch. You can’t imagine why it would be there, but considering you haven’t found it in any of the places that would have made sense, it’s worth a shot.

“Hi, it’s us.” Natasha calls out as she walks into your apartment. “Door was unlocked.”

“Come in.” You yell back from your spot searching under the couch.

You hear footsteps coming closer as Nat and Bob head into the living room, where they find you on your knees, ass up, searching for your phone. Your search feels even more urgent and even more ridiculous now that your friends have arrived to witness it.

“Damn, nice view.” Without being able to see her, you know Nat’s talking about your ass. You maneuver yourself so that the arm closest to her stops feeling around for your phone and instead snakes out from under the couch to flip her off. Unsurprisingly, Natasha laughs at this and you’re pretty sure you hear a chuckle from Bob.

“Um, Hawk, what’s up?” Bob tentatively asks.

Groaning one more time, annoyed with yourself, you scoot backwards out from under the couch and sit back on your heels, looking up at your friends.

“I can’t find my phone. I know we’re supposed to be on our way but I can’t find the damn thing I’ve checked everywhere. And even worse, I have everyone’s tickets on it.” You tell them, standing up and pointing out where you’ve already looked as Natasha starts retracing your footsteps.

Once you’ve finished your brief recap of where you were when you noticed it was gone, and where you’ve looked, Bob gives you a brief nod and heads into the kitchen. Shrugging, you and Natasha follow as he walks determinedly over towards your fridge where he reaches up, grabbing your phone.

“Oh my god, you found it.” Your jaw drops. “Maybe you really are a wizard.”

“What the fuck, Hawk? Why would it have been there?” Natasha laughs, snapping a quick picture of Bob, the fridge, and your phone, to use to tease you about later.

“What could have possessed me to put it up there? Thanks, Bob.” Walking over to grab your phone, you catch your reflection in the microwave. “Ah shit, give me one second, let me go fix my hair then we can go.”

You dash off to the bathroom to smooth your hair back down from its slight messiness, caused no doubt by your search under the couch.

“Alright, let’s go. I don’t want to hear shit from Bagman if we’re late.” Nat grabs your purse off its hook, calling out to let you know she has it as she heads outside to start the car.

“Seriously, you’re a lifesaver Bob. How could you possibly know that’s where I put it?” You ask as you meet him by the door and duck down to tug on your shoes.

Bob shrugs, “I pay attention, and I know you.”

For a moment, you’re so thrown off by the admission that you nearly stumble. You catch yourself, crouched down, one foot in the air, still trying to put on your shoe, and try to figure out how a person responds to something that kind and that blunt. Before you have a chance to do anything other than finish putting on your shoes, straighten up, and smile at Bob, you hear the car horn outside as Natasha indicates her growing impatience.

Together, you set outside as Bob waits while you lock up. You’re excited for tonight, you love going to concerts and spending time with your friends, and while you walk towards the car, you’re thinking about the possibility that your inevitable twirling around the dance floor with Nat might turn into a dance with Bob as well.

“Ladies first.” Getting to the car half a step before you, Bob politely opens the front passenger door and gestures for you to take the seat next to Nat. As you climb in, neither you nor Bob say anything about the slight blush on both of your faces, and you hope that Nat’s too focused on pulling out of the driveway to notice.

“So is this a good time to ask why you didn’t just log into your computer and transfer the tickets to one of us?” Nat asks once you get on the highway.

“It most certainly is not.” You reply, trying not to groan (again) at how flustered you were by your own confusing choice of places to set your phone.

“Whatever, fridge girl.” Nat looks like the cat that got the cream as you groan at your new nickname. You can only hope that you can remind her how much you love her as your best friend and talk her out of using it in front of the guys later. You know Hangman would never let you live it down, and he certainly doesn’t need any more encouragement to drive you nuts.

“Seriously Bob, how did you know where my phone was?” You turn around to look at the man in the backseat.

“I’ve seen you put it there before, and then also forget where it is.” He admits, with a sweet smile that doesn’t feel mocking, even though you both know how silly it is.

“How have I never noticed that?” You’re asking yourself just as much as you’re asking him.

“Oh, whenever I notice, I move it back down to the counter so it’s easier to spot.” Bob says, in a very matter of fact way, like it isn’t one of the sweetest things you’ve ever heard.

This time, you know that Nat catches the blush on your cheeks and from the look she’s giving you, you just know that you’re going to get pulled aside later to finally talk about your feelings. Depending on how many rounds you can talk Hangman into buying you first, you think you might just let her. Turning back to face the road, you decide that you aren’t just thinking about dancing with Bob, you’re actively hoping for it and looking forward to what the night might entail.

It’s been half an hour since you sat down, and you’re getting the feeling that your date truly isn’t coming. You’d tried to rationalize to yourself that half an hour isn’t the end of the world (maybe traffic was bad) before remembering that you were already five minutes late to get to the restaurant, and it took them another fifteen minutes to seat you. So really, Prince Charming is 50 minutes late.

You groan, remembering Phoenix teasing you about your date in front of the rest of the team this morning, knowing that they’re bound to ask you about it tomorrow. The date was with some friend of a friend so you’re not all that broken up about him personally, it’s just the general feeling of embarrassment that stings.

Picking your phone up, you text Phoenix that you’re admitting defeat and are trying to figure out whether you should cut your losses and call an uber to head home or stay and at least treat yourself to dinner. Until you see your phone light up and laugh at yourself for not assuming that your best friend would make the decision for you.

7:52 PM

Natty: Give me 15, I’m on my way. I’ll come in on my knees begging your forgiveness for being late. Take all of the attention off you and onto my groveling.

You: You’re ridiculous.

You: See you soon.

You slide your phone away, recognizing that an apology text from your date won’t be coming and order a second glass of wine the next time your waitress walks by. You’re probably not the first person to have been stood up in this restaurant, but if the waitress gives you a look of pity one more time you might just melt into the floor. So you spend the next few minutes making a point to really read the menu, and hope that Nat won’t actually be too embarrassing when she shows up.

“I’m sorry darlin’, I just completely couldn’t get away sooner.” Looking up, you’re shocked to see Bob standing in front of you, holding flowers, and wearing his uniform. You hear a soft aww from behind you as the waitress comes up to take Bob’s drink order.

Bob hands you the flowers as he sits down, and smiles at you.

“Well hi there. I can’t say I was expecting you.” You smile at the flowers, and then at Bob.

“I was at Tasha’s and she mentioned what happened. She said she was going to come cause a scene begging for your forgiveness but then thought maybe me coming in late, in uniform, would make up for it as opposed to her groveling at your feet. Ya know, imply work’s why I was late.” Bob gestures to the uniform and blushes as the two of you laugh over the image of Phoenix begging your forgiveness.

“Well, who can resist a man in uniform? I mean truly, why else do you think I even joined up?” You joke.

It’s not a joke you’d make to most people, knowing that so many do think that way about women in the military. But you trust Bob. Mama Floyd raised a good one, and you know he’s never once thought of you or Natasha that way, and he frequently listens to you two complain about the guys who do.

You’re still not entirely sure why it’s Bob coming to your rescue instead of Nat but you’re thankful he’s here saving you from further embarrassment and it’s not like you’re complaining about getting to have dinner with a kind, handsome man in uniform. Even if it’s the same uniform you have in your closet, and even if he’s just a friend. Because that’s all he is, right? Right. At least that’s all that you’ve let yourself admit. Gently shaking your head as if to physically knock those thoughts off to the side, you look back up at Bob.

“If you still want to go home, we can. I just thought that maybe this way you’d still get a nice dinner. I thought maybe it would be better…” Bob trails off, a shy shrug betraying his hesitation.

