about me ꫂ❁ izzy. 8teen. she/her. liberal. cabin six. lover of stories that make me giggle, sob, and everything in between.
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summary: with your childhood best friend’s birthday coming up, you meticulously plan a surprise party for him with the hopes that he won’t see it coming. however, what you didn’t plan for was falling for him after a dream changes the way you see him.
tags/warnings: friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, little bit of unrequited love (don’t worry this does change), no use of y/n, reader’s call sign is scope
word count: 8.9k
a/n: hi everyone, i’ve literally been so m.i.a lately but I’M BACKK!! so i have this entire story planned out and it will be a total of two or three parts. please let me know your thoughts on the story and i hope you enjoy!
"Where did Scope go?"
After finally being granted a two week long break, the squad decided to kick it off with a night at the Hard Deck.
While everyone was in close proximity to each other — some playing darts, others playing nine-ball — there were a few strays from the group. Hangman was busy trying to get a pretty brunette's number by the bar, and you were heading out to sit with some cute guy on the swing bench beside the entrance.
Bob jerked his head in your direction by the door in response to Phoenix's question.
Following his eye-line, Natasha let out a huff. "Looks like we lost another one."
Before going back to her game with Rooster who was laughing at his friends not making it even halfway through the night before hitting on someone, Mickey nudged Natasha.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that."
The apprehension in his tone caused the four to avert their attention back to you just in time to see you hurl whatever mix of food and alcohol was in your stomach on the boots of the guy you were with. The man was holding your arms to help maintain your balance, but the look of disgust across his features was evident. He looked around in search of someone, anyone, who would be able to take you off his hands.
A bunch of "oohs" and "yikes" escaped from your friends inside. Already knowing he was going to be sent to get you, a grimacing Bob hopped off the stool he was occupying.
"Yeah I know, I'm on it."
Everything felt dizzying. The lines on the floorboards blurred together as you immediately went to apologize to Max (or was it Miles), who you just yacked on. Mortification slipped through the pounding going on in your head. While you couldn't even pick your head up, eyes shut in the direction of the ground, a familiar voice filled the air.
"Hey man, sorry I'll take her off you hands."
The forearms you were gripping didn't hesitate at all to hand you over.
You understand that anyone would have been disgusted with the incident, but damn. Bob could've been a murderer for all Max (Mason?) knew. A string full of cursed grumbles came out of him as he walked off towards his car.
You stumbled into Bob looking for any sort of balance.
Bob's chuckle filled your ears. "Whoa, easy sweetheart. I told you to go light on those shots tonight."
A stabilizing arm wrapped around your waist while the other guided one of yours around his neck. He contemplated taking you straight home or back inside to get some water in you. Bob decided on the latter after hearing you mutter something about not feeling well.
"Bubs we both know I never listen to you."
He shakes his head at your stubbornness, lips quirking slightly at the nickname you've had for him since childhood.
You and him have been best friends ever since the day you met in kindergarten. It was the first week and everyone was playing outside while Bob sat under a secluded tree. Your little heart broke seeing him all alone and decided from then on that you'd never leave his side. This decision turned out great considering years later, you found out Bob wanted to talk to other kids but was just too shy and scared to do anything about it. While your never-ending questions about his glasses that were two sizes to big for his face made him nervous at first, he was always grateful that you gave him attention when no one else seemed to care.
You started calling him bubs after hearing his family called him bubba whenever you went over to his house for play dates. Although he grew out of the nickname with his family, you never found it necessary to shake the habit.
Bob never minded. In fact, he loved the nickname that was reserved only for you. Something to represent the closeness and bond of your friendship to each other.
After hauling you back onto the stool you originally occupied before leaving, Bob waved Phoenix over so that you'd have someone to lean on while he went to grab your water. Phoenix immediately handed the pool stick to Fanboy and sat on the stool beside yours. You slumped into her side, head resting against her shoulder.
"Scope, babe, what were you thinking? The last time you ate was during lunch and you decided to go ham on all the shots?"
You groaned. "Ugh, I know I know. But I wasn't in the mood for anything here. And I was not about to drive to another place for food just to come back here again. "
The pounding was still coursing through your skull and Bob thankfully appeared with the glass of water he promised. You practically ripped it out of his hand and chugged the entire thing in what seemed like two seconds.
Phoenix and Bob shared a look, laughing at your actions.
You were about to say you were going to head home before the southern drawl from the annoying man you've grown to love interrupted you.
"Aw damn! No way I missed it." Hangman, who was yelling at a volume ten times too loud for your liking right now, appeared in front of you wearing a devastating pout like he missed out on the greatest thing ever. "You hurl your lunch on some poor guy and I miss it?! Did anyone record it?"
Jake's amusement quickly came to an end as he bent over to rub the place on his shin you kicked in retaliation.
"Hangman, go be a dick somewhere else. I do not have the patience for you right now." You rubbed your temples at the headache that just wouldn't seem to go away. "I'm gonna head out guys."
"Alright, let's go." Bob offered as you slid from your seat.
Guilt filled your system, not wanting to make Bob turn in early just because you couldn't hold your liquor. But, the two of you did drive together since you shared the same street and Bob wasn't planning on drinking.
You shook your head. "Bob, no it's fine. I'll just get an Uber or something. Stay, have fun."
Ignoring your protests, Bob turned to grab his keys. Knowing that you weren't going to win this battle, you sighed and turned to give Phoenix a goodbye hug.
"Try to make it past the door without throwing up this time." Phoenix winked teasingly, resulting in her earning a poke at her side. She contorted her body away from your hand and you laughed, bidding her and the team a goodnight.
Bob appeared beside you once more and the two of you headed out.
-
Waking up the next morning wasn't nearly as terrible as you thought it would be. Your headache was completely gone but the hunger in your stomach was unbearable. You ate something light before going to bed, but it seems your body didn't get the memo.
Luckily, it was the first Saturday of the month, which meant it was your and Bob's monthly lunch date. You guys have had this ritual for years and only missed it whenever you weren't in proximity of each other. It was meant to give you and Bob one-on-one time whenever weeks got hectic and you two wouldn't get to hang out as much. Although you both loved your squad, it was always nice to spend time alone together just like you did when you were kids.
Pulling into your favorite part of town that was littered with everything you and Bob love—a cozy little cafe with the best waffles and coffee known to man, a bookstore across the street, and a movie theater just down the block—you rushed inside to get those delicious aforementioned waffles in your grumbling stomach as quickly as possible.
Your eyes scanned the cafe for Bob, knowing that he always arrived earlier than you did. After a few seconds, you managed to find him scrolling on his phone at a table tucked away in the corner.
You make your way towards him but just before you take a seat, you stop in your tracks.
"You're actually the best person ever."
Bob's gaze lifts to yours as he lets out an easy chuckle and stuffs his phone away in his pocket.
A smile splits across your face as you take in the stack of steaming waffles covered in whipped cream, fresh fruit, and chocolate drizzle. Right beside it is an iced coffee, which you're sure is made exactly how you like. You immediately reach out for the chair and hurry to grab the utensils to dig in. Once you successfully shovel a perfect bite into your mouth with a little bit of every topping, you let out a satisfied groan.
"Yeah, I figured you'd be starving after yesterday. Didn't feel like you should wait if you didn't have to." Bob began to eat the omelette that you only registered was in front of him after your post waffle clarity.
"I hope you get everything you ever wish for in life Robert Floyd."
The food still being chewed in your mouth made your words almost incoherent. But, after knowing you for so long, Bob was basically fluent in any state you were in.
''Slow down. We don't want you throwing all that up on my shoes this time around. They're new."
You let out another groan. This time out of embarrassment.
"Don't remind me. I actually can't believe I did that. Next time I don't eat and decide to drink the entire bar, I want you to bring that exact moment up."
Bob scoffs. "Yeah right, like you'd listen. Just like you did last night when I told you to eat."
You just shrugged knowing that he had a point.
After some more easy conversation, you decided now was the perfect time to set into motion the plan you've been working on for a few months now.
You set your fork down and reach for a sip of your coffee in order to give yourself a few seconds to prepare the most authentic looking disappointed face known to man.
"Okay bubs, I have some news and you're not going to like it." The middle of Bob's brows furrowed and you mentally applauded your grave tone. "But don't worry, I'll do my very best to make it up to you."
The utensils in his hands get set down immediately, his full attention on you."What is it?"
"I know your birthday is coming up in a few weeks, but I won't be here to celebrate with you."
Bob's concern drops immediately. He shakes his head, averting his attention back to his meal. "Oh my god. I thought you were being serious."
You were prepared for this exact reaction. So, you channeled all of your practice from the school play you did when you were in the seventh grade and pushed on.
"No Bob, I'm telling the truth. My sister sent the date for her college graduation ceremony and it falls on your birthday weekend."
He just nods along, clearly not believing you. "Yeah, yeah. You know, I thought we were past you trying to surprise me with some party. We both know every time you do, you get all pouty when I never fall for it."
You folded your arms and, true to his word, your lips pout. Bob sees this and points his fork at you. "Yes, just like that! I know you want me to feel excited by some big party, but, you know me. I don't need some big elaborate surprise to feel special."
"Okay, first of all, I am not lying. And second of all, everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday-"
"And I do."
"But it's not the same," you exasperate.
You've been trying to throw Bob a surprise party ever since your eighteenth birthday. You were looking forward to it all year and the week before your party was supposed to happen, bam. Your appendix burst. You had to cancel your party and, although you were grateful for spending a small celebration with your parents and sister, you were devastated.
Your parents offered to postpone the party, but you felt guilty making them go through all the trouble of planning again. But then, your lovely best friend decided to step in behind your back and throw you the party of your dreams. He singlehandedly sent out new invitations to your closest friends, called the catering place to reschedule, and rounded up your family at the crack ass of dawn to set up your backyard. All without you noticing.
After a successful day of keeping you in the house until night with a movie marathon, Bob dragged you out to your backyard. You immediatley broke down in tears, heart bursting at the seams. Purple and green streamers lined the fences that surrounded the yard, a double chocolate cake was sat on one of the long tables, and all of your favorite people were there. While you originally thought it was your parents who did this, they just pointed to a bashful Bob staring and awaiting your reaction.
It wasn't just the fact that he took the time and spent the effort to do all this for you, it was that he wasn't looking for any recognition at all. He just offered a shrug when you asked if he did all this and, when he nodded, you tackled him while in a fit of pure joy.
From that moment on, you've devoted your life to trying to give Bob the same feeling he did to you on that day. However, that obviously has never come to fruition since he always manages to figure out when you're lying. And while there is never a doubt in your mind that he enjoys the events you plan for him, it is a very surreal feeling to have someone do something for you exactly how you wished without being asked. The moment made you feel completely seen and you want Bob to know that you've always seen him, too.
While your past attempts have failed, this time you are sure you're going to succeed.
"Okay, prove it."
"I literally have the email that got sent to Becca. I'll show you right now." You pulled your phone out and opened the messages app. Turning it to show Bob, he reads the screenshotted email and examines the date stamp of the message. It was sent a week ago.
So, obviously the email wasn't real. You roped your sister into this and went as far as to create a fake email that looked exactly like her school's. With some research and careful editing, it looked legit. You called Becca and told her when to send it. Following the screenshot were messages about how you were oh so sad that you'd have to break it to Bob that you'd be missing his party.
Bob handed the phone back to you before saying, "Okay…this could still be fake. I don't believe you."
Sighing, you scrolled through your phone and opened up the messages with your Mom. There was a reused screenshot of flight information sent by an airline that you had from the past years with the date edited. It was followed by messages regarding pickup details.
Bob's shoulders slumped ever so slightly and you knew you got him. You had to keep yourself from smirking in victory. Who has a terrible poker face now Bob?
"Oh." His voice was small and guilt started to creep into your system at his obvious effort to not appear too disappointed. But you shoved those feelings down knowing that it was all going to be worth it in the end. "That's okay. Like you said, we can celebrate another time. Not a big deal. It's not like it's our first birthday we've had to make up."
You nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah exactly. I'll make sure you have the best time when I get back."
After finishing your meals and browsing the nearby bookstore, you two went your separate ways. Once you were in your car and one hundred and ten percent sure that Bob left the parking lot, you broke out in a happy dance.
Everything is going to be perfect.
-
"Thanks for letting me crash here Hangman. I owe you one."
Weeks had passed since you first broke the news to Bob that you "wouldn't" be here for his birthday. He originally offered you a ride to the airport, but obviously without a flight, that would just be a waste of gas and time. So, you made up some excuse about Jake owing you a favor and you wanting to be as annoying to him as possible.
Bob laughed at that and gave no protests since it meant Jake would be inconvenienced.
In reality, the two of you weren't going to the airport. Instead, you were going to camp out at Jake's apartment because Bob would never unexpectedly visit like he would Natasha's or Mickey's place.
It would only be for a day. Plus, Jake just moved into his apartment, making Bob the most unfamiliar with it, which is perfect for your facetime with him tonight.
"No problem Scope. But I got to hand it to you. I think this is the year you successfully surprise Baby on Board."
You beamed at Jake. "You think so?"
He nodded and guided you to the guest room.
"Definitely. As long as Fanboy doesn't open his big mouth and accidentally lets it slip at dinner tomorrow night."
You groaned, "Ugh. Please make sure he limits his alcohol consumption. You know how chatty he gets when he's wine drunk."
"Will do," Hangman promised. "What time is everyone getting here?"
With Bob's birthday being a day away, you wanted to go over the plan with the squad one more time just to ensure everything went perfectly. You bribed them all with free pizzas and beers that you and Jake picked up.
You settled down onto the very comfortable queen size bed before saying, "In an hour so I'll order the pizza in a bit. Can you put the beers in the fridge till they come?"
Jake hummed before walking out the door.
Flopping back onto the bed, you open up your phone and order a few boxes of pizza from the nearby place you know everyone loves. After all the food has been ordered, you decide to take a little nap before everyone arrives. But just as you're getting comfy and two seconds away from knocking out, your phone decides to ruin your peace with a ding!
Your eyes shoot open and immediately reach for the phone. Because, while you know that you aren't on a plane, it slipped your mind that Bob doesn't. What also slipped your mind was that you needed to text or call Bob before your flight, something you both always did out of habit to give each other peace of mind before boarding. You tap your phone on and open up the messages app.
From Bubs: Hey just wanted to check in. Are you about to board?
From You: Yep, boarding right now! Sorry it's really hectic here, slipped my mind to text you.
As soon as you sent your message, Bob responded with a Have a safe flight :) and you tossed your phone aside before knocking out cold.
You wake up around an hour later to someone jumping you and disrupting your peaceful slumber.
"WAKE UP SLEEPY HEAD!"
A muffled groan comes out of you, courtesy of the sleeve of Mickey's hoodie covering your face.
"Fanboy if you don't get up right now, I will start biting."
He rolls off with all the urgency of a man who knows you're bluffing.
With your face hoodie-free, you're able to blink awake to see Phoenix leaning on the entrance of the door with an amused grin. "Come on Scope, get up. Everyone's here and so is the food. Be quick before the guys get distracted by some game on the tv."
"Okay okay, I'm coming," you mumble while rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes.
Phoenix kicks off the frame to head back to the living room and Fanboy follows, but not before shoving you back on the bed when you stand up and running away giggling like a five year old.
"Mickey!" You huff and get back up to follow after them.
Reaching the living room, you see the group already cozy in their spots. Boxes of pizza are spread open across the coffee table, everyone has food and a beer in hand, and Hangman is already scrolling through channels to find something interesting. Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote occupy the L-shaped couch while Phoenix is crisscrossed on the nearby armchair.
You grab some pizza and a beer from the fridge before settling down behind the coffee table on the plush carpet beside Fanboy—but not before grabbing a hold of his head and giving him a noogie.
Once you're all comfy, you grab everyone's attention. "Okay people, big day tomorrow night. I need everything to run smoothly."
Even though you've run this plan with them a couple of times before, all of their eyes and attention is locked on you. They understand how important this is to you so, even if they don't need to hear the plan again, they humor you.
"You all know what you're doing?" Nods are given all around, but you still feel the need to double check.
"Nat, what time are you picking Bob up?"
"Seven-thirty, and we're going to that fancy italian place we go to every year," she responds.
"Perfect. And what time is everyone heading out?"
"Ten p.m sharp." Everyone says in unison.
A smile spreads across your face. "Yes, and most importantly, what are you guys supposed to do when giving your keys to the valet?"
Rooster swallows his bite of pizza before answering. "Find Jordan and give her Phoenix's keys."
When planning for tomrrow, you stopped by the restaurant last week to ask if anyone would be working that could pretend to have a "little misshap" and say that there is some sort of confusion with finding Phoenix's keys. This way, everyone else will have time to rush to Bob's house for the surprise without him seeing. That's when you met Jordan, the sweetest girl who agreed to do it after hearing the reason behind Bob's surprise party and who said she'd be working that night.
You let out a sigh, trying to let go of all the nerves and trust that your friends were going to do everything perfectly.
Seeing the anxiety written all over your face, Fanboy spoke. "Scope relax, we got this."
His shrug of confidence actually helped a lot to ease your worries, but you still decided to egg on him.