“Better than doing a solo walk of shame out of here alone, having clearly been stood up? It’s definitely better. Thanks, Bob. As long as you don’t mind being my date for the night.” You wink.

“Oh no, ma’am. Special orders from Lieutenant Trace to ‘do the charming gentleman thing’, and also for us to bring back ice cream.” That doesn’t surprise you. You’re not sure which one of the three of you has the bigger sweet tooth, and regardless of how the night went you had already been planning to stop at the nearby ice cream shop to bring something back for a post-date debrief with Nat, hoping that maybe Bob would be there too.

“Then let’s do it.” You slip your hand in Bob’s as the two of you look over the menu, and chat about your day. Eventually the waitress comes back with Bob’s drink and the two of you place your orders, with Bob politely letting you go first.

When your food arrives, you reluctantly pull your hand out of Bob’s. You’re not entirely sure why Bob hadn’t pulled his hand away, maybe he’s trying to really sell your fake date for the waitress? Regardless, you like the feeling of your hand in his warm one and are more than happy, if a bit confused, to keep it there as long as you can.

“So, possibly-a-wizard Bob, the hiccup trick. How? And how did you even know I needed you?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “well I’d left my glasses cloth in my locker and always prefer having it on me before I go up, just making sure they’re as clean as possible before I’m in the air.” You nod, knowing exactly what he means. The two of you had joked before about wishing glasses had teeny tiny wipers like car dashboards, especially for people like the two of you with a job requiring such an attention to detail.

“I was walking past the training room and heard you hiccupping and Hangman’s loud mouth teasing you, so I figured that wasn’t the first one. As for the cure, no clue why it works. It’s a Nana Floyd special.” He admits.

“Why am I not surprised, if anyone’s magic, it’s absolutely your nana.” You and the team had a chance to meet her when she came for a visit with Bob’s parents, and you immediately took a liking to the sweet woman. You’ve always been close with your own grandmother, and it certainly helped how much of Bob you could see in his nana.

“Exactly, so I figured I had just enough time to help you out. I was just hoping it would work and that it wasn’t a Nana-only secret.” He smiles.

“Fair enough, I’m pretty lucky the Floyd magic works for you too, then.” Trying not to think about how he could work his magic on you, you continue, “and speaking of, how did you have an extra one of my favorite pens ready to go?” You stop to take a bite of your dinner, never looking away from Bob.

“Oh, well I know you and Natasha can be particular about your pens and stuff so I usually have an extra, just in case.”

Right then, the waitress stops by to ask how your meals are, and you realize that without even noticing, you two are almost halfway done eating. You’ve been so engrossed in your conversations, your actual date could have shown up with an entire brass band and you’d have been none the wiser.

“Well, that’s incredibly kind. Thank you, Bob.” You smile, continuing your conversation.

“Anything for you, darlin’.” Bob looks at you earnestly before looking down at his plate, focusing his attention on grabbing another forkful of veggies.

The astonishing thing is that you think he might mean it.

The two of you finish dinner and unsurprisingly, though you try to fight it, Bob insists on paying for the entire meal.

“Hawk, I’m not letting you pay.” He rolls his eyes, good-naturedly, at your stubborn streak.

“Bobby, I’m not making you pay for a date you didn’t even plan on taking me on.”

“Come on, darlin’, don’t make me have to tell Nana that I didn’t pay for dinner on a date. You can’t do that to me.” He says with a smile, holding a hand to his chest as if the idea is physically painful. You smile and shake your head, giving in, and try not to melt too much as he shoots you a playful wink as he sets his credit card down on the table.

With a wink that rivals Rooster’s, and gentlemanly charm like you’ve seen Hangman pull out once or twice, quiet but charming Bob could do some serious damage to the female population of San Diego. Even if he’s just here to save you, you’re feeling lucky to be the one receiving his attention.

Bob finishes paying, and you get ready to go, making sure to grab your beautiful bouquet.

“Now, what kind of date would I be if I didn’t get you that ice cream?” Bob asks as he takes your hand again, leading you out of the restaurant.

“One that still brought me flowers and bought me dinner, which was especially kind as again, he was rescuing me from being stood up.” You tease.

“Let me put it this way, we both know how badly you want some ice cream, and even if I wouldn’t get it for you anyways, Nat’ll kill us if we don’t bring some back. So if I get to keep being your date for the next few minutes, I’m doing it right and buying you ice cream.”

For a second, Bob almost looks nervous, like he’s said too much. For your part, you can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to be on a real date with Bob, not just being two good friends out to dinner, one rescuing the other’s pride from serious embarrassment.

“Alright, ice cream it is. Thank you.” You gently squeeze his hand as you wonder how much longer until he pulls away. You’re on your dream date with your dream guy and half of you wants to thank Phoenix and your missing date for their involvement, and half of you wants to curse them for putting this opportunity in front of you, only for you to know that it’s fake, just a friend doing a favor.

There’s no time to think about that right now, as Bob leads you towards his truck, where he opens the door for you and holds your flowers while you buckle in. Either Bob’s a significantly better actor than you’d ever realized, or maybe, just maybe, this means something to him too. You think you might embarrass yourself too much if you worry about it tonight, so for now you decide to just enjoy the moment, knowing that you’ll tell Nat every detail later once Bob leaves.

On the short drive to the ice cream parlor, you make up your mind. You’re going to let Bob buy you ice cream, drive you to Nat’s so you can all hang out, and then later once he heads home, you’ll stay and talk to your best friend about everything you’ve been thinking about all of the sweet little things Bob does for you. Then, if you’re brave enough, and if Nat doesn’t tell you that you’re making a catastrophic mistake, you might just plan to talk to Bob about it.

And then, 1.

Part of you is nervous that you’ve been misreading everything, you know Bob’s a sweetheart to everyone. You’re sure that he would have helped anyone with their hiccups, and you happen to think you have great taste in pens and ink color, it’s not like you have a monopoly on their use or like it’s inherently romantic to have an extra pen for a teammate. Hell, he even keeps some for Nat.

You know he’s observant, that also explains being able to find your phone, right? But on the other hand, you can’t explain it all away as just being friendly. Bob could easily have let Javy grab you a large coffee, and there’s practically a million easier options he could have chosen instead of showing up to save you from your failed date, in uniform, with flowers. He could have let Phoenix come get you as she was planning, he could have joined her in coming to get you, and he could even have just come to pick you up by himself.

Thinking back to sitting at that restaurant, holding Bob’s hand and looking at that sweet face while you talked, you can’t help but smile. No, there’s no denying it. Showing up dressed and ready to wine and dine you to save you from a bad day and a no-show date isn’t exactly the standard friendly course of action. You’re sure he wouldn’t have acted that way with Nat, as close as they are. Yeah, Bob is a sweetheart, but it has to be more than that. You want it to be more than that. More than that, you’ve talked the situation over nonstop with Nat as she insisted that this wasn’t just in your head.

Which is how you’ve found yourself standing on his doorstep, a bunch of sunflowers in one hand and takeout from your shared favorite burger place in the other. You adjust your sweater one last time and knock on the door.

“Hi there.” The door opens and you’re quick to greet a very surprised Bob.

“Hi, darlin’. Nice flowers.” Ever since your ‘date’, Bob has let a ‘darlin’ slip in here and there. It takes more strength than you’d care to admit not to melt every time he says it. You like it just as much as when he calls you by your real name, as opposed to your callsign. Though you have to admit that ‘Hawk’ sounds pretty good coming from his lips, too.

“I’m glad you think so, they’re for you.” You hand Bob the flowers as you step past him into his house.

“How do you know my favorite flower?” He looks at you curiously.

You could tell him that you’ve seen the fresh bunches he usually has around whenever you all come over for movie night. Or you could tell him that you remember meeting his Nana and hearing her call him Sunflower as she wrapped him up in a tight hug. You could even tell him that it was a lucky guess. But you remember a similar conversation a few weeks ago, so instead you smirk and take a teeny tiny step towards telling him how you feel.

“I pay attention, and I know you.”

It takes a second for Bob to place the words, and somehow his smile gets even wider. He takes the flowers from you, and it takes all of your self control not to reach out and put your hand on his cheek, right where he’s blushing.

You follow his lead, heading into his kitchen as he grabs a vase and starts trimming the flowers to go in it.

“So, Bob. Last week, you rescued me with a great dinner. For tonight, I brought takeout.” You lift the bag in your hand. “I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner later this week, if you’d like?”

“Sure, that sounds nice. With the team?” Bob looks up and sees you furrow your eyebrows.

“Oh, if that’s what you want!” You try to quickly recover from your disappointment. For what is probably half of a second but feels like an eternity, you and Bob just look at each other. Then, it hits you that you’ve had all of this time to process how you think Bob feels but when it comes to your feelings, you just sprung it on him. Well, no, that’s not quite right. You haven’t actually told him yet. Knowing Bob like you do, he’s probably taking the absolute safest route to avoid making things awkward in case you don’t mean anything other than friendship.

“Oh God”, you groan, “Can I try this again?” Bob nods, but he’s clearly not entirely sure what’s going on.

“Okay, Bob, in addition to the flowers, I brought takeout for dinner tonight, as you can see. I was wondering if later this week, you’d like to go out for dinner. With me. As a date. This time, planned and on purpose. Together.” You don’t know if you’ve ever stumbled through a sentence like that, but you also have never asked out a guy like Bob, as wonderful and kind and jaw-droppingly handsome, so it makes sense you’re off your game.

“Oh!” Bob’s eyes get wide, and he looks down at the bouquet in his hands, smiling sweetly. “That sounds great, darlin’. I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect, it’s a date.” You lean over and give Bob a quick kiss on the cheek, before going to grab plates and heading to the living room with the food.

You hear the fridge open and turn around to ask, “Bob would you mind grabbing me a lemonade?” right as he comes into the room, already carrying a can of your favorite pink lemonade for you.

“Okay, see, it’s this! How do you do that, are you sure you’re not a wizard?” You tease.

“I’m sure,” he laughs, “I just know you.” And how lucky you are to be known by Bob.

“I hope you know, it’s not just the gifts and the things you do for me that make me interested in you. I mean that’s part of it, sure. How could a girl resist a handsome man who always has her favorite drink ready and knows how to fix her when she’s running late and frazzled. You pay attention and you see me, but I see you too, Bobby.”

Bob looks down and smiles, a sweet blush coloring his cheeks. Bob does more than enough to show you he cares so you push on with your plan to make sure it’s clear how you feel, despite the slight worry that you’re coming on too strong.

“I know that you love cooking, but you’d rather cook for all of us than just yourself on Sundays because if it’s just you then it feels like a chore to get ready for the week. I know that you’ll never admit that to your family who raised you on Sunday dinners, and that you probably called them this morning like you do every weekend to say hi. I know that when the first summer day rolls around, you’re going to drive with the windows down and country music on the radio.”

You start putting your food onto your plates, giving you somewhere to direct your attention other than just intensely staring at Bob, as you continue.

“It’s the way you always look for me in a crowd and save me a seat at the hard deck, and you listen to my stupid jokes, and remember the things I like. And I know you’re a good friend to all of us, but you do even more for me. You’re a good man, an incredibly kind man, Robert Floyd. The best I know.” Remembering what he said earlier, you add, “And I’m lucky to be known by you.”

This time it’s your turn to blush, worried that you’ve said too much. You were only planning to ask him on a date, not unload all of your feelings onto him.

“Hawk,” he starts, before wordlessly taking the plate you’re working on out of your hands and setting it down on the coffee table.

Bob gently places a hand on your cheek, and you’re already turning to look at him as he looks at you.

“Darlin,” he tries again. You’re anxiously waiting to hear what comes next. How could you have never noticed the way that he looks at you before now? If you could have one wish for the rest of your life, it would be for Bob to keep looking at you like you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

Then he says your name, your real name, softly, before slightly nodding to himself and moving even closer to you. The next thing you know, Bob’s lips are on yours and both of his hands are gently cupping your face, holding you as if you’re the most important thing in the world.

Up until now, you thought it was a romance-novel cliche to sigh into a kiss. Now you hear yourself sigh and know better. You can’t imagine a world where you don’t know what it’s like to kiss him. You can't believe this is the first time you're getting to kiss Bob. Sweet, handsome Bob who pulls away, and gives you one of the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen.

“How could I not feel the same way? I’m the lucky one. Nat said you might be interested and I was worried I was overdoing it –” And this time, you lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips before he can even finish his sentence. Then suddenly you’re giggling into the kiss, thinking about the ways that you’ve hoped he was interested, and the ways he was desperately trying to broadcast his feelings while allowing you the space to comfortably reject him.

“Do you think that maybe this time, Nana Floyd would be okay if I paid, since I asked you on the date? I mean, really, it’s feminism when you think about it.” You joke once you pull away.

“You know Nana’s all for girl power, but on the first real date? I don’t think so, darlin’.”

“Hmm, that last date felt pretty real to me.” You admit.

“I know what you mean. Maybe our first real, planned date, is what I mean. One where I’m on time, and instead of grabbing the first bouquet I see to try not to be any later, I bring your favorite flowers, and if I’m lucky I get to kiss you goodnight.”

“There’s no chance I’ll let you leave without a kiss. But I don’t have a favorite flower.” You tell him, but Bob just laughs.

“I know you, and I also know that you think that’s true.” Bob winks again, and this time it’s even more incredible because you know he means it.

“We’ll see, Bobby.”

He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before moving to pick up your plates.

“Now what do you say we have dinner and watch a movie, darlin’. Then maybe you’ll let me be lucky enough for a preview of Saturday with another kiss.”

“I think I can do that.” You finish putting the food on your plates, splitting the regular fries and curly fries exactly in half between you.

Looking at the mischievous, confident look on Bob’s face, you say a quick thank you to the universe for letting you be the only woman in San Diego who gets to experience his charms like that. Falling for Bob is easy, especially when he goes out of his way to show his constant affection and attention, hiccup cures, shared dinners, and all.