"Yeah as long as you, Mr. Chatterbox, are able to keep your lips sealed."
Fanboy put a hand to his chest in mock offense before getting distracted by whatever channel Hangman flicked to.
You relaxed against the couch behind you feeling hopeful that everything would go according to plan. A small smile was permanently etched on your face the rest of the night in ancitipation of Bob's reaction.
-
Is it considered breaking and entering into someone's house if said someone is your best friend who gave you a key to his apartment years ago for emergencies? Well, you constitute needing to surprise him as an emergency so, it's fine.
After Hangman dropped you back home, you were finally able to use your car without Bob noticing that it was gone from its place on the side street. You were going to have to do multiple trips from your place to his because of all the bean bag chairs and other decorations you bought, but at least it was only down the street.
You facetimed Bob at exactly midnight. Fanboy and Coyote decided to stick around a little longer so you asked everyone to quiet down before you headed to the guest bathroom, a place Bob definitely wouldn't recognize. You called wishing him a happy birthday, always needing to be the first to greet each other on birthdays. He wanted to say hi to your sister whose apartment you said you were crashing at, but you just told him she was sleeping. Another perk of being dedicated to calling at such a late hour.
Although he tried to hide it, you could hear the disappointment in his voice, the edge in his tone when talking about how excited he was to go out with the group. Your heart cracked a little at his sadness but you reminded yourself once again that it would all be worth it.
Now, it's up to you to get everything set up and you have around two hours to do it.
You work as fast as you could and had the layers of sweat to prove it. Bob's backyard was perfect. He lived in the coziest craftsman bungalow you've ever seen. Warm colors, the comfiest furniture known to man, and photos of his family and friends scattered everywhere. But most importantly, his backyard had a good amount of space. Just the right amount for the outdoor plan you had.
You clicked on your phone and had exactly twenty minutes to spare. The perfect amount of time for you to get ready before Bob got here.
You took the quickest shower ever, did some skincare, and put on your pajamas that you packed. The wide leg sweatpants and one of Bob's old t-shirts were a wonderful reprieve from the sweaty jeans you had been confined in.
By the time you finished up, you heard a couple knocks on the door and rushed to open it. Behind it was the squad, aside from Bob and Phoenix of course.
"Okay everyone, Phoenix texted me saying that she was eight minutes away so hurry up and get changed."
The men all filed into the house carrying a spare change of clothes you told them to bring for the night. Once everyone was dressed, you shuffled them into the backyard to hide knowing that Phoenix would be arriving with Bob at any minute. As soon as everyone stepped outside, their eyes widened in awe.
"Woah Scope, you did all this in the span of two hours?!" Payback gawked.
Bob's backyard was just how you imagined it would turn out to be. The grass covered area was filled with blankets spread across the floor, throw pillows littered everywhere, and eight bean bag chairs. Along the perimeter of the wooden fence and hung on some trees were fairy lights illuminating a warm glow that softly filled the space. In front of everything was a plastic backdrop stand holding a sheet. Off to the side was a table full of Bob's favorite snacks and drinks that surrounded the elevated projector you ordered online. And the cherry on top was the vintage popcorn machine you in a corner that you which was currently churning out some kernels.
When you two were younger, Bob always thought they were the coolest thing. So, you decided now was a good time to fulfill that childhood dream.
Coyote's jaw was practically touching the floor before saying, "No, seriously, you're insane. I don't know how you pulled this off, but you did it."
Before you could bask in anymore compliments, you heard the loud lock on a car go off. Phoenix and Bob are here.
You rushed to turn off the fairy lights so that they wouldn't draw Bob's attention through the windows.
"Quick everyone, hide!" you whisper-shouted.
All of them were quick to duck below the eye-line of any windows and you moved to hide behind a tree to serve as a final surprise. It was barely covering you but you knew the rest of the guys would draw Bob's attention away before he noticed.
After a minute, the door clicks open followed by Bob's voice. Peering around the tree, you see Bob semi-distracted by Phoenix as he steps outside, keeping his focus away from the entire set-up.
"Phoenix, are you sure we're even able to see the shooting stars with all the light pollu- What the?"
"SURPRISE!" Before Bob could even comprehend what was going on, you turned the fairy lights on with the remote control you grabbed before hiding and the guys popped up from their squatted positions.
If eyes could pop out of their sockets, they'd definitely be rolling out of Bob's head right now. He was a stuttering mess. "You guys- how did you- when did you-…what's happening right now?"
Phoenix jumped in with an amused grin asking, "You like it?"
Bob let out a surprised huff as he took everything in. "Of course! This is literally the coolest thing ever, but how were you all able to do this? You were with me the entire night. And I think I would have noticed you guys carrying all this stuff here."
Everyone let out a collective chuckle before Bob just turned to Natasha looking for answers. She just shrugged before spotting you from behind the tree and nodding her head in your direction.
You walked out from behind your spot with a shy smile. "Surprise Bob! Happy birthday."
Understanding seemed to wash over his features, the furrow in his brow immediately relaxing. You knew he realized that this was all some elaborate scheme you pulled off, yet the shock was still coursing through him. He shook his head in disbelief. "You did all of this? How did you do all this?"
You nodded. Before you could even get an explanation out, a squeal ripped through you Bob raced at you. He picked you up into the biggest hug ever and spun you around. You immediately wrapped your arms around his shoulders, giggling like a child.
After a few seconds he put you down, hands settled on your waist while yours slid to rest on his shoulders. His eyes gleamed under the fairy lights and you wished you could take a picture of the pure joy on his face. You had no doubt that your expression matched his.
"You liar," he accused, but there was not even a single ounce of betrayal on his face.
"Guilty. But be honest, did I finally get you?"
"How could you not? You had so much proof and, like, planned everything so ahead of time that I couldn't even convince myself that you were lying. How were you even able to answer from your sister's place?"
"I didn't. I crashed at Hangman's."
At the mention of your friend, the two of you finally separated from each other's grasp and turned to the group. You rolled your eyes at Fanboy who had his phone out recording the entire interaction.
Bob continued to look around, still taking it all in.
You clapped your hands and rubbed them together in anticipation. "Anddd, we're having a movie marathon. So, let's get this party started!"
Excited energy polluted the air as everyone took the time to grab snacks and popcorn.
Finally noticing the popcorn machine, Bob whipped his head in your direction. "No way. You actually got one of these?!"
"Mhm," you proudly nodded,"I thought of everything."
Shaking his head in awe he let out a breathy, "You really did."
Once everyone settled down onto beanbags that surrounded around the makeshift screen, you turned on the projector.
"NO WAY! STARWARS?!"
A laugh bellowed out of you from Bob's realization.
"Duh, what else would we watch for your birthday you nerd?" You ruffled his hair before plopping down on the seat right next to him.
Fanboy let out a dramatic, "SHHHHHH. It's starting," which left you with no other choice but to throw a handful of popcorn at him in retaliation.
The conversations and jokes didn't entirely settle, but they quieted down to just a murmur.
You were focused on the beginning scenes before feeling a pair of eyes on you. You turned to Bob and found him looking at you carrying a small smile that hadn't disappeared from his face since you saw him. He looked utterly contented.
Your face immediately mirrored his as you let out a quiet, "What?"
Bob leaned in to not bother your friends.
"I told you that you didn't have to go through all this trouble to make me have a good birthday. I love all of this though, thank you, but I would have been just as happy with you at dinner."
"I know, but I wanted you to experience at least half of what I did."
His eyebrows furrow.
"You know…for what you did for me at my eighteenth party." Realization hits Bob and he seems to finally see what the fuss was all about.
"Scope, is that why you've been scheming all these years?"
You nod.
"You seriously didn't have to go through all this trouble. You don't owe me anything because of that party."
A pink hue painted your cheeks. "I know, I just wanted you to know how special you are to me Bob. You don't know what that night meant to me."
He shook his head dismissively and breaks eye contact. "It wasn't all that. Anyone would have done that for you."
To bring his attention back on you, you gently place a hand on his arm.
"Bob. Not just anyone would have done that for me. And it's not just about the party. It's about the effort and thought that you put into all of it. I've never felt as cared about as that night and it was all thanks to you. And if tonight made you feel even the slightest bit similar, then I am satisfied."
The sparkle in his eyes caused by the light seem to only amplify. There's an indescrible look on Bob's face, and, for the second time that night, you wish you could take a picture to keep the memory forever.
Seemingly at a loss for words, he pulls you to him and wraps his arm around you.
Into your hair beside your ear, he breathes your name out like its a sacred thing that he has the privledge to know. "Thank you. This is the best birthday ever."
If the tightness of his hug is anything to go by, you think that everything was a success.
Before the two of you can pull apart, a pillow is thrown at the back of your head.
Whipping your head towards the direction it came from, you see all of your friend's eyes locked on the screen — completely unbothered — before pointing to Mickey.
"Oh really? Thanks guys."
"Fanboy! What the heck?"
"What? You guys were being too mushy. It's cute, but like, you're distracting."
And that's all it took for you to start a pillow fight with Mickey.
Easy laughter and jokes spilled out of everyone the rest of the night. After finishing the second movie, almost everyone was either snoring or drooling on themselves. The only survivors of the night were you, Bob, and Phoenix.
"Okay birthday boy, I think its time to wrap this up. Let's round everyone up and clean this mess up tomorrow, yeah?"
Bob responded with a nod before stretching his limbs out like a cat, prompting a sleepy giggle to fall from your lips.
Natasha, noticing that you and Bob were getting up, followed and started shaking some of the guys awake.
Once everyone was awake, they dragged their feet heavily inside Bob's house.
"Okay, Nat and Mickey, you're crashing at my place. Here's the keys. Go ahead, I'm just going to help set up the air mattresses here."
After a few minutes of setting up some air mattresses in the living and the boys playing a game of rock paper scissors over the spare room Bob had, everyone was settled in. They practically knocked out as soon as their head hit the pillows.
While Bob walked you to the door, not worrying about needing to be quiet since the guys were out cold, you told him to give you a second to grab something you forgot. A quizzical expression fell over Bob's features when he saw you walking out of the kitchen towards him with a glow in your hands. That is, until you began to sing happy birthday quietly.
"…happy birthday bubs. And many more."
The single candle topped on the small vanilla cupcake in your hands was raised enough to illuminate Bob's face in the darkness that enveloped the rest of the room. It reflected off of his glasses, but there was no doubt that the warmth exerted from Bob was caused by the flicker of the candle alone.
He stared into your eyes before you nudged him to make a wish. Shutting his eyes, he took a few seconds before blowing out the candle.
"You really thought of everything, didn't you?"
"I know they gave you a cake at the restaurant, but I wasn't there. And I didn't want to subject you to another moment in the spotlight, I know how much you hate it."
Taking a hold of the small plate in one hand, Bob wrapped his free arm around your shoulder and placed a kiss on the side of your forehead. Warmth filled your chest for what felt like the thousandth time that night and you couldn't be happier with how everything turned out.
"Goodnight Bub, I hope today was everything you wished for and more." You greeted him goodbye as you pushed the door open.
"Trust me, you outdid yourself. Can't believe you finally got me. Goodnight, Scope"
You were grateful to have basically done your entire nighttime routine at Bob's house because that meant you just needed to brush your teeth before knocking out. Once you entered your house, your ears filled with the sound of Fanboy's snoring coming from the couch. Unlike Bob, your apartment only had one bedroom which meant you were sharing a bed with Nat.
The door to your bedroom creaked, much to your dismay, causing Natasha to stir in her sleep.
"Scope, is that you?" she mumbled.
You pulled the covers on your side before apologizing. "Yeah, sorry babe, didn't mean to wake you."
She only hummed before going back to bed. After you were all snug under the blanket, you allowed yourself to fully relax and sink into the bed. All of the stress and worrying paid off and you couldn't be happier. You took a minute to replay the night before falling asleep.
It was still dark when you woke up to the feeling of being absolutely dehydrated and overheated. Kicking off the blanket you were encased in, you looked to the clock on your beside table that read four a.m.
You stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, before pulling a glass of water from the cupboard above the sink. Footsteps echoed behind you, but you were too busy trying to quench your thirst. After filling the glass with water and taking the largest gulp known to man, you startled at the strong arms that enclosed your waist before relaxing into the hold. Your head leaned back against the shoulders, eyes closing in comfort.
The sleepiness was evident in the deep rasp you usually heard in his morning voice.
"Sweetheart, what are you doing up?" He began peppering soft kisses along your neck, eliciting a hum from you.
"Was thirsty," you mumbled.
His aviator glasses bumped the side of your face, but you didn't mind. Turning in his grasp, you buried your face in his chest to breathe in his scent. The usual jetfuel smell that accompanied him after a long day of flying was replaced by clean cedarwood.
His large palm rubbed comforting circles up and down your back. You pulled back just enough to stare into the man's face.
Bob is just the cutest when he's sleepy.
The two of you shared a smile before both your eyes went to eachother's lips. You leaned in, your lips about to touch and-
You couldn't sit up fast enough. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead as you gasped for air. You looked around your surroundings, trying to grasp where you were.
Natasha was sound asleep beside you and the sunlight was just barely beginning to peak through your curtains. The noise of the birds chirping did little to ease the beating in your ears.
Did I just have a dream about dating Bob?
-
You have never dreaded the thought of coming into work more than you did now. You loved your job, you really did. But you didn't know what to do with the confusion that plagued your mind.
After the dream, you were totally out of it. You tried to act as normal as possible, but kept zoning out whenever you talked to Mickey and Natasha. You blamed it on being spent from all the planning and they thought nothing of it. The rest of the weekend, you did your best to avoid Bob at all cost, which proved to be a challenge, but you managed to do it.
However, now it was Monday morning and you can't exactly avoid Bob when you're both pilots in the same squadron.
Usually, Bob and you would carpool, but the thought of being confined in a vehicle with him for fifteen minutes made you feel even more sick than any g-force ever could. So, you sent him a text the night before saying that you and Nat were going to grab a bite to eat before work and would be up earlier than usual. You made sure to send it when you knew he was asleep, which was easy since he was basically a grandpa and slept at nine p.m. on work nights.
In the locker room, you were thankful that Natasha wasn't a chatty morning person because you were so lost in your thoughts that you don't think you could've held a conversation. As you pulled on your flight suit, you couldn't get the dream out of your head.
It didn't mean anything, it was just a dream. You aren't held liable for the things your subconscious pulls. Plus you've known Bob your whole life, if something was there it would have happened already. You're gonna see him right now and see that you're being ridiculous. It meant nothing. It meant-
"Scope. Scope, hellooo?"
The sound of Nat's voice pulled you back to reality. "Oh sorry Phoenix."
"Where the heck is your head at? It's time to go to the briefing room, we have five minutes."
"Right, yeah. Just super tired this morning. Let's go."
Too tired to consider question anything, Nat just shut her locker before the two of you headed out.
The closer you got to the double doors of the briefing room, the more you felt like your heart was going to explode. You haven't felt this nauseous since your first day at the academy. Nerves coursed through your system and you just thanked your lucky stars that you haven't fainted yet.
Your worries eased just the slightest bit when you realized that the guys weren't in the room yet. You were tempted to force Natasha to sit beside you, but you decided against it, needing to prove to yourself that your feelings for Bob were as normal as ever.
Taking your usual seat in the front row, you shut your eyes and tried to focus on your breathing. Its effects were just starting to kick in before Hangman and Coyote's loud voices echoed outside the room. Although you couldn't hear Bob, you were sure he was with them. Within two seconds, the doors burst open and the rambunctious group strolled in.
You forced your eyes open as you registered the all too familiar light footsteps approaching. The pounding of your heart felt like it was going at one beat per minute, each breath you took feeling more labored than the last. And then, you saw him.
Bob, as normal as ever, entered your peripheral vision and you refused to look at him head on. He was occupied flipping through a notebook he always brought, facing you while he stood in front of his seat.
With all of the courage you could muster, you finally stared up at him.
And, oh no.
It felt as though the air was sucked out of your lungs by some imaginary force. Your heart stuttered.
The position of the early morning sun shone perfectly on Bob through the window beside you. You often teased Bob for having the brownest blue eyes you've ever seen, but now they were brightened in a way you didn't have the pleasure of usually witnessing. His short hair that was usually gelled to the side was falling ever so slightly over his forehead. And you wanted nothing more than to satisfy the urge of pushing it back into place, just to be able to touch it. His green flight suit was partially unzipped at the collar, revealing the silver chain around his neck. Your features relaxed, drinking in the sight of him.
That's when he must have noticed you staring and raised his head. The soft curve of his lips deepened as your gazes met, nothing you haven't seen before. But the feeling of your heart plummeting to the floor was definetly a new sensation. Yes, Bob has always been cute to you, but in an adorable, puppy way. Definetely not in the way that made you want to pull him down by his dog tags to kiss him.
Stop. Oh dear god please stop. What are you thinking?!
His soft voice broke the trance you found yourself in. "Morning Scope. How was your breakfast?"
It was an effort to find your voice."Um, fine? It wasn't anything special, just a bagel."
He matched your confused expression.
"A bagel? I thought you went somewhere with Phoenix?"