#in which meg writes #my writing #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #bob floyd the man you are #friends to lovers #5+1 things #5+1 fic #divider credit: saradika

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dionysianivy · 5 months ago

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January Magic Correspondences

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

January is a month of new beginnings, a time to set intentions and welcome the fresh energy of the new year. It's a time of renewal, reflection, and planning for the journey ahead. This month is about honoring the transition from the old year to the new, letting go of what no longer serves us, and focusing on the goals and desires you want to manifest in the coming months. January is also the month dedicated to Janus, the Roman god of transitions, beginnings, and endings. He stands at the threshold, looking both to the past and the future, offering guidance as we move through change and growth. As the keeper of doors and gates, Janus helps us cross into new phases of life, making this the perfect time to reflect on what we want to leave behind and what we want to invite in. I think it's a great time to take advantage of the energy of the month by setting clear intentions, practicing gratitude, and creating space for both rest and action as we prepare for the journey ahead.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Celebrations:

New Year’s Day – January 1

Planets:

Saturn, Uranus, Neptune

Flowers:

Crocus, Snowdrops, Angelica

Herbs/Plants:

Marjoram, Thyme, Pine Cones, Holly, Thistle, Sage, Juniper

Tarot Cards:

The Fool, The World, The Hermit

Fruits:

Apples, Pomegranates, Oranges

Vegetables:

Turnips, Potatoes, Onions

Deities:

Janus, Freyja, Cailleach, Hecate, Inanna, Hera, Pax, Venus, Saturn, Hestia, the Camenae, Sarasvati, Chang’o

Colors:

White, Blue, Black, Gray, Silver, Purple

Runes:

Berkana, Eihwaz, Isa, Perthro, Sowilo, Uruz

Crystals:

Garnet, Onyx, Rose Quartz, Amethyst, Blue Lace Agate, Snow Obsidian, Moonstone, Labradorite

Animals:

Bear, Fox, Snow Owl, Wolf, Snow Goose, Blue Jay, Coyote, Pheasants, Ox

Trees:

Birch, Rowan, Pine, Cedar

Symbols:

Snowflakes, Owls, Snow, Ice, Wolf, Apples, Stars, Evergreen Wreaths, Keys

Magical Powers:

New beginnings, transitions, connection to the higher self, removing negativity, blocking negative energy, manifestation, protection, purification, rebirth of the light, shadow work, setting new goals, introspection, correcting mistakes, reflection, spiritual growth

ACTIVITIES TO DO

❄ now that the new year has started, set goals and dreams you want to accomplish this year

❄ collect snow to make snow water

❄ do yoga and meditation

❄ start learning more about different topics, especially related to witchcraft

❄ connect with nature

❄ collect pine cones and place them on your altar

❄ make puzzles

❄ start new projects

❄ perform spells for new beginnings

❄ create vision boards for what you want to attract this year

❄ connect with winter deities

❄ read the books you never finished

❄ rest and stay cozy by the fireplace

❄ drink lots of tea, cocoa, or mulled wine

❄ bake biscuits or gingerbread

❄ go ice skating

❄ spend time in the snow

❄ release what no longer serves you

❄ celebrate Handel Monday

❄ start a journal

❄ prepare for Imbolc or Candlemas

❄ burn bay leaves to make your wishes come true

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

gifs from pinterest

tipjar☃️

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bradshawshawaiianshirt · 3 months ago

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the bodyguard | part 1

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Famous!reader AU

After joining Maverick's security team once he left the navy, Rooster had become the best bodyguard around. He never thought too hard about it, he'd go in, protect whoever he was assigned, and leave. The threat against his client never really went anywhere if he was on the job, and he always put it first. All until your assignment came along. Suddenly his biggest threat might not be the stalker watching your every move, but rather trying not to fall for the world's biggest pop star.

warnings: stalker, threats, anything else let me know

length: 3.7k

masterlist

Rooster sat in Maverick's office, his foot tapping away on the floor. He'd gotten the call to meet him an hour ago and had rushed straight over. Judging by Maverick's shaky voice on the phone, he had a feeling this assignment would be a good one. Although he knew he should be worried, he couldn't help but feel excited - maybe he'd be protecting someone important, like the president or the pope or something.

Okay, that was a little farfetched, but hey, a guy could dream.

After a few minutes, Maverick briskly walked in, "Sorry I'm late, kid." he grunted, sitting down behind his desk and running a hand over his face. Rooster hadn’t seen him this stressed in a while, even after that time Coyote had forgotten his gun at his last assignment.

Maybe it was the president after all.

"No problem." Rooster shrugged, "So, what's this about?"

Maverick sighed and said nothing, instead sliding a file across his desk.

When Rooster picked it up and flipped to the first page, he was greeted to a picture of you. It was from the cover of some magazine and you were smiling happily as you posed next to the headline.

NEW ABLUM ANNOUNCEMENT? READ ALL ABOUT IT INSIDE.

He recognized your face immediately, hell, who wouldn't? You were practically one of the biggest pop stars on the planet right now.

"You know her?" Maverick asked.

Rooster nodded slowly, his eyes still scanning over the photo. He'd heard some of your songs when he'd let his radio play in the car, and of course, he'd seen you on TV and social media, since you were pretty hard to miss. It seemed there was always news about you, but he couldn’t say he took much notice of it.

Maverick sighed, "Her manager is an old friend of mine, he called me this morning. She's in danger... and it's not good."

Rooster finally looked up to Maverick, "Danger? You can't be serious.” He snorted and chuckled to himself, “She's a celebrity, Mav."

"A celebrity with a stalker." Maverick always got straight to the point when it came to assignments. It was one of the things Rooster liked about him.

"A stalker?" Rooster repeated, his interest now piqued.

Maverick nodded, "Apparently she's been receiving creepy fan mail for months, but no one thought anything of it. That was until... her house was broken into last night."

Rooster's eyes narrowed slightly at that, and he felt his concern grow. "Is she alright?"

Maverick shook his head, "Physically, she's fine, no reports of injury. However, the security footage from the surveillance cameras outside her property are missing, looks like they were tampered with."

Rooster ran a hand through his hair, mulling over the facts that were being laid out in front of him, "And they haven't found the guy yet?"

Maverick sighed, "No, that's why her manager is so freaked out. Her security team have been trying to piece together what happened, but nothing conclusive has come up yet. She’s also set on keeping all of this quiet from the media, which is stressful in itself."

Rooster grunted in agreement, "Cant blame her for that. The media would have a field day with this if they found out." He leaned back in his chair, still holding the file, with a contemplative look on his face, "So, we need to get her some extra security."

Maverick nodded slowly, his eyes studying Rooster. "Exactly. She needs someone close to her at all times. A bodyguard.” He paused. “Think you're up to it?"

Rooster arched an eyebrow, "Me?" he asked, "Mav, this is a celebrity we're talking about. A big one. I don't wanna be some pop star's babysitter. I can help get all the security measures in place, make sure her house is more secure, but-"

Maverick interrupted, "You're the best on the team for this, Rooster. You think ahead, you're focused, you're exactly what she needs."

Although he appreciated the praise, which he wouldn’t deny was true, the thought of being around a spoiled popstar indefinitely was not something he liked the idea of. "You really don't think someone like... I don't know, Hangman, wouldn’t be better suited for a job like this?"

Maverick scoffed, "I'm gonna pretend you didn't suggest that." he muttered.

Rooster didn’t have to ask why, Hangman was a good bodyguard, a great one at times, but he was also reckless. The number of times he’d had an ass kicking from Maverick was off the charts.

He sighed, taking a moment to think things over. His gaze wandered back down to the file and your photo.

After a brief pause, he snapped the file shut and met Maverick's eyes.

"Alright. I'll do it."

—

"Please don't argue with me on this."

Iceman paced in front of where you lay casually on a sun bed in front of your pool. Your sunglasses blocked out the bright LA sun, and you flicked through some magazine detailing the latest celebrity gossip. You were barely reading it at this point, only wanting to see the parts that included you. Most of it was full of crap, but annoyingly, you loved to know what people were saying and thinking of you.

Of course, right now it was also a great distraction.

You rolled your eyes and sat up on the sun bed, placing the magazine on the floor next to you. "I don't want some ex-navy man following me around everywhere for the next who knows how long, Ice! I can handle this just fine by myself-"

"No. You can't." Iceman replied sternly, stopping in front of you with his arms crossed, "Some psycho broke into your house! Do you even realize what could have happened? That he could have hurt you?"

You looked away, suddenly feeling suffocated by the 'what-ifs' running through your mind.

Iceman sighed and sat down on the end of the sun bed in front of you, his voice turning softer, "I know you're set on getting through this alone, and I know you, so I know there's no changing your mind about that." he chuckled lightly, "But it wouldn't hurt to have some extra protection. Plus, Mav's an old friend of mine, he wouldn't send someone he didn't think could do this right."

He had a point, you knew that. Iceman always talked happily about his days at Top Gun, so it was clear whoever Maverick was sending was someone he trusted, maybe someone you could trust too.

Not that you would make it easy.

His eyes were pleading with you as he added, "Just trust me on this, okay? Do it for my peace of mind."

That was really what got you to agree.

Iceman had been your manager since you started out in the music industry, a young teenager with a big voice and loads of stupid dreams. Of course, they weren't stupid back then, and Ice had made most of them come true for you. Since you didn’t hear much from your dad at all, not after he’d set up home in Hawaii anyway, Iceman was way more like a father to you. If he felt better knowing that you had someone watching your back, then hell, you'd do it for him.

You huffed and pushed your sunglasses up onto your head, "So, when does this bodyguard arrive?"

"He's flying out to LA as we speak."

—

The flight to Los Angeles seemed to zip by.

Rooster sat in his seat with a faint sense of nerves. He'd never really been nervous for an assignment before, but then again, he'd also never had to protect a world-famous celebrity either.

A world-famous celebrity with a stalker. Go figure.

He looked out of the window as the sprawling skyline of LA came into view, and his mind started to wander back to the picture in the file Maverick had showed him, the file that was still stuffed in his bag somewhere.

You’d looked so happy on the cover of that magazine, so happy that it almost didn’t look real. Of course, he knew that most of the celebrity world was built on false publicity, that was why he stayed as far away from it as he could.

Until now.

After the plane touched down at LAX, Rooster made his way through the airport in a blur, preoccupied with the task ahead. His mind finally slowed down when he saw an older man in a suit and chauffeur’s cap waiting for him outside, holding up a piece of paper with his name neatly printed on the front.

Rooster approached him and the man grinned, "Rooster?" he asked, holding up the sign. Rooster nodded and the man sighed in relief, "Thank goodness, I was worried I'd miss your plane. Parking here is not a walk in the park, let me tell you that." he chuckled and held out his hand, "The name's Ben, I'm the personal driver, or chauffeur, if you wanna be fancy about it."

Ben was an older man who had a wise look behind his eyes that reminded him a little of Maverick. Like he knew things that he decided to keep tucked away, ready to share only when the time was right.

Rooster shook Ben's hand, appreciating his friendly personality, "Nice to meet you, Ben. Parking in LA is a pain in the ass. I don't think I ever want to drive in this city."

Ben chuckled, "After 30 years, you get used to it. But luckily for you, you won't have to. Car's over this way."

Rooster nodded and followed him towards a black SUV with blacked out windows to match. He thought they must have been to block out the paparazzi and he wondered how often you had to deal with things like that.

He sat down in the passenger seat next to Ben as he began the drive.

"So, how long have you been her driver?" Rooster asked, looking out the window at the city whizzing by.

Ben glanced at him from behind the wheel, "Quite a few years now. She takes care of me, I gotta say. Keeps me on my toes, but its's never boring." he chuckled.

Rooster couldn't help but smile at his lighthearted remark, "Sounds like you've got your hands full with her."

Ben grinned, "You could say that. But honestly, she isn't as wild as the media likes to make out. She's got a good head on her shoulders and a good heart too, she's a fighter, a tough bird, that's for sure."

Rooster thought back to the headlines he’d seen about you in passing. Rumors about who you were dating, if you wrote your own songs, if you’d ever settle down and get married, were followed by pictures of you out and having a good time, drink in hand, and harsh words about how you’d ‘taken it too far’.

It seemed tiring.

He nodded slowly, keeping his tone casual, "Seems like she's got a reputation, I mean, she's constantly in the spotlight."

"Oh, for sure. She's definitely got the media attention thing down, but don't believe everything you hear. The media tends to exaggerate things or twist the truth a lot of the time. It's how they operate, unfortunately." Ben explained, "They'll do anything for a good story."

Rooster couldn’t help but ask, "So, what's she really like? Behind all the fame and notoriety."

A knowing smile played on Ben's lips, "When you get to know her, she's a real sweetheart. Good sense of humor, always down for a laugh, and when she sets her mind to something, she goes after it with everything she's got. She's headstrong, no doubt about it."

Rooster absorbed Ben's words, feeling a slight sense of respect for you already as he turned his head to gaze back out of the window, "Sounds like a force to be reckoned with." he muttered to himself.

—

Eventually, the car turned off into a large neighborhood, where none of the houses were visible past the greenery that shrouded the paths leading to them. Ben drove down one of the paths that led to a gate, where there was an intercom hooked up to the wall. So far, your security was looking good to Rooster, which only made him wonder how your house was broken into in the first place.

As the intercom buzzed and the gate opened, Ben drove through, following the path onto your driveway. Rooster’s eyes widened as he took in your home. In the middle of the driveway was a fountain with some fancy statue built into it, your house was surrounded by trees and bushes, and large steps led up to the front door.

The house itself was huge, your typical celebrity home it seemed. Rooster didn’t even want to guess how many rooms it had. Its size and grandeur already took his breath away, "Damn, this is some house."

Ben stopped the car by the front steps, "Sell as many records as she has, houses like this are nothing.” He climbed out of the car and walked around it to open Rooster's door.

Rooster climbed out too, looking up at the steps that lead to the front door in awe. He was starting to feel way out of his league, the house like nothing he'd seen up close before.

Before he could respond to Ben, the front doors opened, and a man jogged down the steps towards them, "You must be Rooster!"

Rooster nodded, "That's me."

The man stopped in front of him and smiled, "Mav said you'd grown, but I honestly didn't believe him." he held out his hand, "Tom Kazansky, but call me Iceman."

Rooster's eyes flashed with recognition, "Iceman? You were a legend at Top Gun.” he grinned and shook his hand, “You used to fly with Mav, right?”

Iceman chuckled, "That’s right. Flew with him and your father back in the day.” He paused a little awkwardly, “He was a good man."

Rooster was slightly taken aback by the mention of his dad and he quickly cleared his throat and changed the subject, like he usually did anytime someone brought him up. "So, you're the manager?"

"I am." Iceman glanced at Ben, "Thanks for picking him up, Ben, leave the suitcases on the drive, I'll get someone to grab them." he turned back to Rooster, "Follow me."

Rooster looked back at Ben, who gave him a little thumbs up as he began to unload his suitcase from the trunk. He chuckled and waved, before following Iceman up the steps and into the mansion.

Once inside, his eyes darted around the foyer, taking in every detail. Iceman turned to him, "So, I take it Maverick filled you in on the situation we have here."

Rooster's expression grew more serious as he switched gears, "I've got the gist of it. Stalker, break-in, creepy letters."

Iceman seemed to relax slightly at Rooster's words, a hint of relief in his eyes, "Good. I'm glad Mav was upfront with you. It's a serious issue, but we're doing everything we can to ensure her safety."

"That's good to hear." Rooster nodded, "I take my assignments seriously. Her safety is my top priority."

"Good." Iceman nodded back curtly, leading him through the house and gesturing to various rooms, "We've upped the security all over the place. Extra cameras, better locks, the works. We're not taking any chances."

As they walked, Rooster's gaze occasionally drifted to some of the artwork and decor, taking everything in. It was fancy and probably expensive, but somehow the place still had a cozy feel to it. "All this extra security, and yet someone managed to get in here the other night?" he asked, skepticism in his voice.