Oh. That's right, you did tell him that.
Feigning realization, you quickly responded, "Ohhh, right yeah. Um, the place was actually closed so we just grabbed bagels on the way."
"Huh, that sucks sorry about that."
Before he could continue conversation with you, Mav's voice boomed through the room. He was going over the schedule for the day, but for the life of you, you just couldn't sit still. Your leg bounced the entire time and you were very aware of Bob's arm next to yours that rested in the middle arm rest. While you weren't touching, the close proximity was enough to make you fold your arms together.
This is going to be a long week.
-
And a long week it was.
Pretending like your entire world wasn't just flipped upside down drained the absolute life out of you. Thankfully, you and Bob didn't have many run-ins at work. Any time you were in the air, Bob was reviewing his past flights, and vice versa.
The only time you were forced to act normal was during lunch. While you two usually sat next to each other, you began to progressively make subtle excuses throughout the week to sit with the others. You spoke with Phoenix about the latest book you were reading, caught up with Coyote about the newest album your favorite band released, and even suffered through whatever Hangman was yapping about. And no one suspected a thing.
Then came Saturday. You were looking forward to the beach day the squad had planned, but, the universe had different ideas about that. As if it couldn't make your week any more difficult, you were hit with the worst food poisioning.
You started to feel it after lunch on Friday and became especially queasy when thinking about dinner that evening. Late into the night, you were awoken by the violent urge to hurl and ended up falling asleep on the bathroom floor.
After forcing a few pieces of toast down your stomach in the morning, you found yourself curled into the fetal position on your couch. Just wanting to sleep it off, you quickly sent a text about not being able to make it to the beach to the group chat. The heaviness and constant pain in your stomach made the thought of any notification feel too much, prompting you to shut it off for the rest of the day.
You successfully managed to sleep until heavy knocks annoyingly struck your front door. You tried to ignore it until Bob's voice carried through the door.
"Scope? It's me. Are you in there?"
Oh poor, sweet, caring Bob.
You wanted him instantly annihilated.
You forcefully grunted, "Bob. Use your key."
"Oh right," he quietly mumbled.
He had a spare you gave him as soon as you got the place in case of emergencies. He never cared to use it, often forgetting he even had it at all.
The jingle of his keys and the turn of the knob turning signaled his entrance.
"Aw, Scope." His husky voice was laced with concern. It would have melted your heart if the food poisoning didn't make you already feel like everything inside was disintegrated.
He immediately approached you, letting the door shut on its own before crouching in front of you.
This was your worst nightmare. Bob has seen you at your worst, worse than how you looked now. But that didn't prevent insecurity from flooding your system.
Your folded arms shielded your face, originally to keep the light out, but now to hide away from Bob. You felt disgusting. Sweat covered your entire body from the makeshift cocoon of blankets you wrapped yourself in and felt too lazy to unravel from. You hadn't managed to brush your teeth so you knew it could only smell horrendous. You wished for nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth right now.
And you just about wanted to implode when Bob ran a comforting hand up and down your side. The weight of his palm did quite literally the opposite of soothe you.
"Mm, what time is it?"
"It's two sweetheart."
Without opening your eyes, you began to push Bob away as you sunk further into the couch.
"Bob what? You're supposed to be at the beach right now," you whined.
"And so are you miss M.I.A," he replied, swiping your arms away. "What's going on? Got the flu?
"Food poisoning."
Bob hummed in response before taking a seat in the space beside your legs.
"Bob. Out. Beach."
He huffed out a pitiful laugh. "Scope, you went ghost on us. Everyone's worried about you."
"Okay well I'm alive."
"Barely"
"And you should be having fun."
At this, he brought his hand up to your face, brushing away the hair sticking across your forehead. Despite your embarrassment, you relaxed into the touch.
As if you couldn't fall for Bob any more, the look of care you were greeted with when you opened your eyes sent your mind spiraling. He was scanning your face, analyzing every sign of discomfort.
"Scope, there is no way I'm leaving you alone. We can go to the beach at any time. Someone has to make sure you're not dying."
Before you could protest, Bob just tsked at you. "Don't even bother. Let's get some water in you, yeah? Then you can go back to sleep."
Begrudgingly you agreed.
A few hours later, you woke up to the feeling of Bob's comforting hand rubbing up and down your calves. After he grabbed a glass of water for you and cooked up some oatmeal — which you promptly threw back up five minutes after eating — he gave you some medicine from your cabinet before letting you knock out. Thankfully, the pain in your stomach began to dull into a faint, barely there ache.
Somehow in your sleep Bob managed to rest your legs on top of his lap and turned on a show the both of you had been watching.
"Heyyy, you traitor." At your whine Bob turned to face you. "You're not supposed to be watching that without me you bum."
"I'm not. I'm re-watching the episodes we already saw."
"Oh. I think you're still a bum."
Now that your symptoms were more manageable, it left space for your feelings to return at full force. The easy smile Bob wore made you feel guilty for relishing in his presence, but you didn't have it in your to care. He was here, not at the beach. Of course Bob would be here, it's him. You just wish it didn't make you realize that one thing you've been trying to convince yourself of otherwise.
"You didn't have to stay here you know," your voice came out small. "You should have gone with the rest of them, I'm fine."
His head tilted, like you should know better than to say that to him. "Scope, I'd pick being with you over anything. Even if it means holding your hair up when you're puking your guts out." At your unconvinced expression he continued. "Seriously. We always go to the beach together anyways. Plus I was in no mood to get another sunburn."
Once he finally elicited a small smile from your face, he felt satisfied enough to turn his attention back to the screen. Your heart felt like it skipped a thousand beats just by looking at him. The dim lights, glow from the T.V. that illuminated his side profile so perfectly, and his obvious state of being at ease just did something to you.
It was time to call it.
You had a crush on Bob. Not some sort of weird after effect from your dream. No. You had true feelings for your best friend who you spend all your work and free time with.
SUMMARY ››››› It's become increasingly apparent to Sam and Bucky that you and Joaquin cannot take your eyes off each other. Unfortunately for them, you two have decided to be Professionals and that means keeping your eyes, hands, and lips to yourselves. No matter how difficult it is.
WORD COUNT ››››› 3,716
WARNINGS ››››› sexy times implied
A/N ››››› Ok so these headcanons y'all have been sending me are incredible. I read these two back to back and I just had to write something connecting them.
The kid had no tact.
Sam wasn't exactly sure why he expected more from the guy who'd led into his theory that Steve was on the moon by referencing vague internet rumors, but even despite that, he'd assumed Joaquin possessed some sense of subtlety.
Instead he was over at the leg press trying and failing not to stare at Y/N as she bent over at the middle to help Bucky push deeper into the stretch.
"You know she could hit you with a harassment claim for staring at her like that."
Joaquin jumped, the weights dropping suddenly with a loud clang. Across the gym, Bucky laughed as Y/N whipped around to face the two men. "Everything ok?" Her voice sounded genuinely concerned, and Sam couldn't help but smirk as Joaquin turned towards her, giving a little wave.
"Foot slipped," he answered, and she nodded, turning back to Bucky quickly.
"Foot slipped," Sam mocked.
"Dude, you scared the shit out of me."
"If you paid half the amount of attention you give to Y/N to your surroundings, you'd have known I'd been standing here for three minutes."
Joaquin gave a defensive scoff. "I wasn't staring at her--I was just--" he stopped, searching for an excuse, and Sam raised his eyebrows.
When it was clear Joaquin couldn't find a convincing enough lie to end the sentence, Sam shook his head. "You know, if you talk to her, she might actually let you take her out."
"I talk to her," Joaquin protested.
Sam shook his head, uncrossing his arms. "No, I mean talk to her. Chat her up. You've gotta have some game, right?"
"I've got game..." His sentence trailed off as he turned to look in her direction, finding her standing over Bucky's feet with her hands on her hips. "But like, we're co-workers, you know? I don't want to make things awkward around the gym or the compound or anything."
"Joaquin," Sam said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're already making things awkward."
"He's staring at your ass again."
"And you're trying to get out of stretching again," you quipped, moving Bucky's leg closer to his chest. The super soldier tilted his head as if to acknowledge the legitimacy of your accusation.
"Doesn't change the fact that I think you're about to give him a heart attack."
"I highly doubt he's worried in the slightest about my ass. He's probably zoned out."
"He's definitely focused in...on--"
"On my ass," you finished, shaking your head. You might have given Bucky's claim a little more credence if it weren't for the fact that Joaquin Torres had been anything but the consummate professional towards you. He was friendly and upbeat and welcoming, and one of the few genuinely good guys you'd ever had the pleasure of working with.
You'd never caught him staring once, and it's not like the boy was exactly known for subtlety. Last time Bucky had asked him to cover for him so you couldn't come down and teach him the right way to train his body, he'd told you that Bucky had left the compound to get you a thank you gift for all of your hard work. All while staring at the gym door.
The heavy sound of weights falling against each other echoed throughout the gym, and you spun around to face the sound. Sam hovered over Joaquin's shoulder, the latter no longer working the leg press but instead looking as if he'd just received the scare of his life.
Bucky broke into laughter, and you smacked at his leg.
"Everything ok?" you called out, and Joaquin smiled, giving a sheepish little wave at you. "Foot slipped."
"It's a good thing he wasn't at the bench press. You might have killed him."
Your head snapped back to Bucky who was giving you a shit eating grin.
"You're an asshole."
"I'm right."
"Do you think if I ask nicely Wakanda will take you back?"
"So you know I'm right."
You chanced a glance back at Joaquin who was still talking to Sam before turning back around and placing your hands on your hips. "I'm calling Ayo."
You were running early.
Not to any event in particular, but just for the general course of your day. It was rare for you to wake up to your first alarm so completely refreshed, and with a fully awake brain, you found it much easier to navigate the morning. You were able to get dressed without crawling back in bed for a few more minutes, and didn't have to battle with sleepy indecision when choosing what you wanted to eat for breakfast.
One thing after another just continued to roll your way, leading you to the gym much earlier than usual.
And that's where the luck stopped.
Or maybe it didn't stop. But it definitely took a turn. Because while you fully expected someone else to be in the gym already, you hadn't expected just one person to be in the gym. And even if you had, you wouldn't have guessed that that one person would be Joaquin. And if, for some reason, you'd had the foresight to sense that, you definitely never would have pictured him to be running on the treadmill shirtless.
You stopped in your tracks, eyes falling to the bouncing dog tags on his chest and then lower to the well defined abs you'd somehow never seen before.
It felt like you'd seen just about every man in this compound shirtless. At some point, they all seemed to strip in the gym or during one of your group training classes you ran for those who weren't field agents. Bucky was shirtless half the time you worked together. It was so normal, you hardly even blinked an eye anymore. Seeing Sam without a shirt was more rare and quite the sight, but it'd never caught your breath quite like seeing Joaquin. Joaquin, who had never so much as worn a tank top in the gym, Joaquin.
And now here he was, chest bare and heaving, feet pounding rhythmically against the treadmill, hair still messy from his pillow and sweat. Your brain couldn't seem to function correctly, offering you images of the sight before you, only closer. Much closer. Hovering inches over your stretched out body as the headboard behind you rammed into the wall with the force of each thrust--
"Hey," Joaquin greeted, noticing you standing off to the side. You blinked, heat rushing to your face as he turned the treadmill down to a more leisurely pace. "Something wrong with my form?"
It was tempting to lie and offer to "help him fix it." Or to be completely honest and tell him you'd never seen a human form as perfect as his.
But neither of those responses were professional or even appropriate, and you needed this job.
You swallowed, shaking your head. "No, I was just wondering why you were wearing those," you said, gesturing to his dog tags, and allowing your eyes to fall to his chest once more. You followed a bead of sweat as it rolled down his body, heading to the waistband of his shorts. Joaquin reached to touch his tags, causing them to jingle together once more and pull your attention up to him.
"It's hard to let them go," he smiled, ruefully, hitting the button so the belt slowed even more. "I'd say it's a habit, putting them on, but at this point they're just like a part of me."
You nodded, wishing you'd taken this conversation anywhere but to the idea of dog tags and what they stood for. It wasn't so much a mood killer but a guilt inducer because instead of you feeling embarrassed and somber, all you wanted to do was grab them and pull him closer to you.
He must have read the conflict on your face because he gave a crooked smile. "Yeah, sorry, it's kinda morbid."
"No," you shook your head, clearing it of the daydream induced fog. "I probably shouldn't have asked."
"No, nah, it's cool," his smile grew into grin, as the belt came to a stop. He leaned his forearms against the console, staring at you as if waiting for you to continue the conversation. Which you were not equipped to do with a smiling and shirtless and sweaty Joaquin Torres right before you.
"Well, thanks for being cool about it," you said with a nod.
My God, something was wrong with you. They were just abs. And sure, maybe the abs belonged to the man who not only found the time to moonlight as a superhero but star in your increasingly dirty dreams of late, but it was just a body party that you'd seen a million times.
But never on Joaquin.
You blamed everything your brain was doing to you on Bucky and all of his stupid comments about Joaquin's supposed fixation on your ass. You wondered what he would say if he could see you now. "And I thought I was half machine. I could practically see your brain short circuiting." or "If that's what you're like when you see him half-naked, how are you ever going to--"
"Yeah, of course," Joaquin said, still smiling, his eyes lifting up over your shoulder as the other door to the gym opened and Sam came in. "Hey," he greeted with a jerk of his chin.
"Hey," Sam said, drawing closer, his eyes on you. You forced a smile on to your own face, and lifted a hand, not trusting anything that was coming out of your mouth.
"You're here early," the other man said, stepping onto the treadmill next to Joaquin's, and putting his water bottle down next to the machine.
Both of them were looking at you now, and it's not like you could handle staying in this gym any longer. "I came down looking for my water bottle. I think I left it here yesterday."
Sam raised his eyebrows glancing around the gym, and Joaquin stepped down off of the machine. "Do you want help looking for it?" he asked, and your whole body seemed to tense up at the idea, your brain transporting you to a future scenario where the two of you wandered around the room, Joaquin next to you or behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, all the while searching for a water bottle that was sitting on your dresser.
"No." Your voice came out too high, but you tried to play it off, shaking your head. "I've already interrupted your workout enough. It's either by the weights or not in here."
"Alright," he nodded. "If you need any help looking around the compound though, let me know."
"Thanks," you said. And then you gave another stupid wave and beelined it for the weight racks because you had to get out of here.
You made a show of looking next to each section of weights, even bending over to check underneath of them as if it could have been knocked under somewhere. After you felt an appropriate amount of time had passed to be convincing, you straightened up, empty handed. You turned back to Joaquin and Sam, both watching you rather than continuing their workouts as you might have hoped.
"Not here," you called back with a shrug and then left the gym and headed straight up to your shower.
He was nothing if not predictable.
The minute Y/N bent over to check behind the weight rack, his eyes were glued to her. Or perhaps more accurately, the bright teal spandex shorts she wore. As she pulled herself back up from searching for her water bottle and turned to them, Joaquin quickly looked to Sam as if the two had been talking the whole time and then "casually" returned to her.
"Not here!" she said, shrugging and then walking out of the gym, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she left through the door Sam had just entered by.
"So, what'd I interrupt?"
Joaquin looked up at Sam as if remembering he was there. "What?"
"You know, when the two of you were sitting by this machine making eyes at each other? Did you actually say anything to her or….?"
Joaquin shook his head. "No, she just came in and, uh, we chatted for a second, and then…" he trailed off, as if not fully remembering any of the past ten, twenty, however many minutes.
"You just chatted," Sam repeated, the disbelief on his face edging into his voice.
"Yeah," Joaquin nodded.
"Anywhere in this chat you finally ask her out?"
"Nah, it didn't feel right."
"It didn't--she was practically taking off the other half of your clothes with her eyes," Sam sputtered, gesturing to Joaquin's shorts.
The kid laughed and shook his head as if Sam didn't know what he was talking about. Joaquin moved to exit the gym as well. "I'll see you later, man," he said, leaving a very exasperated Sam behind.
Bucky Barnes was a motherfucking liar.
"Let's grab a drink on Friday," he said.
"Consider it me making it up to you for being such a pain in your ass," he said.
"I'll buy," he said.
Mothefucker.
This wasn't just you and your favorite co-worker getting a drink. This was a goddamn set up. Because one hour and three mojitos into the night, Sam and Joaquin walked in the front door.
"I fucking hate you," you said, glaring up at his stupid smug face.
"Well, what a surprise, he grinned, as you shook a finger up at him.
"I told you in confidence I'm a flirty drunk."
He snorted, giving you a look out the side of his eyes. "You told me you were a flirty drunk after you sent me several highly inappropriate drunk text messages about what you wanted to do to a certain Lieutenant, who," the self-satisfied smile was back on Bucky's face. "Is making his way over to us right now."
"When I get home, I swear to God, I'm buying you a ticket to Wakanda."
Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "You're not going to do it now?"
"I didn't bring my credit card because you said you were paying," you huffed.
Before Bucky could respond, Sam and Joaquin were next to the two of you, greeting Bucky with hand slaps and one armed hugs. Sam came around and wrapped an arm around you first before sliding into the seat next to Bucky, and Joaquin came forward, giving you a quick hug.
Which was a first.
More than the feeling of his back underneath your palm, or the way he seemed to emanate warmth, you were done in by how absolutely incredible he smelled. But before you could fully identify whether it was his shampoo, a cologne, or just him, he pulled away and took the only other available seat near the group--the one next to you.
"I see you started without us," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at the assortment of glasses that sat before you. Most of them were Bucky's as he downed beers faster than should have been humanly possible.
"Hard drinker, huh Y/N," Joaquin teased, shooting you a smile.
"Pfft," you dismissed. "Only three are mine."
"Three?" Sam asked, leaning forward to better look at you. "How long have you been here?"
"An hour," you said, completely unnecessarily leaning forward too.
Bucky shrugged. "I got the time wrong."
"Guess we better catch up then," Joaquin said, and you sank back into your chair, narrowing your eyes at him in challenge.
"If you can."
They did.
You were outpaced fairly quickly against the two soldiers and one super soldier. The rum-induced fuzziness around the edges of your brain was compounded by having Joaquin so close to you. At some point he'd pulled his chair a bit closer to yours so that he could better hear the conversation, and you don't remember when it happened, but his arm had also slid around the back of your chair. To your relief neither Bucky nor Sam seemed to acknowledge this. In fact, Bucky was positively quiet and normal all things considered. Everything was going better than you could have expected.
Until the music kicked up.
Sam was the first to be dragged onto the dance floor. He was Captain America. Of course he'd been targeted by the stunning girl in the red dress who'd only had to come up and ask "Does Captain America dance?" to succeed in pulling him off to the dance floor.
Bucky was next. Although he wasn't tugged onto the dance floor by his hand the way Sam was. It was the sight of the person in the tight black number that did him in, luring him away to the dance as if drawn by a magnet.
And then it was you and Joaquin, sitting at the bar. Alone. Together.
You looked up from your drink, pushing the straw down into the ice to stir up the clinking sounds, and he took a swig of his beer before putting the bottle back down on the bar.
"Alright, let's dance," he said, nodding with his head towards the crowd, and you let out a disbelieving snort.
"I don't know how to dance. I mean, I can dance," you attempted to clarify, although you had a feeling words were failing you at the moment. "But that's real dancing, and I can't do that."
"I guess you're lucky you have a really good teacher asking you to dance then," Joaquin grinned, holding out a hand. You looked down at his open palm, hesitating only for a second before you slid your hand into his and jumped down from your chair.
He led you out through the moving bodies expertly, dodging couples who were clearly more into the dancing than each other and couples where the complete opposite was true. The small bit of space he found you was closer to the center of the dance floor than you'd usually feel comfortable with, but when he turned towards you with that look on his face, any of your residual anxiety had vanished.
"Ok, come close," he said, and you took a small step closer to him, causing him to laugh. "Closer." He gestured, and you moved forward some more, Joaquin's hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you even closer. His hands rose, one finding its way to your mid-back, pushing your elbow up to rest on his, as the other took your hand and placed it over shoulder.
"This ok?" he asked, eyebrows raised, and you nodded, trying to keep your attention on him, his instructions and his words, and not the way that you could feel just about every part of him from the way he was angled against you. His right side was flush against your left, and his knee pushed between yours.
"Just follow me," he said, his head bent close to yours. Before you could even respond, he started to move, pulling you along with him through the dance. It was smooth and rolling and you'd never seen a guy able to roll his hips like Joaquin. He seemed to know exactly how to guide you, moving his body to push and pull yours along whenever you hesitated or felt lost, coaxing waves and movements out of you that you didn't know you could do. Each success was met with a small word of praise and a brilliant smile, as his hands shifted to hold you closer, and you wrapped your own hand around his neck to better feel and predict his movements.
It felt as if a fog had rolled in over the dancefloor, obstructing all else from view so it was just you and Joaquin, eyes locked to each other as you moved together, occupying the same space.
The song faded into the next one, and Joaquin stopped. You went to move backwards, to give him space and have him move on as many other of the more skilled dancing couples seemed to do, switching partners amongst each other. But he kept you close to him, hand sliding down to your waist.
"Now you can really dance," he teased, his eyes shining as they stared into yours.
"Only with you." It was supposed to be a self-deprecating joke, but it came out too quiet and earnest. Joaquin licked his lips, and your eyes followed the gesture, flickering between his mouth and his eyes.
You don't remember making the decision. You only remember, moving even further into his arms, and pushing yourself up to reach his lips with your own. He bent down to meet you, pulling you even closer and pressing his hard body into yours. His lips moved as slowly and sensually as his hips had, drawing you in and guiding you through a careful rhythm that promised much, much more.
Sam sat with Bucky at the bar. Joaquin and Y/N had disappeared somewhere amongst the dance floor, hidden amongst the crowd.
"You think it worked?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.
"If it didn't we're screwed," Sam shook his head, taking a swig from his drink.
As if on cue, the two emerged from the swaying bodies, hand in hand, sweaty and much happier than they had been when Sam had left them at the bar.
"We're gonna head back to the compound," Joaquin said with practiced casualness.
"Yeah?" Bucky asked, and Sam swore there was mischief literally glinting in his eyes.
"Yeah," Joaquin nodded too fast and too many times. "Yeah, Y/N forgot about something there…"
"What'd you forget?" Bucky asked, turning to Y/N with a wolfish smile.
"Nothing. We're going to have sex," Y/N said, flatly, causing Sam to nearly spit out his drink. "And if you say one more word, I know a pilot who will fly you to Wakanda himself. No ticket needed."
Bucky mimicked zippering his lips into a smug look, and she rolled her eyes before tugging Joaquin out of the bar by his hand. And he followed. Eyes glued to her ass.
summary: reader works in navy comms and jake falls in love with your voice ♡( ◡‿◡ )
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
“Dagger Two, this is Tower. Radio check, over.”
You adjusted your headset, scanning the screen in front of you as you waited for the response. Second week at North Island, and you were still getting used to the callsigns, the voices, the particular rhythm of these pilots.
“Tower, Dagger Two. Loud and clear. How me?”
The voice was smooth, confident—maybe a little too confident. You checked your roster. Dagger Two: Lieutenant Jacob Seresin, callsign Hangman.
“Dagger Two, read you lima charlie. Standby for departure clearance.”
“Copy, standing by.”
Professional. Clean. Exactly how it should be.
Over the next forty minutes, you guided Hangman and his team through their training exercise. Hangman was… chatty. More than most.
“Tower, Dagger Two. You know, you’ve got a great voice for this. Very authoritative.”
You rolled your eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “Dagger Two, maintain radio discipline. Confirm heading two-seven-zero.”
“Heading two-seven-zero confirmed. Just saying, it’s nice to have someone competent up there.”
“Dagger Two, save the commentary for the debrief.”
You heard him laugh over the radio. “Yes ma’am. Hangman is buttoned up.”
He wasn’t, really. Over the next several flights that week, you learned that Hangman always had something to say. But he was also sharp—never missed a check-in, never fumbled coordinates, always three steps ahead. The banter was just… extra.
“Tower, Dagger Two. Requesting flyby.”
“Negative, Dagger Two. The pattern is full.”
“Come on, Tower. Just one?”
“Dagger Two, that’s a negative. Stop asking.”
“You’re breaking my heart here.”
“Your heart will survive. Bring it around for landing, heading one-eight-zero.”
“Heading one-eight-zero. You know, one of these days I’m gonna find out who you are.”
“Focus on your landing, Dagger Two.”
Friday night. The Hard Deck was packed, and you were nursing a beer while Phoenix told a story about Rooster’s latest landing that had gone slightly sideways.
“I’m telling you, he almost clipped the carrier deck. Swears up and down it was textbook, but I was right there—”
“It sounds like Rooster,” you said, grinning. You’d met Natasha—Phoenix—during your first week since you moved bases. She’d shown up at the tower to dispute a training score and you’d liked her immediately: sharp, no-nonsense, with a wicked sense of humor. She’d taken you under her wing, introducing you to the good coffee spots on base and insisting you needed to “actually have a life outside of work.”
Hence the Hard Deck on a Friday night.
“Speak of the devil,” Phoenix said, nodding toward the door where Rooster had just walked in with a few other pilots. “Brace yourself. When the squad’s all here, it gets loud.”
You watched as they made their way to the pool table—Rooster with his ridiculous mustache, Fanboy excitedly explaining something while Bob listened with quiet interest, Payback and Coyote already bantering back and forth about who gets next game, and—
And a blond guy who moved through the bar like he owned it, that easy confidence in every step.
“That’s Hangman,” Phoenix said, following your gaze. Her voice had gone slightly flat. “Total player. Goes through women like he’s collecting trading cards. We fly together, but that doesn’t mean I like him.”
“You work with him?”
“Unfortunately. He’s a good pilot—one of the best, actually—but his ego could fill a hangar.” She took a sip of her beer. “Why? Please tell me you’re not interested.”
“No, I just—” You paused as Hangman laughed at something Rooster said, and that sound.
You knew that sound.
“Oh God,” you said.
“What?”
“That’s Dagger Two.”
Phoenix’s eyes widened. “Wait. That’s your chatty pilot? The one who keeps trying to flirt over comms?”
“I wouldn’t say flirt—”
“You literally told me yesterday, and I quote, ‘if Dagger Two makes one more comment about my voice, I’m going to revoke his radio privileges.’”
“That was— I was exaggerating.”
Phoenix was grinning now, clearly delighted. “Oh, this is perfect. Hangman has no idea he’s been annoying you for two weeks.”
“Nat, don’t—”
But Rooster had spotted Phoenix and was waving her over. Phoenix grabbed your arm, hauling you up. “Come on. This is going to be hilarious.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
The group made room as you approached, Rooster clapping Phoenix on the shoulder. “Took you long enough. We’re already getting destroyed at pool and need backup.”
“That’s because Hangman keeps calling impossible shots,” Bob said with a small smile on his face.
“They’re not impossible if I make them,” the blond guy—Hangman—said. Then his eyes landed on you, and that easy smile appeared. “Hey. I’m Jake. Don’t think we’ve met.”
Phoenix was practically vibrating with suppressed glee. “Jake, this is my friend. She just transferred here a couple weeks ago. Works in the tower.”
“Nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand.
The moment you spoke, Jake’s expression shifted. His eyes widened, his head tilted slightly, and you watched recognition dawn across his face like sunrise.
“Wait,” he said, his grin spreading slowly as he shook your hand, holding it maybe a second longer than necessary. “‘Your heart will survive.’ Tower. It’s you.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you absolutely do.” He stepped closer, completely ignoring Phoenix’s delighted snort. “That voice. Two weeks I’ve been listening to that voice, and here you are.”
“I told you to focus on flying.”
His laugh was the same one you’d heard over the radio a dozen times, but richer in person, warmer. “This is— I can’t believe this. Here I was thinking Tower was some grizzled veteran who’d seen it all, and instead you’re—” He stopped himself, but his eyes said the rest.
Rooster leaned over to Phoenix. “Is he… blustering?”
“I think he might be,” Phoenix whispered back, looking fascinated.
Coyote sidled up next to Jake with a knowing smirk. “Hangman’s actually speechless. Someone write this down.”
“I’m not speechless,” Jake protested.
“You kind of are, man,” Fanboy added, grinning as he chalked his pool cue.
You studied Jake for a moment. He seemed genuinely surprised, genuinely pleased. But Phoenix had warned you.
Player. Heartbreaker. The kind of guy who knew exactly what to say.
“Well, now you know,” you said. “Mystery solved.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“I have one.”
“Another one, then. After that one.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He didn’t push, just settled back against the pool table like he had all the time in the world, though his eyes kept finding their way back to you.
“Fair enough. You any good at pool? We could use someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
“She’s terrible at pool,” Phoenix interjected, grinning. “But I’ll play. You and me, Hangman. Let’s see if you can back up all that talk.”
As Phoenix and Jake started setting up, Rooster moved closer to you.
“Fair warning: those two are competitive. This might get ugly.”
“Nat can handle herself.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about Phoenix.”
You glanced at him, confused, but he was already watching Jake, who kept looking over at you between shots, like he was making sure you were still there.
You thought that would be the end of it. One conversation, curiosity satisfied, everyone moves on.
You were wrong.
Jake started showing up. Not in an obvious way—he was too smart for that. He’d just… appear. At the coffee cart you frequented before your shift. At the Hard Deck on Friday nights, always gravitating toward wherever you and Phoenix were sitting. At the O-Club when Nat dragged you to some mandatory fun event.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he’d say, like it was pure coincidence.
“It’s the base coffee cart, Hangman. Not exactly a secret location.”
“Jake. You can call me Jake, you know. When we’re not on comms.”
“I’m aware of your name.”
“Just making sure. You want anything? I’m buying.”
“I can buy my own coffee.”
“I know you can. I’m asking if you want me to.”
You’d usually say no. Sometimes you’d say yes, just to see what he’d do. He never made it weird, never acted like you owed him anything. Just handed you the coffee and asked about your day.
Phoenix noticed immediately.
“He’s like a puppy,” she said one afternoon, watching Jake walk away after delivering your usual order without you even asking. “A very tall, very blond puppy.”
“He’s just being friendly.”
“Uh-huh. Is that why he hasn’t looked at another woman in three weeks?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Hangman—king of the one-night stand, collector of phone numbers—hasn’t so much as glanced at anyone else since he met you.” Phoenix leaned back in her chair. “It’s actually kind of freaking the guys out.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m really not. Ask Bob. He’s been keeping track.”
You refused to think too hard about what that might mean.
Over the radio, though, nothing changed.
“Tower, Dagger Two. How’s your morning?”
“Dagger Two, maintain radio discipline. You’re clear for takeoff, runway two-niner.”
“Copy that, Tower. Runway two-niner. Just saying, hope you liked the coffee earlier.”
“Dagger Two.”
“I’m going, I’m going.”
It was Rooster who brought it up first during their next squadron meeting.
They were at the Hard Deck, the usual Friday night crowd, and Jake had barely glanced at the brunette who’d been making eyes at him from the bar for the past twenty minutes.
“Hangman,” Rooster said, setting down his beer. “You feeling okay?”
“Fine. Why?”
“Because that girl over there is definitely interested and you haven’t even looked at her.”
Jake glanced over briefly. “Not my type.”
Phoenix nearly choked on her drink. “Since when do you have a type beyond ‘breathing’?”
“Funny.”
But then the door opened, and Jake’s attention snapped toward it immediately. His whole posture changed—straightened up, ran a hand through his hair.
You walked in, laughing at something on your phone, completely oblivious.
“Oh my god,” Phoenix said, even though she’d seen this exact reaction a dozen times now. “You’ve got it so bad.”
“What?”
“You’re making moon eyes at my friend.”
“I don’t make moon eyes.”
“You absolutely make moon eyes,” Rooster said, grinning now. “How long has this been going on?”
“There’s nothing going on. We’re friends.”
Bob, who’d been quietly watching the exchange, spoke up. “Friends.” There was a knowing quality to his tone, subtle but unmistakable.
Jake shot him a look. “Yes, Bob. Friends. Some of us have those.”
“Some of us don’t turn into golden retrievers every time those friends walk into a room,” Payback added.
Coyote leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with an amused grin. “I’ve known you for years, Hangman. Never seen you like this.”
“Like what?” Jake asked defensively.
“Like you actually care,” Fanboy chimed in, exchanging a look with Coyote. “It’s weird. But also kind of nice?”
“I hate all of you.”
Phoenix was watching him with a calculating expression. “You’re serious. You actually like her.”
“Of course I like her. She’s—” He stopped, seeming to realize he was about to prove their point. “She’s nice.”
“She is nice,” Phoenix agreed. “She’s also one of my best friends, which means if you hurt her, I’ll make sure your callsign gets changed to Grounded.”
“Good. It should be.” Phoenix leaned forward, her expression serious. “I’m not kidding, Hangman. She’s not one of your usual conquests. She’s—”
“I know,” Jake said, and his voice had gone quiet. Serious. “Trust me, I know. Why do you think I haven’t—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m trying to do this right.”
Phoenix blinked. In all the years she’d known Jacob Seresin, she’d never heard him sound like that. “Oh. You’re really serious.”
“Yeah.”
“Huh.” She studied him for a long moment. “Okay. But I’m still watching you.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
But he was already up, making his way across the bar to where you stood.
You saw him coming and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Which was becoming a problem, actually—how much you didn’t mind when he showed up.
“Hey,” Jake said, that easy smile in place but something softer in his eyes. “Didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
“It’s Friday. I’m here most Fridays with Nat.”
“Right. Yeah. Can I get you a drink?”
“I’m about to order one.”
“So that’s a yes?”
You rolled your eyes, but you were fighting a smile. “Sure, Hangman. You can buy me a drink.”
His whole face lit up like you’d just told him he’d won the lottery.
From across the bar, you caught Phoenix watching with a knowing smirk. You made a mental note to interrogate her later about whatever that look meant.
The thing was, Jake was… different than you’d expected.