Iceman sighed, "That's the million-dollar question. We have no idea how they got past all our security measures. It's frustrating, to say the least."

Rooster's eyes narrowed slightly, "No alarms, no signs of any forced entry?"

"No." Iceman huffed, "Its like they just materialized out of thin air, it's been driving us all crazy."

Rooster could sense the helplessness in Iceman's tone, and his jaw tightened a bit. The lack of clear answers didn't sit right with him either, and was already starting to feel impatient. "That's not good." he replied bluntly.

"Believe me, it's not." Iceman sighed, "The police are working on it, but it's like hunting a ghost. We've never had it go this far before. I mean, sure, every celebrity gets weird fan mail now and again, but a break-in? And you know the weirdest part?" He paused, "He didn't touch her, didn't hurt her at all. Just left a note and some photos by her pillow-"

"Photos?" Rooster frowned, Maverick hadn’t mentioned that. "Can I see them?"

Iceman led him into the kitchen, where the photos were left scattered on the marble island in the middle. Rooster peered over at them, and felt tense as the situation seemed to get more complicated.

They looked to be old family photos, from way before your career skyrocketed. One was of you as a kid, sat by a piano and grinning as you played, another looked like it was from Christmas, judging by the wrapping paper scattered around you and the Santa hat hanging off your pigtails.

In all of them, you were young, and Rooster had a feeling that these couldn’t be easily accessible to the general public. That made his gut twist.

Iceman seemed to see the confusion etched on Rooster's face, "See what I mean? This doesn't make sense."

Light footsteps were heard from the hallway, and the two paused, turning towards the door to the kitchen.

Rooster hadn't known what he was expecting, but whatever it was, you weren't it. You stood casually, leaning against the doorframe, wearing sweats and an oversized t-shirt, far from the glamorous pictures Maverick had given him in the file. Your hair was left free and flowing, and you looked slightly younger without all of the makeup he was used to seeing you in on TV or in magazines. Naturally, you were pretty, that much was obvious, and Rooster could barely take his eyes off you.

You crossed your arms, "Am I interrupting something?"

He quickly composed himself, straightening up as Iceman responded, "Of course not. I was just showing Rooster around a little bit. He's the new bodyguard we talked about, remember?"

Your eyes shifted to Rooster with a hint of suspicion. He didn’t look much older than you, and seemed to be studying you with an intense curiosity. You nodded a little, "I remember."

Rooster forced himself to remain calm and professional as he held out a hand, "Good to meet you."

You glanced down at his hand and back to him, "You too." you muttered. You felt a little mean ignoring his clear attempt at being friendly, but you couldn’t find the will to care.

Rooster frowned a little and pulled his hand back. You could feel Iceman’s stern stare, likely scolding you for not being polite, but you ignored it, keeping your eyes trained on Rooster.

There's a momentary pause as the three of you stood in a tense silence. Iceman broke it with a half smile, "Rooster is the son of an old friend of mine, like I told you. He's one of the best."

Your eyes drifted over Rooster once again, still cautious as you nodded a little, "That's good."

Rooster couldn't help the flicker of annoyance that crossed his features at your dismissive attitude. He held your gaze with a cool, even stare.

Iceman quickly broke the tension again, "I gotta get going, got some meetings and paperwork and such. You two good here?"

Rooster nodded, his mind preoccupied, "We're good. Thanks Ice."

"No problem." Iceman muttered, walking towards the doorway and stopping to lean down and whisper to you, "Please, try to be nice."

You sighed and nodded, still not fully on board with having a bodyguard at all. It felt like you were being babied and your privacy totally invaded. You didn’t care if the tall, muscular, mustached man stood in front of you was the son of an old friend of Iceman’s, an ex-pilot, a Top Gun graduate; it didn’t matter. No matter how many good things Iceman tried to tell you, you were dead set on dealing with this stalker by yourself.

That was what you were used to, after all.

Iceman strode out of the room, leaving you and Rooster in another tense silence.

Rooster couldn't help but feel frustrated, he wasn't expecting a massively warm welcome, but anything better than what he’d gotten would have been nice. He was doing you the favor here, so there was no way he’d let some spoiled pop star look down on him. "So, that's how you greet all your bodyguards?"

You thought for a second you might not have heard him correctly, his tone sharp and scolding. He had no right to talk to you like that, hell, Iceman barely spoke to you like that, and you’d definitely grated on his nerves more than once.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, "Excuse me?"

Rooster rolled his eyes, "Your... less than warm reaction." he clarified, gesturing with his hand, "I'm here to protect you, but you seem unimpressed."

Your annoyance grew and you scoffed, "I'm only letting you be here because Ice wants you here. I definitely don’t."

Rooster's jaw tightened a little at your words, his expression hardening a bit. The blatant honestly stung a little, but he refused to show it, "Thanks for making that clear." he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, "Just don't get in my way, alright?"

Roosted gritted his teeth, his annoyance mounting and your attitude starting to get under his skin, "Don't worry, I won't get in your way." he said with a biting tone.

You nodded curtly and quickly turned and left the kitchen, leaving Rooster's eyes lingering on your retreating form. He let out a frustrated sigh, irritation simmering beneath the surface.

“Well, that went well." he muttered to himself, turning back to the kitchen island.

Any respect he’d felt for you after Ben’s words in the car was long gone. You seemed like a typical spoiled brat, and he definitely wouldn’t be dealing with an attitude like yours for long, not if he had anything to say about it.

His eyes fell back onto the photos as he looked over them again.

How the hell was he going to protect you if you didn’t want to let him?

---

A/N: what do we think of part 1? :)) hope you all liked it! gonna try to update twice a week! Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

taglist:

@jessevans

@flowery-mess

@emma8895eb

@khouse712

@grimpowrrs

@randomfangirlof

@kvmitchell

#bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster imagine #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster x you #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun fandom

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doubleddenden · 8 months ago

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Jason DeMarco (main guy for Toonami and the producer for the Toonami original animes, including Uzumaki)'s piece on the sudden drop of quality

From this language, it seems like 3 and 4 will probably not fair much better. It also sounds as if someone or some people screwed them over- naturally there's probably some NDAs at play that prevent any direct finger pointing, but it could be anywhere from a studio, a fuck up from an intern or employee, a greedy exec, DeMarco himself- it's likely we'll never know the full picture of what went wrong, at least not until the nda runs it's course, and even then we may never know.

It certainly does suck that something as important as this that people have been looking forward to for years was treated this way, god knows covid didn't help matters. Poor Junji Ito is just cursed to have bad adaptations I guess.

There's a lot of outrage that can be had about this, but a friend of mine made me realize that it was either they show us what they had or risk it becoming lost media and it NEVER see the light of day. Remember the Coyote Vs Acme movie that got finished and completely trashed because one worthless asshole up top decided the hard work and passion of many workers making the film was worth less than a legally questionable tax deduction? Several over movies like that too. Lots of media just GONE that we won't ever have access to because 1 person made a decision for the rest of us. That doesn't sit right with me, high or low quality of the product aside.

It's not ideal, but these are the cards dealt. In that regard, I can kind of appreciate the effort to release it anyway. I'll always be bitter at whoever fucked it over, and if its a case of executive meddling or embezzling then i hope they get locked up, but I think I'd rather see the end result than have it all tossed in a vault to never be seen again.

I for SURE would rather stupid executives leave art alone until it's fully fucking baked, but they won't. As an adult, you learn to try and make the best of bad situations, and that's all I'm gonna do here.

In any case this is certainly an interesting real-world incident to follow further development on.

#uzumaki #toonami #just my opinions please don't get angry

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lackinggravitas · 24 days ago

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part fiveeeee of stan if raised by coyotes!

‘it's fiddlefording time' i say, fiddlefording all over the place

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5(you are here!) / part 6 / part 7 (in progress)

ao3 vers

During the week it took Fiddleford to arrive, Remus was in and out of the house periodically. Ford had been wracked with anxiety the first time he’d realized Remus left, but by the third or fourth time Remus had infallibly returned to Ford’s door, scratching to be let back in, he’d gotten used to it. It seemed Remus couldn’t be kept from the woods for long.

What he was doing out there, Ford had no idea. He would have loved to investigate, hopefully gain some insight into Remus’ nature, but there were other, more pressing matters.

Ford did his best to design the new attic guest room - where Fiddleford would be staying - with no overthinking of the process whatsoever. Which, because it was Ford, meant that he was still overthinking it the same amount he would have otherwise, just refusing to admit it this time.

The quality of living quarters Ford was able to provide could potentially influence how long Fiddleford would be staying. The better the living situation, the longer the stay could be, and the longer Fiddleford stayed, the better. To get the DNA-Machine done, of course. Certainly not anything to do with the fact that Ford desperately wanted the company or anything like that.

He’d got the mattress up the stairs eventually (with no help from Remus, who’d just sat at the bottom of the stairs, watching him with all the wide-eyed attention of a creature who had no idea what Ford was trying to do, but was very intrigued nonetheless), and picked out a simple bed set for him. Then he’d placed a nightstand beside the bed, with a lamp from downstairs.

Remus had also watched him do this - Ford had to pull him away from hopping onto Fiddleford’s bed several times. The wildman had a clear fondness for creature comforts - he spent most of time lying about on Ford’s bed or on the couch, watching him in a way more catlike than canine, and was very enthusiastic about whatever food Ford made him.

Perhaps Ford should have been feeding him dog food, but Remus seemed perfectly capable of digesting anything a human could. Among what Ford had fed him with was food with - or Remus had gotten in to - chocolate, avocado, onions, and even garlic. All foods dogs could not eat, all of which Remus evidently could. It seemed he had a digestive system comparable, if not identical, to a human’s.

Even if Remus wasn’t Stanley (which he wasn’t, Ford was certain he wasn’t), it was entirely possible that Remus was some other, biologically normal human who had been living in the wild since his developmental years. There had many cases, horaxes and true, of children being raised by wild animals with little to no human contact, and Remus certainly fit the bill for it.

It was something he’d have to look into more - perhaps in his downtime, in between working on the DNA-Machine.

Everything was ready. Now all that needed to happen was for Fiddleford to arrive.

Remus was lying on the couch, head propped up on the armrest, watching as Ford paced right in front of the door. When Remus laid like this, completely relaxed and still, other than his eyes, he looked incredibly similar to a weary old dog.

“He should arrive any minute now,” Ford rambled to Remus for what must have been the hundredth time. “I’ll need to greet him at the door when he arrives. It’s the polite thing to do.”

Ford hadn’t played host very often at all, but he had enough vague memories of when his parents would to count for something. Guests weren’t common in the Pines household, and Ford usually hid away in his room while they were there, but he still remembered the few family visits he was forced to sit through. It was enough even to make him, now a grown man, shudder.

“He’s driving here, you see - it’s about a two day road trip from Palo Alto.” Ford grimaced. “Maybe I should have offered to pay for his plane ticket. He likely would already have been here if that was the case.”

Remus sighed through his nose.

“I’m just impatient to start our project, as anyone would be. I can’t even begin the blueprints without him - I have no expertise in Biology, much less Genetics. The sooner I can get this… ridiculous notion of mine disproven and finally put to rest, I can start focusing on other things again.”

Ford suddenly stopped pacing. He glanced over at Remus uncertainly.

“I… I would know if you were him.”

Remus grunted, then sat up suddenly, alert, eyes snapping to the door. Ford almost asked what the matter was, before he too heard it - the rusty rumble of a car coming up the road towards them.

Remus tensed, eyeing the door suspiciously. But Ford just smiled. “He’s here.”

Nerves and excitement alike fluttered to life inside Ford’s chest, dancing in a flurry of confused emotion. Without another thought he giddily scurried to the door, like a child anticipating the arrival of their playdate.

“Stay here,” he told Remus, because it looked like the creature was about to pounce at the door the moment Ford moved towards it.

Then he swung it open and hurriedly darted out, shutting the door behind without even looking. Eyes locked on the rusted old pickup truck he remembered so clearly as it rolled down his driveway, wheels sending clouds of dust into the air.

“Fiddleford!”

Fiddleford stuck his head out the window, grinning broadly at him, gap-toothed and bright. “Stanferd!”

The truck rolled to a stop in front of the lab, Fiddleford clearly having no qualms about parking with his front tires in the grass. The sight of Fiddleford’s gangling limbs and absurd, patterned green shirt ambling out of the beat-up old pickup was enough to get Ford hurrying towards the truck.

Fiddleford was barely two steps out of his car before Ford was throwing his arms around him, Fiddleford making a soft surprised noise, quickly reciprocating.

It felt just the same as it did in college. Fiddleford’s bony arms wrapped around him, accidentally jabbing him with his sharp elbows, chuckling in his ear. “Well, long time no see to you too, Stanferd!”

“A long time indeed,” Ford agreed, withdrawing from the embrace with a smile. “I can’t remember the last time we spoke face to face. How have you been?”

“Between family-raisin’ and the computermajig-in’ business, I’ve been real busy. Not a moment of peace, I’m telling you.” Fiddleford beamed lop-sidedly at him, eyes crinkling around the corners with the brightness of it. “I missed ya, Stanferd. Just ain’t the same without ya.”

Ford smiled softly, adjusting his glasses. “Yes. It was too quiet around here without your awful banjo to keep me awake at night.”

“And I’ve only gotten better,” Fiddleford said proudly, not an ounce of shame in his voice. He stepped back, popping open the backseat and pulling out his bags, before withdrawing the dreaded - a distinctly banjo-shaped instrument case.

“Oh no,” Ford lamented in an anguished voice, though the effect was a bit ruined by the fact he couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“That’s right, I don’t go nowhere without her. I’ve learned all sorts of new songs she and I are just itching to share.”

“Under no circumstances can you play that after seven o’clock.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Fiddleford waved him off. “No banjo-playin’ after the sunset, I remember.”

“Good.” Ford straightened his jacket, then eyed Fiddleford’s bags. “Do you need a hand?”

“I’m alright.” Fiddleford settled the banjo-case on his back, before scooping up his luggage with a soft grunt of effort, swaying a bit under the weight - Ford extended a hand as though to catch him, but Fiddleford stabilized himself quickly, so Ford awkwardly retracted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This the place then?”

Fiddleford eyed the cabin appreciatively. A small spark of pride went off in Ford’s chest.

“Designed it myself,” Ford confirmed. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, clapping them together. “It’s half a home, half a laboratory for future revolutionary science and research. Hence its remote location.”

“Of course.” Fiddleford nodded along. “Seems like your kinda place, Stanferd.”

“Come inside,” Ford said, walking up to the front door. “Watch your step - I accidentally dropped some of my equipment on one of the porch steps a while back and I haven’t had the time to get it fixed. Too busy.”

Fiddleford hefted his luggage up the steps easily, eyes roving the front of the cabin. “It happens to the best of us. You busy with whatever it is that you need the machine for?”

“Yes, actually.” Ford put his hand on the door, talking as he swung it open. “I should warn you, I’m not sure how he’ll react to you. I never have visitors over, so I don’t know how he reacts to strangers. Do forgive him for any ill-reaction, he’s a bit… well, you’ll see.”