Sure, he had the callsign and the reputation and the smile that could probably stop traffic. But when it was just the two of you—usually with Phoenix somewhere nearby, watching like a protective older sister—he wasn’t Hangman.
He was just Jake.
He asked questions—real ones, not the smooth-talking kind meant to impress. He wanted to know about your hometown, your family, why you’d joined the Navy, what you wanted to do after. He listened when you talked, actually listened, his green eyes focused on you like you were the only person in the world.
And he told you things too. About growing up in Texas, about learning to fly, about why he flew the way he did.
“I know what they say about me,” he said one night. You and Phoenix had stayed late at the Hard Deck, and she’d stepped away to take a call, leaving you and Jake alone on the deck overlooking the beach. “Hangman. Like I leave people hanging.”
“Do you?”
“In the air? Yeah. Sometimes. Because I know I’m good enough to get the job done alone.” He picked up a handful of sand that had blown onto the deck railing, let it run through his fingers. “But it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because… if I’m the one taking the risk, then no one else has to.”
You looked at him—really looked at him. At the way his jaw tightened, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes.
“That’s lonely,” you said quietly.
He did look at you then. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Something shifted between you in that moment. Something that made your chest feel tight and your breath catch and oh no, you thought.
Oh no.
Phoenix returned a moment later, taking one look at both of you and raising an eyebrow. But she didn’t say anything, just settled back into her chair and changed the subject.
Later, when Jake had left and it was just the two of you walking to your cars, Phoenix bumped your shoulder.
“So.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Nat.”
“He’s different with you. I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s actually trying to be a real person instead of just Hangman.” She paused. “I know I gave you the warning about him. And I meant it—the old Hangman, the one who went through women like they didn’t matter? I’d tell you to run. But this…” She shook her head. “Maybe people can change.”
“You think I should give him a chance?”
“I think you already are. I’m just saying… I wouldn’t hate it. If you two figured things out.” She grinned. “But if he screws it up, I get to kick his ass in training. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“He’s got it bad,” Rooster said two months later, watching Jake watch you from across the rec room. You were completely focused on the tablet in your hands, reviewing flight logs while Phoenix looked over your shoulder and pointed something out. Oblivious.
“It’s kind of painful to witness,” Fanboy agreed, shaking his head. “How long has this been going on?”
After a short pause, Bob spoke. "Three months? Maybe four?"
“And he hasn’t even tried anything?”
Phoenix, who’d joined them, shook her head. “Nope. He just… follows her around like a puppy. Gets her coffee. Listens to her talk about radio frequencies like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Hangman?” Rooster asked.
“Right?” Phoenix settled into a chair, still watching. “I gave him the shovel talk, like, six times. Told him if he hurt her, I’d never forgive him. You know what he said?”
“What?”
“He said he’d never forgive himself either.”
“Damn,” Payback said. “He’s really gone.”
Coyote whistled low. “Never thought I’d see the day. Hangman actually settling down for someone.”
“He’s going to crash and burn,” Rooster said. “She has no idea how he feels.”
“Oh, she knows,” Phoenix said. “She just doesn’t believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s Hangman. And she’s…” Phoenix paused, trying to find the right words. “She’s careful. She doesn’t trust easy. And Jake’s reputation isn’t exactly helping.”
"I think it's nice. He's actually trying," Bob said, watching as Jake moved closer to you, saying something that made you laugh.
“He better be,” Phoenix said. “Because if he breaks her heart, reputation change or not, I’ll break him.”
You didn’t believe it.
Sure, Jake was… around. A lot. And yes, he’d stopped flirting with other women—Phoenix had confirmed that, even seemed pleased about it. And okay, maybe your heart did this stupid flutter thing every time you heard his voice over the radio or saw him waiting by the coffee cart in the morning.
But Jacob Seresin didn’t do relationships. Everyone knew that. This was just… friendly. He was being friendly.
The fact that his hand would linger when he handed you your coffee, or that he’d started texting you good morning every day, or that he’d shown up with soup when you’d mentioned feeling under the weather—that was just how he was.
Probably.
“You’re an idiot,” Phoenix said, not for the first time. You were in her apartment, having your weekly movie night, and she’d paused the film just to give you this look.
“I’m realistic.”
“He brought you soup!”
“He’s nice.”
“He’s not nice! He’s Hangman! He’s only nice to you!” Phoenix grabbed your shoulders. “Listen to me. I have known that man for years. Years. I have seen him go through women without learning their last names. I have watched him charm his way out of consequences and into beds without a second thought. And I have never—not once—seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
“Nat, really—”
“I’m serious. He’s different now. With you. And I know his reputation scares you, but people can change. He’s changing. For you.”
You wanted to believe her. God, you wanted to believe her.
But wanting something and trusting it were two very different things.
It was a Wednesday when everything changed.
You were in the tower, middle of a routine training exercise, when the alarm sounded.
“Dagger Two, Dagger Two, this is Tower. We have reports of a bird strike. What’s your status?”
Static.
Your heart stopped.
“Dagger Two, come in.”
More static, then: “Tower, Dagger Two. Confirm bird strike. Engine two is out. Engine one is… not looking great.”
His voice was steady, professional. But you could hear it underneath—the tension.
“Copy, Dagger Two. What’s your altitude?”
“Fifteen thousand and dropping. Trying to restart engine one.”
You pulled up his position, calculated distances, ran through every protocol you knew. Your supervisor was already moving, picking up the direct line to Base Operations.
“Ops, this is Tower. We have an in-flight emergency. Dagger Two, bird strike, dual engine failure. Pilot is attempting emergency landing at auxiliary field two-zero miles northeast. Launch crash crew and medical.”
Phoenix’s voice crackled through on the emergency channel. “Hangman, this is Phoenix. I’ve got Bob with me. We’re tracking you. Talk to us.”
“Phoenix, I’m losing altitude fast. Not gonna make it back to base.”
“Dagger Two, nearest divert is North Island. Can you make it?” you said, keeping your voice level through sheer force of will.
“Negative, Tower. I’m not going to make it to North Island.”
Your breath caught. “Dagger Two, there’s an auxiliary airfield twenty miles northeast of your position. Sending coordinates now.”
“Copy, I see it.”
Your supervisor was coordinating on the other line. “Crash crew is rolling. Ambulance and fire truck en route to auxiliary field. ETA twelve minutes.”
“Jake.” You never used his name over comms. Ever. “You can make it.”
A pause. Then, quieter: “Yeah. Yeah, I can make it.”
The next ten minutes were the longest of your life. You talked him through every step, keeping your voice steady even though your hands were shaking. Phoenix stayed on comms, her voice calm and professional, while Bob fed Jake technical readouts in that steady, measured way of his.
When he finally confirmed wheels down, safe, you had to sit down before your legs gave out.
Your supervisor touched your shoulder. “Good work. Crash crew is on scene. Medical is evaluating him now. They’ll transport him back to North Island by ground.”
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
Phoenix’s voice came through your headset. “Tower, Dagger Three. Bob and I are RTB. Ground crew has Hangman. They’re bringing him back by ambulance as a precaution.”
“Copy, Dagger Three,” you managed. “Safe flight.”
“Tower?” Phoenix’s voice was gentler now. “He’s okay. He’s safe. And knowing the squad, they’re probably already gathering at the medical building.”
Despite everything, you almost smiled. “Copy that.”
“You should probably be there too.”
You shouldn’t have left your post early. You definitely shouldn’t have been standing outside the base medical building with the entire Dagger Squad all waiting restlessly.
But there you were.
The ambulance pulled up, lights flashing but no siren, and the moment the rear doors opened, Jake climbed out on his own power, waving off the corpsman who tried to help him. He looked exhausted and rattled but whole.
His eyes scanned the group and found yours immediately.
Phoenix nudged Bob, who gave a small nod and stepped back without a word. “Come on. Let’s give them a minute.”
“The rest of you too,” Rooster said, herding the remaining Daggers toward the building entrance. “Move it.”
“But I want to see—” Coyote started.
“Move,” Phoenix said, her tone brooking no argument.
Then they were gone, and it was just you and Jake in the parking lot.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey yourself.”
“Thanks for—”
You closed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him. He froze for half a second, then his arms came around you, tight and sure.
“You scared me,” you said into his shoulder.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“If you ever do that again—”
“I won’t.” His hand came up to the back of your head, cradling it gently. “I promise.”
You pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes were so green, so close, and he was looking at you like…
Oh.
Oh.
“I thought I wasn’t going to see you again,” he said quietly. “And all I could think was that I never told you—”
“Jake.”
“I’m in love with you.” The words came spilling out in a rush. “I know you probably don’t believe me, and I know I have a reputation, but I swear, I have never felt like this about anyone. You make me want to be better. You make me want to be the guy you see when you look at me. And if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay, I just needed you to know—”
You kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was soft and deliberate, your hand coming up to cup his jaw as you rose onto your toes. He made a sound—somewhere between relief and wonder—and pulled you closer, one hand sliding to the small of your back while the other cradled your face like you were something precious. The world narrowed to just this: the warmth of his mouth on yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment, the taste of salt from tears you hadn’t realized you’d shed.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead dropped to rest against yours. His eyes were still closed, and when he opened them, they were bright with something that looked like reverence.
“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You terrify me.”
“I know.”
“I don’t do casual. I can’t— I’m not built for that.”
“Good. Because there’s nothing casual about the way I feel about you.” His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, gentle and reverent. “I’m all in. Have been for months. Everyone knows it. Phoenix has threatened me at least six times. I don’t care. I’d let her threaten me every day for the rest of my life if it meant I got to keep bringing you coffee and hearing you tell me to maintain radio discipline and just… being around you.”
You laughed, slightly watery. “You’re really in love with me?”
“So much it’s actually embarrassing. Have been since the first time I heard your voice over the radio. When I finally saw you at the Hard Deck and realized the voice I’d been falling for had a face to match…” He shook his head. “I was done for.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’m scared,” you said again. “But I— I think I might be in love with you too. Which is terrifying because I didn’t think that was possible four months ago.”
His smile was incandescent, and then he was kissing you again—softer this time, sweeter, like a promise. Like he had all the time in the world and wanted to spend every second of it right here with you.
From somewhere behind you, you heard Phoenix’s voice carry across the parking lot: “FINALLY!”
Summary: After years of friendship, you finally decide it’s now or never to confess your feelings to Bob—only to have him appear at the Hard Deck, hand-in-hand with someone else.
Roost•er (ˈrüs-tər) verb: to wait too long to act and miss one’s opportunity; to hesitate at a critical moment
a/n: I also hurt my own feelings writing this.
warnings: panic attack, AGNST, like… so much angst, feelings of low self worth, spiraling thoughts, self doubt, Bob x oc in bed (not graphic but implied), like… one or two uses of Y/N - IM SORRY, everything is FINE, Bob kinda sucks in this one but like not on purpose, also why do I like low key love Hangman in this? IDK probably more warnings so read at your own risk.
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Time didn’t slow down, logically you knew this, but right now it sure as hell felt like it did. It took your brain a moment to process and when it did your body flashed hot and then ice cold, your legs turning numb the way they did when you experienced an adrenaline rush. Your heart pounded against your chest and you were sure that you could hear your blood rushing through your veins.
Bob seemed to be unaware of your internal breakdown and he continued smiling at you with that adoring grin. The one you had mistakenly thought was directed towards you.
“She’s coming here tonight and I wanted you and the crew to meet her,” he glanced at his phone again with a smile. “She should be here in like 5 minutes, you’re going to absolutely love her.”
You followed him as if in a trance as he walked back to the pool table, your drink abandoned on the bar as he continued telling you about her. He stopped abruptly almost causing you to run into him and his hand reached out to steady you.
“Whoa, you ok?”
It was as if someone else was controlling your body as you nodded your head, giving him a weak smile and looking past him so as to not meet his eyes.
“Sorry, you said you had something to tell me too…” he trailed off expectantly, looking for you to fill him in.
You gave your head a small shake, forcing the haze from your mind. All those feelings you’d foolishly let yourself nurture were shoved back into a box, locked tight, so you could at least pretend to be normal.
“Nothing,” you croaked and cleared your throat. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m excited to meet her, Bob, what’s her name?”
The words were ash on your tongue but you pushed through. This was your own damn fault. Of course someone out there would also see what a catch your best friend was. Of course they would fall in love with his kind soul, sarcastic personality, and sharp wit.
You had waited too long, been too scared to mess everything up, and now it was too late.
“Who’s name?” Phoenix pipped up from her hightop table next to you.
“Bob’s new girl!” Your attempt at excitement was passable, but Phoenix’s keen eyes shot to you and yours glanced away, not able to meet them.
You had to do this, you had to be the good best friend, Bob could never know.
“Bob has a girlfriend?” Hangman blurted, his surprise loud enough to draw a few looks.
“Easy there big guy, don’t need to announce it to the whole bar,” you tried to joke.
“So he finally made his move huh,” your blood turned to ice as his gaze darted between you and Bob, the assumption clear. You shook your head ever so slightly, begging him not to push it.
“Yeah,” you forced out a laugh before Bob could respond, chest tightening. “She’s swinging by to meet us all soon, so be on your best behavior, Seresin.”
You wagged a finger at him in mock warning, even as the ache in your chest deepened. The moment Jake realized what you meant, pity flickered across his face, and heat rushed to your cheeks when his gaze caught yours.
Unable to bear the look, you quickly turned back to Bob.
“Can’t wait to meet her, dude. Brave of you to bring her to meet these idiots though.”
Bob laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah, well I wanted to make sure she gets along with the team before things got too serious.”
You knew realistically that hearts couldn’t actually break, but you could have sworn you felt yours cleaving in two at the genuinely happy smile on his face. The rest of the squad was pelting him with questions and although you didn’t want to know, you couldn’t help but listen, torturing yourself even further.
How long had they been dating? What was her name? Where did they meet? The questions didn’t stop coming and you listened in horrible fascination as he answered each one.
A month, but just made it official last week. Leah. At a coffee place right around the corner from your townhome.
The following half hour played out like a fever dream, a chorus of cheers going up from the squad when she strolled up to the table and placed a kiss on Bob’s cheek, causing him to flush red at the attention. You weren’t entirely sure what you said when she shook your hand with a genuine smile on her face, but it mustn’t have been anything out of the ordinary based on her genuinely nice reaction. You watched as she met the team, easily joining into the conversation like she was meant to be there.
You waited until everyone was distracted grilling them both, wanting to know every detail, before slipping quietly out the door.
The moment your feet hit the deck the pressure inside you threatened to burst. Your chest clenched, tears stung your eyes, and your breath came in short panicked gasps as you gripped the railing for support.
It felt like drowning, like an elephant pressing down on your ribs, every inhale a losing battle.
You spiraled, thoughts clawing at you, cruel and unrelenting.
Weak.
A coward.
If you had told him sooner it could have been different.
Worthless.
Even if you had told him, why would he want you?
Desperate.
Disappointing.
Pathetic.
Your vision started to go black around the edges as your body was deprived of oxygen when a pair of arms encircled you, pulling you into a muscled chest and grounding you in reality.
“Whoa, whoa, just breath Fury, deep breaths,” Jake fucking Seresin of all people held you as you fell apart.
You sucked in a ragged breath, barely any of it making its way to your lungs and wrenched yourself away from him, not wanting any of your team members to see you like this.
“I’m,” you rasped out, attempting another breath but getting nothing, your lungs burning, “fine.”
“Sure you are,” the sarcasm in his voice was overshadowed by the concern. “Hey look at me, okay?”
If you had been in a better mental state you would have balked at the soft concern in his voice.
“Just try breathing with me, alright? Inhale 4 seconds, hold 7, exhale 4, easy as breath-” he cut himself off, “easy as pie”. Come on, inhale,” you tried desperately to pull air into your lungs but it stuttered and you let it out with a harsh whoosh, your chest tightening even more.
“You got it,” his palm rested over your sternum, “inhale,” he started counting and you tried again, getting in a little more air this time.
You weren’t sure how long it took for your breathing to even out, but by the time it did you were emotionally and physically drained. You angrily scrubbed the tears that had fallen during your panic attack from your face and wiped your nose on the sleeve of your jacket.
Embarrassment set in quickly as Jake continued to soothe you, stroking up and down your arm to help you relax. You took a step away from him, hugging your arms to your chest.
“Sorry,” you croaked. “Thanks…thank you for helping with that.”
You could feel the heat from your cheeks as you evaded eye contact. You could practically hear the taunting now, the harsh remarks about why you weren’t cut out for a cockpit. Instead he just shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I may have some,” he held his fingers up to gesture to a small amount, “ experience with panic attacks myself.”
At that your gaze snapped to his, waiting for the other shoe to drop but all you saw was raw honesty. You dropped your arms from around yourself, forcing your shoulders back and your head up as you grasped for some semblance of self control.
“Well like I said, thanks. I understand if you feel obligated to report this to command, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone on the squad.”
He sighed and shook his head.
“You really do think the worst of me don’t you? Look, I may come off as an asshole pilot that’s the best in the game, because I am, but I’m not an asshole about stuff like this. Your secret is safe with me.”
You sighed and nodded in thanks.
“As is your undeniable love for sweet Baby on Board,” you swung around and landed a hard punch to his bicep.