“Eh? He?”

The door swung open.

But, to Ford’s surprise, it swung open to Ford’s entryway, completely vacant of any Remus whatsoever. He’d abandoned his resting spot at the couch, leaving no trace of his presence except for rustled couch-covers.

He stepped inside, looking around, but nothing. It was as though Remus had completely vanished.

“Very nice place,” Fiddleford said, setting his bags down by the door. “What was that ‘bout another fella again?”

“He… yes. There is another resident here, a recent one. See, I found this anomaly in the woods, and I’d like to examine his DNA.” Ford wrung his hands nervously. “For scientific purposes.”

Fiddleford blinked at him. Then snorted softly, shaking his head. “You’re still a bad liar, Stanferd,” he said, fond as anything. He stepped forward, putting a warm hand on Ford’s shoulder. His eyes were earnest, kind. “What’s goin’ on-?”

He was cut-off by the abrupt sound of growling, kicking to life like an old engine. Fiddleford stiffened, looking around.

“What in tarnation? There some kinda critter in here?”

“Well, you could say that.”

Fiddleford stepped closer to Ford. The growling grew louder. “You got a dog or something? I never really pegged ya as the type for one.”

“He might be a dog.” Fiddleford gave him an incredulous look. Ford smiled sheepishly. “In truth, I’m not quite sure. That’s what the DNA-analyzer is for.”

“What, you can’t tell just by lookin’ at him?” There was no judgement in his voice, just something akin to baffled concern. He kept looking around, like he was trying to catch a glimpse of Remus. The creature remained elusive, but the growling only picked up. “Just where is this critter anyhow?”

As though on cue, two eyes drifted forward from the dark shadows underneath one of the tables Ford kept some of his work on.

“Ah,” Ford said, relieved, “there you are.”

Remus prodded forward, slowly pulling himself from the drapes of the shadows and into view. His eyes kept flicking rapidly between Ford and Fiddleford, growling loud and unhappy, hunched close to the ground in a defensive stance.

“Oh,” Fiddleford said faintly.

“He’s never bitten me, but I assure that if he tries I will intervene on your behalf,” Ford told him, swallowing around the uneasiness that clogged in his throat at the thought. He didn’t want to hurt Remus, but he wanted Fiddleford to get hurt even less.

Fiddleford slowly bent down, dropping his knees to the floor in a tentative kneel, reaching out a hand. To Ford’s relief, Remus didn’t try to bite, though he certainly growled like he was considering it - Remus shrank back a bit, before warily leaning forward, sniffing at Fiddleford’s hand.

“Howdy there, big fella,” Fiddleford said softly. “My, what happened to ya?”

Remus snorted, retracting so that he could pace around Fiddleford, eyeing him critically. Whatever he saw, it seemed to satisfy him - with a weary huff, he turned slunk down the hall, disappearing around the bend, leaving Fiddleford unaccosted.

“Right then!” Ford clapped his hands together. “Now you know what we’re dealing with.”

“Stanferd, I’m mighty sorry,” Fiddleford said earnestly, voice heavy with concern. Ford paused, suddenly struck with a sinking feeling of dread.

“What for?” Ford asked, twisting his hands together anxiously.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Fiddleford patted Ford’s arm softly in condolences. “I know how much ya missed Stanley. Must be hard fer ya to see him like that.”

Oh.

“That’s not Stanley,” Ford snapped. “There’s- I understand that there’s… a certain resemblance between Remus here,” he gestured to where Remus had wandered off to, “and I, but that’s not- I mean, there’s no evidence.”

Fiddleford’s hand slid off Ford’s arm. He gave Ford an incredulous, almost exasperated look. “Seriously?”

“That’s what the DNA analyzing machine will be for.”

“You don’t need a machine to look at this feller’s DNA to know he’s yer brother,” Fiddleford said, taking an edge of irritation into his voice - he crossed his arms, fixing Ford with a vexed look. “Honestly, Stanferd. He’s yer spitting image. I’ve met yer folks, and he looks just like ‘em. You’ve shown me pictures of Stanley before!”

“A lot can change in thirty years,” Ford insisted. “Stanley could look very different from me by now. Just because Remus happens to look similar to me-”

“The same thing can apply in reverse and you know it. It doesn’t change the fact that that feller is damn near identical to ya! Just wit’ longer hair!” Fiddleford shook his head. “Where’d you even find him anyhow?”

“In the woods,” Ford said huffily. “I suspect he’s been living in there for a long time, as he’s not exactly socialized - as you can see. I initially thought he was a cryptid of some kind, but after I cleaned him up and observed him for the week it took you to arrive, its become increasingly likely that he’s simply a human who was raised outside of society, likely by wild animals.”

“Good Lord,” Fiddleford said faintly, shaking his head. There was a haunted look in his eyes, a hand coming up over his mouth. “Fer twenty years?”

“For most of his life. Like I said, he’s not Stanley. I understand the confusion, but analyzing Remus’ DNA should clear the issue up once and for all.” Ford folded his hands behind his back, lifting his head. “I would know if he was my brother.”

“I reckon you do,” Fiddleford grumbled. “You just don’t want to.”

Ford stayed firm. “I’m a man of science. Evidence is key.”

“Ya don’t need evidence to prove the sky is blue, Stanferd. Yer missing an identical twin, a fella shows up, looking identical to ya, he’s probably your brother. ‘sides, you’re going about it backwards and you know it - ya gather evidence to form a conclusion, not so that you can prove the conclusion you’ve already decided.”

“We’re getting nowhere like this,” Ford sighed tensely. “Look, even if you don’t believe me for some reason, this DNA-Machine could be revolutionary. Think of it like an opportunity. Remus can be our first test subject - I’ve sent for some of Stanley’s baby teeth to be delivered to me, and I believe we could find some use in comparing Remus’ and Stanley’s DNA. Think of it like a trial run.”

Fiddleford made an irritated noise. “Yer only doin’ this ‘cause you know he’s your brother, and you just don’t want to admit it. ‘cause you want to be wrong.”

“Fiddleford.”

A weary sigh. Fiddleford re-crossed his arms, looking away. “Fine, you got me. I want to make that machine, just to see if we can. And if it can do the world some good then all the better.” He shook his head. “But I ain’t gonna ignore this - what’d ya call him? Remus? I ain’t gonna ignore this whole thing with Remus here. Your brother or not, that fella’s a human who needs help. He thinks he’s a dog, fer God’s sake.”

“This is true,” Ford allowed. “I admit I’ve been a bit too… preoccupied, to really do much about it. I’m not even sure how to go about rehabilitating him. I don’t have a degree in Psychology.”

“Neither do I.” Fiddleford sighed, rubbing his head as though fighting against a burgeoning headache. “What he needs is professional help, but-”

“We will not be sending him anywhere,” Ford cut in firmly, something cold crawling up his spine at the thought of sending Remus away to some facility, for him to be prodded and poked at like some experiment, cooed at by strangers who don’t know him like Ford does. Like he’s some sort of freak.

Ford wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“-but I know you don’t want to,” Fiddleford finished. “And it might be best not to go freakin’ him out, making big decisions for him like that anyhow. We’re gonna havta do… something else.”

“It will have to be while we work on the machine,” Ford said.

Fiddleford nodded. “I figured you’d say that. Well, we can probably do both. I mean, how hard can it be?”

There was a crash from somewhere further in the cabin, followed by an explosion of furious barking.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Fiddleford groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I shoulda knocked on wood.”

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#alto alliterates #stan pines #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #feral stan pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic

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