“Fuck off! That’s not…that wasn’t why…” you trailed off as your cheeks flared again and he let out a warm laugh.
“Oh come on, man. He is literally the only one who doesn’t know!”
You forced your face into neutrality though your stomach dropped at the fact that apparently everyone else had seen it. That you had been so embarrassingly obvious.
You glanced back towards the bar.
“Not like it matters now.”
Jake sighed and leaned his forearms against the railing, looking out at the Pacific.
“You Roostered It, waited too long to take your shot,” you let out a snort at that and hip checked him as you also leaned against the railing, letting the cooler night breeze dry the sweat that was still clinging to the back of your neck.
“You’re just happy you can use Rooster as a verb, you loser.”
He grinned at you and nodded.
“Guilty. So, what are you going to do?”
You shook your head, watching the waves crash onto the shore as the moonlight reflected off the surface of the water.
“Nothing. He’s my - he’s my best friend, so I’m going to try and be happy for him.”
“Oh come on, you sure you don’t want to march in there and just plant one on him?”
Part of you was tempted.
“Did you see how happy he looked? He was so excited to introduce her to us. I can’t stand in the way of that.”
“You’re a better man than me then,” you punched him on the arm again.
“Also not a man, asshat,” Jake laughed and put his arm around you, pulling you close to him and giving you a noogie which you swatted away.
“For what it’s worth, and I’m saying this totally as a friend and NOT in a flirty way, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
You smiled and shook your head at him, a gentle understanding and camaraderie forming between the two most unlikely of teammates.
Neither of you noticed the spectator just inside the deck doors.
Bob’s gaze fell on Jake’s arm around you, the easy smiles you shared, and a sudden, unfamiliar weight pressed on his chest. His stomach knotted, his heart thudding in a way that made no sense, and a strange heat rose up the back of his neck.
He couldn’t name it, didn’t understand it, but it rooted him in place, eyes fixed on you two. He finally pushed away from the door and turned back to the crowd, and to the woman waiting for him at the bar, a drink in hand and a smile on her face.
_______
As you walked into the training room the following morning your heart skipped a beat as you made eye contact with Bob, zeroing in on your usual seat behind him and Phoenix. You had successfully avoided him since the bar, locking yourself in your room and leaving early this morning to go for a run and grab breakfast before heading straight to base, forgoing the ride he usually gave you.
He turned around with a narrowed gaze and you cocked your head in response.
“So where’d you disappear to last night?”
You plopped down in your seat with a groan, massaging your head which was pounding with a post-cry migraine. You prayed that he didn’t notice the puffiness around your eyes.
“Good morning to you too, Bobby.”
You could practically feel Phoenix’s eyes burning a hole through your head which you studiously ignored, pressing down on your temples and willing the ache behind your eyes to dissipate.
“You didn’t answer my question,” your eyes snapped open at the sharpness in his tone, narrowing your gaze right back at him.
“Well sorry I didn’t realize I had to run all my movements by you, Mr. Bossman. Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning? Jesus Christ.”
Bob opened his mouth to no doubt snark something back but Phoenix beat him to it, side eyeing her back seater like he’d grown a second head.
“I think what Bob is very rudely and weirdly trying to say is that we were worried about you. You just Irish exited without saying goodbye.”
“I wasn’t feeling great,” not a lie. “I went outside to get some fresh air and figured I’d call it a night so Jake drove me home.”
Phoenix’s eyebrows flew up at that bit of information and Bob sputtered.
“Hangman drove you home?” he said, incredulous, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around the guy doing something selfless.
With the most impeccable timing the man himself walked through the door, a toothpick hanging carelessly out of one side of his mouth.
“You say that like I don’t drive pretty ladies home almost every night, Bob-o.”
Bob scoffed and you rolled your eyes at the insinuation.
“In your dreams, Seresin,” he winked at you and you gave him an unimpressed stare back.
“You sure are, sweetheart.”
“Pig,” You threw your pen at him, glaring when he caught it and shoved it behind his ear before taking a seat.
His ridiculous antics, which normally grated on your last nerve, made you chuckle and Bob’s eyes bugged out of his head at the sound. He looked between you and Hangman like he was trying to compute an impossible equation but before he could ask, Maverick stepped into the room and everyone turned their attention to him.
The briefing passed in a blur, and before long, the room had emptied out again.
“Dude, did you pay attention to anything that we just covered?”
Bob glanced up from where his gaze was trained on his empty notebook to find Phoenix staring at him. He glanced around and realized the classroom had cleared out while he was daydreaming.
“Hello?” she waved her hand in front of his face and he flushed, scrambling to shove his notebook into his bag and stand up.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Phoenix eyed him warily and shook her head.
“Are you ok? You were on a different planet during that briefing.”
Bob felt shame wash through him at the fact that he hadn’t, in fact, paid a lick of attention to Maverick for the entire 30 minutes they were there.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. What’d I miss?” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck avoiding Phoenix’s gaze.
“Are you sick?” Her hand came up to his forehead to check for a temperature and he swatted it away. “I’ve never seen you miss even a sentence in that room let alone an entire briefing. What gives, man?”
“I’m not sick. I just… had a lot on my mind.”
“Dude, were you daydreaming about your new girlfriend during briefing? Not cool, Bob.”
He sputtered and blushed, shaking his head in denial as he followed her out of the room.
“What? No of course not! I just…” he trailed off and Phoenix gestured for him to continue. “Do you think Fury and Hangman hooked up?”
Phoenix bit back a smile and continued walking, shrugging her shoulders.
“I don’t know. Would it matter if they did?”
Bob unclenched his jaw and shook his head.
“I suppose not,” he continued walking towards the locker rooms. “I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
It took everything in her not to roll her eyes at her oblivious backseater.
“She’s a grown ass woman, I think she can handle herself.”
“I know that. Hangman is just an asshole and I’ve seen the way he treats the women he brings home.”
“I don’t know, those girls always come out of his place in the morning looking like they won the lottery.”
Bob sputtered and gaped at her.
“Phoenix!”
She laughed and nudged his shoulder with hers.
“What? All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be the worst thing for her to get laid! And he seems to know how to treat a lady well, if you know what I mean.”
Bob followed her into the parking lot, not liking the feeling in his stomach, exactly like the one the previous night. He didn’t bother to think too hard about why his chest felt tight at the thought of Hangman and his best friend together like that.
_______
You had given yourself 24 hours.
One full day to crash out and lose your absolute shit about the fact that Bob had a girlfriend and it wasn’t you. 24 hours to cry, yell, drink, and disassociate before you got your shit together and tried to make things go back to normal like the grown ass adult you were.
You were great at compartmentalization - you’d be fine after you shoved all your Bob-related feelings into a deep deep dark box inside you.
That night you had a date with yourself, a bottle of wine, and the newest superhero movie. You felt like a gremlin as you laid in your nest of blankets on the couch, attempting to take a sip out of a stemmed glass without spilling wine all down your front.
Bob was out with his new girlfriend and your thoughts flicked to him, regardless of your futile attempts not to. He was probably the type that would show up with flowers and hold open doors, a gentleman through and through.
You let out a groan and successfully took a sip of wine without spilling a drop, unable to focus on the television in front of you as your thoughts spiraled, running through your friendship like a twisted movie reel.
You hadn’t been waiting for him, not exactly, but somewhere deep down, you’d always assumed that Bob would be there in your life. When you pictured the future it was always you and him, side by side no matter what.
Looking back, you really couldn’t believe it had taken you so long to understand why.
His presence was a quiet certainty that had shaped your life in ways you’d never questioned, until now.
The wine left a slow warmth in your chest as you leaned back against the pillow at the arm of the couch. Beneath the haze, a sharper truth took hold: the future you’d always pictured wasn’t waiting for you anymore.
You couldn’t rely on him anymore. Not in the way you wanted to. Whatever came next had to be yours. You’d make sure of it.
And as Mr. Fantastic droned on about dimensions and spaceships, something steadier than hope flickered in your chest. Not a dream, not a wish, just… resolve. A path, still forming, that you would walk on your own.
______
The next few weeks were…hard. Hard in a way that you’d never imagined they would be with your best friend. You tried to keep things normal, truly you really did.
You still woke up at the crack of dawn to run along the beach together, carpooled to base with him, picked up his coffee order, joked with the rest of the crew in between learnings, training, and flight time. You still sassed each other over comms and teamed up to make fun of Hangman when he shrieked at the spider that crawled across his nav display.
You’d even gone to dinner with him and Leah, pretending it was easy, that it didn’t twist something in your chest to watch them side by side. You laughed when you were supposed to, matched her banter, and let the wine do the rest. You played the dutiful best friend flawlessly, while something in you splintered, slow and quiet.
The worst part? You liked Leah.
She was sweet and funny and clearly head over heels for your best friend.
She asked insightful questions, remembered small details, and made a real effort to know you. All because she knew you mattered to him.
The squad had taken to her as well, and she was able to hold her own with the best of them like she was meant to be there, carving out a space that you hadn’t realized you were holding for yourself.
It would’ve been easier if she were some sort of evil villain - self-centered, rude, dismissive. But she wasn’t. And somehow, that made it worse.
So the weeks turned into months and with each forced laugh or kiss goodbye you had to watch you could feel yourself slowly slipping away.
-----
Bob wasn’t stupid. He knew things had been weird between you since he told you about Leah.
It wasn’t obvious, probably only he noticed the changes, but they were there. He watched you laugh at Payback’s joke, your shoulders relaxing just enough to look like your normal self. You joined in the banter, tossed out the occasional playful jab, all perfectly timed, but there was a flicker in your eyes that he couldn’t place. Something nagging at him that he couldn’t put a name to.
He wracked his brain, trying to figure out why you seemed off. He could only think that you were insulted that he didn’t tell you about her sooner. After all you were his best friend and his roommate, you shouldn’t have found out about his newly non-single status at the same time as the rest of your friends.
You had been friends and roommates through plenty of relationships in the past. Back then, things had been easy, your routines together comfortable, predictable, steady. Now, even in ordinary moments, there was a tension to your movements, a carefulness in the way you interacted with him. He noticed the way you hesitated before touching him, the slight pullback when he reached for your shoulder. When you had movie nights, your feet no longer ended up in his lap. You no longer gently woke him up with a brush of his hair off his forehead if he fell asleep on the couch so his neck wouldn’t crick in the morning.
Something had shifted between you, subtle but undeniable. He could feel it in every silence, every almost. And no matter how he turned it over in his head, he couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong, only that he must have done something. Because the ache in his chest told him he was losing something, and he didn’t even know what it was.
______
It was Thursday and you had just closed the door to the townhouse, calling out as you struggled to balance the pizza boxes and kick off your sneakers.
“They ran out of pepperoni, Bob, pepperoni! What kind of fucking pizza place doesn’t have the most popular pizza topping to ever pizza top!”
You yelled with a smile as you strolled into the kitchen, expecting him to be blending up a batch of his infamous margaritas. It was the first Thursday of the month and neither one of you ever missed your ongoing Thirsty Thursdays tradition. It had survived a decade of cross country moves, Zoom calls, even deployments when possible -using MREs and burnt coffee as stand ins. Nothing stood in the way of tradition when you could help it.
You were met with silence, the house empty as you placed the boxes down on the counter.
“Bob?”
Silence answered you and you glanced at the clock. Maybe he got held up at work, or needed to run to the liquor store for the good tequila that you insisted on even though it was being mixed.
You grabbed your phone and sent him a quick text, taking a picture of the pizza boxes, and writing a quick text.
These pizzas are thirsty for some margs, Bob!
The message sent and you pulled open the cabinet, grabbing the blender and hunting for the rest of the margarita ingredients. You whipped up a batch, though they were never as good as his, and poured one for yourself, taking a sip and looking back at your phone.
The message sat unread.
You left the pitcher of margs and the pizza on the counter and meandered into the family room, flopping down on the couch and telling yourself that Bob would be here any minute as you turned on the TV.
He never missed Thirsty Thursdays.
You tried not to look at your watch as the minutes ticked by, barely paying attention to the Parks and Rec reruns you had put on. You put the melting pitcher in the freezer when he was 15 minutes late, and put the pizza boxes in the oven five minutes later to try and keep them warm.
Your heart sank at the 30 minute mark and you tried to call him, wanting to ensure that he was ok.
The phone rang twice and went to voicemail and your stomach dropped. He had ignored your call.
Hey dude, are you ok?
Your text went unanswered again.
After an hour crawled by, you heated up a slice of pizza and plopped the margarita pitcher in front of you on the coffee table, drowning your sorrows and anger in grease and alcohol.
You had just poured yourself your third drink when your phone lit up, the dumb picture of Bob making a dumb face in the back of your dumb jet from your first go at Top Gun glaring back at you.
You had half a mind to let it go to voicemail, but there was a small part of you that wanted to ensure that he actually was ok.
That part won out and you slid your finger across the screen to answer the call.
“Fuck,” his panicked voice came through the phone. “I am so sorry, Fury! Leah and I were at a movie when you called and my phone went off which is why I ignored the call and I totally forgot today was Thursday until I saw your text after we got out…”
He sounded breathless as he rambled and you could picture the horror on his face as he realized that he had missed your monthly tradition. He was probably pacing back and forth in the lobby of the movie theater, running his hand through his hair in frustration at himself.
You let him ramble, staying silent as he tried to explain. When he finally trailed off with another heartfelt apology you felt a tightening in your chest. You were so angry, so disappointed, not only at him, but at yourself for getting your hopes up.
You let out a sigh and sunk into the couch. You’d always had trouble staying mad at him, and now was no different.
“It’s fine, Bob,” you wondered if you sounded as tired as you felt.
“No it’s not. I’m so sorry. You bought pizza and everything…” he trailed off, regret threading through his words. “It’s not that late, I can come home and we can-”
“Bob,” you tried not to snap. You took a calming breath and unclenched your jaw. “It’s 9 o’clock, seriously don’t worry about it. And hey, there’s some leftovers for you for tomorrow so…silver linings.”
Your attempt at a joke fell short and you were met with silence.
“I promise,” he whispered, “I promise I’ll remember next month, Fury.”
“I know you will, dude, don’t stress about it. Go have fun, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
You didn’t let him respond before hanging up the call, blinking back the stinging behind your eyes and eyeing the pitcher once more.
From that day on, you started distancing yourself as a means of survival. Not all at once - just small things, the kind that could almost be explained away.
You stopped grabbing morning coffee together before work, he went with Leah now most days anyway, and you told yourself you didn’t mind. You started staying a little later at the gym on base, waiting until you knew he’d already gone home so you didn’t have to sit in the car with him.
He still texted, still struck up conversation, but it was different. You tried to keep things short and light, tried to distance yourself where possible to save yourself the hurt of disappointment. And when he invited you to join them for dinner or drinks, you made excuses. You told yourself it was easier this way, that maybe you could give yourself room to try and get over him.
Bob noticed too. The empty coffee cups in the mornings, the keys missing from the hook by the door. The quiet where there used to be easy chatter. He thought maybe you were still upset over Thirsty Thursday, maybe you were feeling left out. So he tried to include you more, bringing Leah along to movie night, suggesting the three of you grab breakfast after a late night out.
He thought he was helping.
But each time Leah sat between you on the couch, or laughed at a line you used to quote with him, something in you tightened a little more. You’d smile, because that’s what you did. Because you refused to be the reason he felt guilty for being happy.
And Bob, seeing you laugh, thought things might be getting better. He didn’t see the way your hands fidgeted under the table, or how you avoided his eyes when Leah leaned against his shoulder.
You were both trying, just in completely different directions.
______
Four months after the night at The Hard Deck that changed everything found you standing in Maverick’s office. He grinned as he took the packet from you, eyebrows raising at the recommendation section.
“You do realize if you’re selected you’ll no longer be a part of this squadron? It’s a total transfer.”
You nodded in acknowledgement.
“I do, Mav.”
“I thought you were happy here lieutenant?”
“I was,” you cut yourself off. “I am happy here, Sir. The chances I’ll even make it to the next round are slim to none but I figured I’d throw my hat in the ring. It’s something that I've always wanted to do, and they opened up applications for the first time in 6 years, so I figured why not.”
Maverick leaned back into his seat and steepled his fingers in front of his face, giving you a once over.
“I’d say you have more than a slim chance, Fury. When do you need this back?”
“March 30th, Sir. Does that mean you’ll provide the recommendation?”
“It would be my honor, Lieutenant. Although when you do end up getting shipped off to Houston I think you’ll break poor Bob’s heart,” he joked and it took everything in you not to wince.
“Something tells me he’ll be just fine.”
______
The months following were…somehow even more difficult. It was like Bob was determined to make up for his oversight, plying you with coffees and sweet treats, cooking for you whenever he could and taking over the responsibility of driving to work every day so you wouldn’t have to put miles on your already unreliable Jeep.
No matter how many times he apologized you reassured him you weren’t mad, and always tried to change the subject to something else.
He didn’t realize how much it hurt every time he apologized for forgetting about you, how each apology dug the knife in a bit deeper.
You did your best to act normal, to stay steady and supportive, but it was as if, when Bob missed your standing engagement, something shifted. It was the first crack in a dam that had been holding back more than you wanted to admit. And no matter how hard you tried to keep it together, every small thing he did without realizing only deepened the fracture.
It was a rare rainy day on base, the team was grounded and Mav had been pulled into a meeting with his hire ups, leaving the lot of you lounging around, entertaining yourselves while you waited for quitting time.
“So, my buddy is having people over on Saturday for a pool party. He’s new in town and wants to meet people, so he told me to bring whoever, so I guess I’ll extend the invite to you losers. Feel free to bring any and everyone.”
The group rolled their eyes at Hangman’s poor attempt at humor and the invite acceptances came rolling in. You were just about to tell him you’d be there when Bob spoke up from his seat to your left.
“I think we can be there.” You almost let out a teasing quip - wow, look at you RSVPing to plans for me - before he continued. “I don’t think Leah has anything going on but I’ll double check and let you know.”
We.
Him and Leah.
Not him and you.
Heat rose to your cheeks, your chest tightening as your stomach dropped. The words you’d almost said stuck in your throat, hollow and useless. The gang kept chatting, unaware, and everything that had finally started to feel normal now seemed impossibly off.
_____
A week later Rooster was, yet again, at the piano banging out a tune like he had a million times before. He finished up to a cheer from the crowd and the beginning notes of Piano Man floated across the bar. A wide smile split your face and you instinctively looked for Bob.
This was your song. Your ride or die. Your, no matter what I’m doing, drop everything and belt at the top of your lungs, ballad. There hadn’t been a single time, a single bar, that the song had played that you and Bob hadn’t thrown your arms around each other and belted the words off key at each other.
You looked over at him, expecting a matching excited grin on his face, but he was turned away from you. Laughing at something that Leah had whispered into his ear, as if he hadn’t registered the change of tunes. You gave it a few seconds more before the smile dropped from your face and you turned back to the piano, squeezing Rooster on the shoulder in thanks for playing your favorite, forcing a smile back to your lips as Phoenix leaned in and started singing along with you and Rooster.
_____
You’d thought you were holding it together, keeping your real feelings tucked neatly out of sight. But when Bob cornered you at home that night, the look in his eyes told you you hadn’t hidden them nearly as well as you’d hoped.
“Are we okay?”
His voice was small, tired and sad in a way that had you clenching your jaw. You nodded, staring past him to a point on the wall so you wouldn’t have to look into his eyes.
“Of course we are,” you lied through your teeth and he let out a frustrated sigh.
“Come on, Y/N, I know something’s wrong. Why won’t you talk to me?”
You could hear the frustration bleed through his words as he frantically tried to catch your gaze and your heart pounded against your ribcage.
“Nothing’s wrong, dude. We’re good. Everything is good. It’s fine.”
He narrowed his gaze at you and your throat tightened. You’d recognize that stubborn look anywhere. The one that meant he wasn’t going to stop before he got answers, no matter what.
“You’re my best friend. You mean…so incredibly much to me. And it’s killing me to know that I did something to upset you. We’re best friends, why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it!”
Your blood rushed through your veins at his words, at the desperation behind them. They were so, so close to what you desperately wanted to hear. But they’d never be enough, would always stop at ‘best friends’.
“You didn’t do anything-”
“Bullshit,” he cut you off with a bark. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if to calm himself, reigning himself in.
“You’ll always be my best friend.”
You wished the ache those words caused would dull, just once. He parted his lips to say something else, but the door creaked open. Leah entered, weighed down with grocery bags and blissfully blind to the storm she’d just walked into.
You jumped at the chance to flee and quickly scuttled out of the hall, flashing her a smile and grabbing your keys.
“Oh, are you not joining us? I bought enough for three.”
You could cry at how fucking sweet this woman was, and your guilt weighed heavy as you shook your head.
“That’s so sweet, but I promised Phoenix I’d help her put together some new furniture tonight. You two have fun though!”
You didn’t look Bob’s way but you could feel his piercing gaze, knew that he clocked your lie from a mile away.
____
It was Friday night and the apartment was quiet. Too quiet. You’d been half-expecting Bob to poke his head in, suggest a movie or a late run to the store to cook dinner like he usually did, but the hours stretched and stretched.
Around nine, you finally gave in and scrolled Instagram.
Phoenix’s photo appeared in your stories and you clicked on it, the first photo blurry, flushed with neon lights and laughter. The whole squad at the bowling alley downtown. Rooster flipping the camera off, Hangman doing his best Blue Steele, Fanboy throwing up a peace sign.
And Bob. Right in the middle.
Leah was tucked into his side, his arm draped casually around her as he grinned at the camera, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.
Your heart sank.
You clicked through the story. More photos. More laughter. Everyone was there.
Everyone but you.
You knew, logically, they hadn’t meant to exclude you. They’d probably assumed Bob would tell you. He always told you.
You were notoriously bad at checking text messages and that’s how it normally worked. Someone organized, someone else texted Bob, and you got the invite through him. It had always been seamless, automatic.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he hadn’t thought to mention it.
You turned your phone off and tossed it onto the couch like it burned, staring at the ceiling until your vision blurred.
It wasn’t that you wanted to bowl, or drink cheap beer, or laugh until your sides hurt. It was that they’d all gone on being them without you, and the one person you trusted to keep you looped in hadn’t even noticed you were missing.
An hour later, after you had skulked to your room, the front door creaked open. You held your breath, not making a noise as you listened to Bob ease inside before throwing the lock and kicking off his shoes. His soft footsteps trailed down the hallway and you sucked in a breath as they stopped outside of your closed door. He hesitated there for a moment, like he might wake you, then padded off to his room.
You waited until you heard his door click shut before you let the tears spill.
______
“Okay, Fury’s seriously late,” Phoenix said, squinting at her phone for the tenth time. She was perched on the edge of the booth, nursing her beer as the others laughed around her. “Did she text anyone? She saw my insta story so I know she’s not dead.”
“I called twice,” Hangman said, tossing his phone onto the table. “Straight to voicemail. Maybe she bailed?”
“She wouldn’t just bail,” Rooster said firmly. He thumbed at his phone again, firing off another text. Bob sat stiffly, a pit in his stomach growing with each passing second.
“What’d she say when you told her we moved the time?”
Rooster’s question was innocuous, but for Bob it dropped like a bomb.
The look on his face must’ve said it all, because Hangman groaned loudly.
“You fucking didn’t invite her? Oh my god, Floyd!”
“I thought,” he stammered. “I thought I mentioned it.”
His heart hammered as he scrambled for an explanation.
“She…she usually just-”
“Shows up because you tell her,” Payback snapped, sharper than usual. “Damn it, Bob.”
Phoenix sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Well, call her now.”
“Her phone’s off,” Bob ignored Coyote as he frantically clicked her contact and pressed the call button. Swearing at her voicemail and trying again and again.
Hangman shook his head in disappointment and Bob felt like the lowest scum of the Earth as the truth settled heavy over the table.
She wasn’t just missing. She wasn’t just late.
She knew.
And she wasn’t coming.
_____
Bob hadn’t slept. Not really.
Leah had dropped him off with a quick kiss to the cheek and a heartfelt reassurance that everything would work out with you in the morning. He’d given her a weak nod but the whole drive home he couldn’t stop replaying the night, the empty space at his side where you should have been. How quickly the night had come to an end after they realized his mistake.
He tossed and turned as Phoenix’s first words when they all arrived at the bowling alley still echoed in his head.
“Where’s Fury? She’s coming, right?”
Bob had blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah. She should be.”
Except you hadn’t walked in ten minutes later, or thirty, or even an hour after that. He’d shrugged it off, thinking maybe you weren’t comfortable after he tried to ask you what was bothering you. But when Phoenix brought up that you were seriously late, and then Hangman and Rooster had tried calling you, the truth had sunk in with a cold, heavy weight.
He never told you.
He hadn’t passed along the invite like he always did. He’d just…forgotten.
And now, the following morning, sitting on the arm of the couch watching you sip the coffee he’d made you as a peace offering, he wanted to kick himself. You looked tired, drawn, like you hadn’t really slept either.
But worse than that, you looked guarded. Even more so than you had been the previous months.
“I thought I told you,” he started to say, wincing as soon as the words left his mouth. Because deep down, he knew he hadn’t. And the look on your face, the polite, closed-off little smile you gave him in return, felt like a door slamming shut.
What the hell is wrong with me? He thought, guilt gnawing at his gut. You’re my best friend. How could I forget you?
He winced. “I’m sorry. I should’ve… I mean, I just assumed you knew. Everyone else thought you were coming.”
You nodded once, lips pressed tight.
His knee bounced nervously from his perch on the arm of the couch.
“We missed you. Wasn’t the same.”
The words might’ve landed once. Once, you might have given him hell for forgetting to invite you, might’ve held it over his head and demand he do any number of ridiculous things to make it up to you. Once, you would have ribbed him and given him shit while laughing about the fact that you were so bad at checking your phone that Bob was basically your personal assistant. Once, those words would have been the catalyst for friendly apologies and forgiveness.
But now, they felt like salt in a wound. The pictures you’d seen had told a different story, they looked plenty fine without you.
So you gave him a thin smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes.
“It’s fine, Bob. Don’t worry about it.”
He frowned. “Fury -”
“I said it’s fine.”
You sipped the coffee, letting the heat scald down your throat, using it as an excuse not to look at him.
He fell quiet after that, but you could feel his eyes on you, searching, trying to piece together pieces that he broke.
And you hated yourself for how much it hurt, that he could forget you like that. That maybe you weren’t the person he thought to tell anymore.
But he didn’t press. Didn’t push. Just sat there, staring at his own hands, while the silence between you stretched wider than it had in years.
_____
The following Monday morning had a cheer going up when you walked into the hangar.
“Ayy there she is!” Rooster exclaimed, throwing an arm around your shoulders while you stared at him in bewilderment.
“Are you on drugs?”
He let out a laugh and led you over to the break room.
“She’s a comedian, everyone,” he quipped back sarcastically. “Nah we all just feel like a bunch of fucking assholes for Friday. Not that it was really anyone’s fault besides Floyd’s but still, we should have realized sooner.”
There was a box full of your favorite pastries waiting on the break room table, the ones from the fancy patisserie across town that you rarely splurged for. You bit back a smile and shook your head at the poorly made “We’re sorry” banner sloppy laid out across the front of the table.
“You’re all ridiculous,” you said fondly, grabbing a pasty from the box. “You didn’t need to do this. It’s really not a big deal.”
“Well technically, the pastries were Bob’s idea, but we all chipped in on the sign.”
You snorted and took a bite, relishing the taste of buttery sugar on your tongue.
“I told him it was fine too.”
“Oh bulllllshit,” Hangman piped up from where he was scrolling on his phone. “That idiot came in here looking like someone kicked his puppy and killed his grandma. He knows he fucked up. And we all have made sure to remind him of it since the moment it happened.”
Phoenix grabbed a pastry and gently hip checked you with a smile.
“Seriously dude, we all feel terrible. We thought you knew.”
You shrugged your shoulders and took another bite to avoid answering.
“Probably my fault anyway, shouldn’t have to rely on someone else for my social calendar.”
“Oh please, don’t make excuses for him. He knows he messed up. He’s doing all your paperwork for the foreseeable future by the way, as a way of saying sorry.”
She gestured to where Bob was squatting under your bird, glaring at the landing gear like it personally offended him and you rolled your eyes.
“Really, it’s fine… maybe just, text me directly with plans next time, yeah?”
Phoenix’s gaze saw too much but she nodded.
“Yeah, of course. Although something tells me this isn’t something your better half is ever going to do again.”
You sucked in a breath and shook your head.
“He’s not my -”
You glared at her smirk and flipped her off.
“You’re the worst.”
The rest of the guys cleared out of the room and headed towards their own rigs to do their flight pre-checks. Her smirk softened into something that you wanted no part of.
“Seriously though, are you ok?”
You clenched your jaw against the emotion welling up inside you.
“I’d…like to not talk about this right now. Please.”
You must have sounded pathetic since she immediately nodded with a solemn set to her jaw. Normally she was like a dog with a bone when she wanted information on something so the fact that she just dropped it screamed loads about your current state.
“Alright, but we need a girls night soon. I’m tired of all the dick measuring going on in this squad. Lord knows we all don’t own microscopes.”
You let out a real laugh at that, inhaling powdered sugar and coughing up a storm. She let out a cackle and slapped you on the back. You grinned back at her and let out a deep breath, your feelings about her back seater momentarily falling away as you got to work.
That night you stayed late to work out at the gym on base, pushing yourself hard in the weight room before showering and heading back to Bob’s townhouse, hoping beyond hope that he’d be in bed or sleeping at Leah’s.
When you silently pushed the door open and heard music coming from the Alexa you bit back a sigh at your bad luck. You toed your boots off and hung up your bag, thinking maybe you could sneak into your room without having to see him.
As if drawn by your thoughts Bob appeared in the front hall out of nowhere and you swore in surprise.
“Jesus Bob, you scared the shit out of me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Sorry. I just wanted to make sure I caught you.”
You took a deep breath and met his gaze.
“What’s up?”
He blinked at you like he couldn’t believe you just asked that.
“Come on,” he gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen and you had no choice but to follow him.
The table was set for two and he gestured for you to sit at one of the chairs, scurrying into the kitchen and grabbing two pizza boxes from the oven, placing them on the table and then grabbing the blender pitcher from the freezer. He poured you each a glass and took a seat across from you, placing your margarita in front of you.
“Bob-”
“Please,” he cut you off, gaze imploring as he looked at you. “Please, just let me say this.”
You nodded at him to continue, pizza and marg sitting untouched in front of you.
“I fucked up. God,” he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I fucked up, so, so, badly. Not just on Friday, which, I really did, but I’ve been fucking up for months.”
His gaze bore into you and you took a drink of your marg to give your hands something to do.
“I am so sorry, Y/N. I know things have been… off with us. Ever since Leah and I started dating, and I haven’t been there for you the way I should be, the way I normally am.”
“Bob, that’s-”
“No, I haven’t. I haven’t been there and I’m so sorry. You mean, god, you mean everything to me. You’re my best friend and I hate, I absolutely fucking hate, that we’re not ok.”
You stared down at the condensation dripping down your glass, throat tight.
The thing was, you missed him too. Missed the late-night takeout runs, the easy laughter, the quiet comfort of knowing someone always had your back. Things hadn’t felt right in a long time, but hearing him say it out loud made you realize just how bad things had gotten.
“I don’t want us to be like this either,” you finally said, your voice low. “I hate it. I hate feeling like I lost my best friend.”
He looked up sharply at that, blue eyes searching yours.
“You didn’t. You haven’t. I’m right here.”
You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Are you though? Because lately it feels like you’re halfway here, halfway somewhere else.”
Bob winced, the truth of that statement hitting him square in the chest.
“I know. And you’re right. I’ve been trying to balance things and…I just keep messing it up. Leah’s amazing, she is, but-” he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck again, “I should’ve made more of an effort with you. I never wanted you to feel like I chose her over you.”
The words made your stomach twist, your breath leaving you like you’d been punched in the gut.
You wanted to say it wasn’t about choosing, that you understood, but that would be a lie. Some selfish terrible part of you had wanted him to choose you, even if you knew he couldn’t.
You swallowed hard.
“I haven’t exactly made it easy either. I’ve been… distant. I’ve been weird and I’m sorry for that.”
Bob’s expression softened.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“Yes, I do,” you said, shaking your head. “You didn’t deserve the cold shoulder. You’ve always been there for me,” you took a sip of your drink and raised an eyebrow at him. “Friday night and Thirsty Thursday notwithstanding,” you tried for a joke and he winced causing you to smirk.
“And I’ve been acting like you haven’t been there for me for the better part of a decade.” You hesitated, fighting to keep your voice from shaking. “I just… I want things to be okay again. I want us to be okay again.”
For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the low hum of the fridge and the faint music playing from the Alexa. Then Bob reached across the table, his hand hesitating for a brief moment before brushing against yours.
“Then let’s fix it,” he said simply. “Whatever it takes. Whatever you need. I’ll do it.”
You felt your throat close up again. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe you could do it too, that you could be around him without that ache in your chest. That you could go back to how easy things used to be. That you could go back to a time where you didn’t wish for something you couldn’t have.
You managed a small, but genuine, smile.
“Yeah. Let’s fix it.”
Bob’s shoulders dropped in relief, a smile brightening his face in a way that you hadn’t seen in months, as he grabbed your plate and slapped a slice of pizza onto it.
“Good. Then we start with pizza and margaritas. I know it’s Monday, but we can pretend it’s Thursday. And you better drink all of your margs cuz I splurged for El Tesoro and the guy at the liquor store about fainted when I told him I was putting it into a margarita.”
You snorted a laugh, causing him to smile wider, the tension finally easing just a little.
He raised his glass, eyes warm again.
“To fixing it.”
You clinked your glass against his.
“To fixing it.”
You took a sip, the tequila steading you.
As he started talking, about work, about a movie he’d seen, about how much shit the squad had given him for his stupidity in the hangar that morning, you listened. You laughed when he did, smiled when he smiled, and somewhere between the warmth of the margarita and the easy rhythm of his voice, you made a quiet promise to yourself.
You were going to move on.
You were going to stop wishing for something that could never happen.
You were going to be his best friend again.
Even if it broke your heart to do it.
______
The next few weeks slipped into something that felt almost easy again. Back like your days in LeMoore, before your pesky feelings made themselves known and threw your entire existence into a tailspin.
You and Bob found your rhythm again, morning coffee runs, fighting over the aux on the drive to base, sarcastic banter echoing through the hangar like nothing had ever gone wrong. The squad noticed too, the awkward silences and sidelong looks faded, replaced with the same teasing camaraderie that had always defined you both. You no longer avoided Phoenix’s questioning gaze or Hangman’s knowing glare.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was comfortable. Predictable. Safe.
You started to remember what it felt like to just be with him, without the tension, without the ache. He’d text you memes in the middle of the day, nudged your shoulder when you zoned out during Cyclone's lectures, dragged you to that super sketchy sushi place for lunch that he loved like nothing had changed. And you began to realize maybe that was the point, that nothing had to change.
Little by little, you let yourself believe it. You stopped overanalyzing every word, every look. You let the soft, familiar rhythm of your friendship fill in the empty spaces where longing used to live.
Some nights you’d still catch yourself watching him when he laughed too hard, or when he pushed his glasses up with that absentminded frown, but you forced yourself to look away. To remind yourself that this was enough.
Because it was enough.
It had to be enough.
He was happy, and you were okay. Better than okay, even.
You could breathe again around him. You could tease him without feeling like you were breaking your own heart.
You told yourself you were over it… over him.
And most days, you gaslit yourself into believing that.
That particular night you were proud of yourself for it. Bob was out with Leah, and for once, the thought didn’t sting. You’d made dinner, showered, folded laundry with music playing low in the background. Just quiet normal ordinary things that didn’t revolve around him.
When you finally climbed into bed the house was quiet around you, and you let yourself revel in the calm. You were getting there. You really were.
You were just drifting towards sleep when the lock clicked.
The familiar squeak of the front door, the shuffle of shoes on the mat, Bob’s routine, as ingrained in you as your own. But tonight there was another sound layered over it. Light, breathless laughter. Leah’s.
You froze, eyes snapping open in the dark.
The hall light cut a thin strip under your door and you heard the low rumble of Bob’s voice, muffled, followed by a sudden recognizable thump against the wall and a high pitched giggle. You didn’t need to see it to know what it meant.
You throat went dry and you pressed your face into your pillow, clutching it tighter and willing yourself not to listen. But then you heard the unmistakable sound of his bedroom door closing, and a silence that lasted only a few seconds before it filled with soft gasps and broken laughter, escalating into something so much worse.
You shove the pillow over your head. Not enough.
You jammed your AirPods into your ears, swearing when the beep of a low battery met you. You turned on the noise canceling function anyway.
Still not enough.
The walls in this townhome had never felt so thin.
Your chest felt like it was being crushed again, breath struggling into your lungs as you desperately tried to not picture what was happening on the other side of your bedroom wall. Your mind betrayed you, images flying behind your eyes like the worst kind of movie.
You thought you had this under control. Thought you had it on lock down. But this… this was too much.
Tears stung behind your eyes, but you blinked them away, furious at yourself. You had been doing so well. Taken such strides to draw that line between best friends and what you craved. And in one intimate sound it felt like all your progress had vanished.
When the rhythm of the sounds next door sharpened, you couldn't take it anymore. You slipped out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and grabbed your keys as quietly as you could, AirPods still jammed into your ears like they could actually block out what your brain had fine tuned into.
The front door clicked shut behind you, the cool night air biting into your skin.
For a moment, you stood there on the front stoop, staring up at the sky, and the faint stars you could see beyond the light pollution of the California coast. The few that cut through the haze blinked back at you, mockingly.
You whispered to yourself, to them, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
And then you walked. Anywhere but there.
_____
Bob found you in the hangar, bent over a maintenance checklist with a grease pencil in hand. You looked collected, hair pulled tight, every line of your body screaming ‘focused professional’. Still, his stomach churned with the knowledge that you had definitely overheard something you shouldn’t have last night, especially when you weren’t in your room this morning, and he couldn’t shake his unease.
“Hey,” he said quietly, almost tentative. “Got a second?”
You glanced up, brows raised, that familiar grin flicking across your mouth a split second too late.
“For you, Lieutenant? Always. What’s up?”
Bob swallowed. That smile didn’t look quite right, it was there, but didn’t reach like it normally did. He shifted, rubbed at the back of his neck.
“I, uh… about last night. I didn’t mean to…” he cleared his throat and his face flushed in embarrassment. “It got… louder than I thought.”
“Louder?” you repeated with a laugh, light and breezy. You shoved the pencil into your chest pocket. “Relax, Bob. It’s not like I haven’t heard worse. Two pilots sharing a house - you think that’s the worst thing our walls have ever heard?”
Your tone was teasing, easy. You made it sound ridiculous that he’d even bring it up.
Still the guilt twisted tighter.
“Shouldn’t have happened,” he said softly.
“Forget about it,” you replied, turning back to your checklist. “It’s already forgotten.”
You made it sound final, like a door closing. Bob hesitated, then nodded, retreating without pressing further. But the unease stuck with him as he walked away, because even if you said it was forgotten it sure as hell didn’t feel that way.
Neither one of you noticed your teammate, eyes wide, disbelief written across his face as he watched your conversation unfold from behind your aircraft.
The apartment was quiet when you got home, the kind of quiet that vibrated against your skin. Bob’s door was shut, light glowing faint under the crack. You didn’t knock, didn’t pause.
Your own room welcomed you with silence. You tossed your bag on the floor and sat on the bed’s edge, elbows on your knees, palms pressing against your eyes.
All day you’d worn the mask at work. You’d smiled with Phoenix, tossed jokes back at Rooster, acted like Bob’s apology was more than enough.
It’s already forgotten, you’d told him - crisp and convicting.
But it wasn’t.
Not when the memory still rang in your ears. The giggle, the thump against the wall, the moans that cut through your pillow, through your dead headphones, through everything you tried. Not when the man that you loved had held another woman only a few feet away, completely unaware that he was tearing you apart.
And this morning. This morning. His apology. Awkward. Half-formed. Like all he thought you cared about was the god damn noise.
If only it had been that simple.
You curled onto your side, staring at the ceiling. Your chest ached with the effort of holding yourself together, and this time you didn’t fight it. A hot sting welled in your eyes. You pressed your fist to your mouth until the urge passed, until your breath steadied again.
Tomorrow, you’d be Fury again. Smiling, unshaken, sharp-tongued, indestructible.
But tonight, in the dark, you let yourself break.
_____
The drive to base the following morning was quiet, the radio softly playing in the background as you stared out of the window of Bob’s truck, hoping that your face didn’t look as puffy as it felt.
You felt your phone vibrate with a notification and you pulled it out, absentmindedly looking at the email notification that appeared on your home screen. Your breath caught at the sender and your thumb hesitated before opening the lockscreen to read it. Your eyes flew over the message, and it took everything in you not to react outwardly at the words on the screen.
Despite your efforts, you must have made a noise because Bob glanced your way.
“Everything okay?”
You cleared your throat and nodded, pressing the side button to lock your phone with forced nonchalance.
“Totally, just one of those videos from that guy in Thailand that rescues street dogs. You know they always get me.”
Bob chuckled, the sound easy and unsuspecting, and turned his attention back to the road.
You kept your gaze out the window, heart still racing, the words on your screen looping through your mind. No matter how hard you tried to play it cool, a smile tugged at your lips, small, hopeful, impossible to hide. For the first time in a long time, the road ahead didn’t feel so uncertain.
____
You were in the comms room with Hangman, both of you winding down from your flight and listening to the rest of the team that was up in the air over the radio. He was flipping a pen in between his fingers and looking between you and the comm system.
“Soooo,” he drawled. “Interesting convo between you and Bob yesterday morning.”
You clenched your jaw and rolled your eyes.
“Was there a question in there that I missed?”
He scoffed and leaned forward, forearms braced on his bent legs, pretty green eyes all too knowing.
“You okay?”
You pasted on a smile and pretended to look at the generic memo in front of you.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
His stare let you know unimpressed he was with your answer.
“I don’t know… If I had to listen to the girl I was in love with get busy with her boyfriend, in my own damn home, I think I’d be a little upset.”
You shot him a glare and looked around the room.
“Would you shut the fuck up please?” you hissed. “We are at work.”
He ignored you and flipped the pen in his hand, his gaze entirely too wise for someone that pretended only to care about himself.
“You know, you can always crash at my place if-”
You cut him off with a glare.
“I don’t need… I’m fine, okay? It’s not a big deal. It’s fine. I’m fine everything is-”
“Fine?”
You flipped him off and turned to look out the window onto the tarmac.
“Look, I get that you’re ‘fine’,” the words were accompanied by air quotes. “But seriously if you need to talk, or you need somewhere to crash to get away from all that,” he gestured to the sky where Bob and Phoenix were flying. “You know where to find me.”
“Careful, Hangman,” you tried to jest through your tight throat, “or people here might actually think you have a heart.”
He stared at you for a beat, blinking in a way that made you feel entirely too exposed.
“Don’t flatter yourself sweetheart, I’m just trying to get brownie points so you’ll share some of those pastries with me the next time Baby on Board ultimately fucks up.”
You let out a bitter laugh, ready to drop it, but his hand landed on yours and your entire body tensed.
“Seriously,” the weight behind his voice made you pause. “You don’t have to live like this. I… I've been where you are before. And you might think that you need to be strong and push through, but you’re allowed to take care of yourself and do what’s best for you. Even if it means stepping away from him.”
You tried to speak, but the words caught behind the knot in your throat. Swallowing hard, you managed a small nod, eyes fixed on the horizon. On the fading light ahead, and the man who would never be yours.
______
You’d left in a rush the next morning, late for an internal meeting, mail scattered across the kitchen counter. Bob came back from his run, tugging off his hoodie and paused when he saw the NASA letterhead staring up at him from the counter.
He froze.
The envelope was torn open, the single sheet half-tucked back inside. His name wasn’t on it, but it was impossible not to see the words bold at the top:
“We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for a final interview in Houston…”
His chest tightened. He skimmed the first few lines, heart thudding harder with every word, until guilt made him shove the letter back exactly where it had been. He sank onto a stool, running a hand through his damp hair, trying to breathe around the weight settling in his chest.
When you came home later, still in uniform, you barely noticed him sitting in the kitchen. You dropped your bag with a sigh, reaching for the stack of mail.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bob’s voice was soft, but it cut through the quiet like a blade.
You froze, fingers brushing the envelope. Slowly, you looked up, reading the expression on his face.
“Oh,” you said. Your throat was dry. “You saw it.”
“I wasn’t trying to-” he gestured helplessly. “It was just there.”
Silence stretched.
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
Bob’s brow furrowed.
“Fury, this is… this is huge. Why didn’t you want to tell me? You’ve wanted this forever.”
Your laugh was brittle. “It’s not a big deal, there’s gonna be nothing to tell when I don’t get selected. I wanted… better to keep it quiet you know? Fewer people to disappoint.”
Bob shook his head immediately, earnestness flooding his voice.
“You wouldn’t disappoint anyone. You’ve got this. I know you do.”
The way he said it, the conviction behind his voice. Certain, steady, like he believed in you more than you believed in yourself, made your throat ache. You had to look away, staring at the envelope instead of his gaze.
“Please don’t tell the others,” you whispered, a rare moment of vulnerability peaking through.
Bob hesitated, then nodded once in agreement.
“Okay. Just me.”
The quiet stretched again, heavier this time, filled with all the things neither of you could say.
_____
It was one of those rare nights when the entire squad had a break, a collective exhale, and somehow everyone ended up crowding into a bar that wasn’t the Hard Deck for once. The noise, the laughter, the haze of neon lights wrapped around you like something familiar and safe as you sipped your drink.
Things with Bob had been… better. Easier. He’d been warm again, attentive in that quiet way that was so him. It almost felt like old times, if you ignored the echo of that one night, buried deep where you refused to touch it.
You were at the bar with Leah, of all people, waiting for another round of drinks while the others fought over the TouchTunes. She flashed you a bright smile, casual and easy.
“So,” Leah said, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music. “Bob told me about your NASA interview. That’s incredible! I can’t imagine how excited you must be.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, any warmth from your buzz evaporating as your chest hollowed out.
You'd forced a smile to your lips, but your fingers had tightened hard around your glass.
“Oh. He told you about that?”
Leah nodded, blissfully oblivious to the way your voice cracked.
“Yeah, he’s so, so proud of you. He said you’d kill it up there. Honestly, it makes sense. You’ve always seemed… bigger than this,” she gestured around you. “You know? Like you’re meant for more.”
She’s sincere, earnest, the kind of woman that means every kind word.
You'd managed a weak laugh, nodding along, because what else can you do?
But inside, something fractured.
Because Bob had promised. He’d promised it was just between the two of you. And now, she knows. Leah, of all people, sitting there smiling like it’s nothing, but it feels like everything.
And she wasn't being cruel, not even close. She was being wonderful, the way she always is, and somehow that makes it just so much worse.
Because how can you be angry at her? She’s being so gracious and supportive and everything you wish you could be. The only person left to blame for the sick feeling in your gut is yourself, for caring too much, for letting it sting, for being the fool who thought something so private could stay between you and your best friend.
The bartender slammed a tray of drinks down in front of you and Leah squeezed your arm warmly before grabbing it and carrying the tray back to your table. You stayed rooted where you were, staring at the condensation sliding down your glass, trying to swallow the ache rising in your throat.
From across the bar Bob caught your eye and smiled, soft and steady, the way he always did. Unaware of the bomb that had just been dropped.
And you… you couldn't even look at him.
Later, outside the bar, you allowed the night air to cool the heat in your chest. Bob followed you out, concern etched all over his face at the fact that you'd been avoiding him since he saw you at the bar with Leah.
“Hey,” Bob said softly. “Everything okay? You kind of disappeared back there.”
You let out a shaky breath, exhausted from the boomerang of your emotions when it came to your best friend.
“Yeah, just needed some air.”
He didn't buy it, of course he didn't, but he waited patiently like he knows there’s more. And that’s what hurts the most, that he still knows you, still gets you better than anyone, even when you wish he didn’t.
You finally let some of the emotions you've been bottling up slip out when you turned to him.
“Thought it was just supposed to be between us,” you said finally, voice low and bitter. “The NASA thing.”
Bob froze, eyes widening as realization hits.
“Oh…shit. Leah…she said something? Fury, I didn’t-”
“I know you didn’t mean to,” you cut in, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “I know. It’s just…” you forced a breath, shaking your head. “It’s my fault for thinking things could just be like they were. You have her, and that’s fine. Really, it is. I just… need some time to get my head around this new normal.”
He stepped forward, and you matched it with a step back.
“Please, Bob,” you try your hardest to keep your voice steady. “Just… give me a little space, okay?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” you held up a hand to stop him and nodded.
“I know. I just… need some time.”
He nodded, stricken, and for a heartbeat you almost take it back. The look on his face made you want to tell him it’s okay, that you’re fine. But you’re not. So you turn and walk away before he can say anything else.
You don’t tell him you’re going to Houston the following week. You don’t tell anyone except Mav when you drop your leave request on his desk.
It’s easier that way. Easier to pack your bag in silence, board a flight, and keep your phone on Do Not Disturb. Two weeks of training, evaluation, interviews and maybe, if you’re lucky, enough distance to finally breathe again.
Bob gives you 24 hours before he texts, concern evident since he hasn’t seen or heard from you. The text he receives back from you makes his heart drop.
In Houston for eval and training. Will let you know when I book my flight back.
Bob tells himself not to worry, that you’re chasing your dream and are too busy to answer any of the dozens of follow up texts he sends your way. But the empty chair behind him in the ready room feels wrong. The silence in the car on the way home from base feels worse.
The squad is hounding him about your whereabouts, Mav only letting them know that you requested leave for two weeks, but not budging on additional details.
Bob is also silent about where you disappeared to, not stupid enough to make that critical mistake twice.
He hadn’t been malicious when he told Leah. He’d just been so proud, bursting even. He’d been talking about you, about the two of you sitting on the roof years ago watching a launch on your outdated iPad, you declaring one day you’d be up there.
And he’d told Leah how that same fire was still in you, how the NASA interview was proof of your drive and unlimited gumption. He hadn’t even thought to say don’t mention it.
Now, as he thinks he might have broken your friendship beyond repair, he wishes he hadn’t said anything.
You’ve gone dark in Houston, and he feels it in every part of his day. He’s quieter than normal in briefings, slower to joke. When your name comes up in squad chatter, he looks away.
Leah starts to notice the distance too, the late replies, the distracted looks, the almost obsessive checking of his phone. When she lightly teases him about missing you, his face falls just enough to tell her everything she needs to know.
He doesn’t say it but he feels it deep within his soul, the echo of something critical missing.
At first, it was just the little things.
He’d come home and catch himself calling out your name before remembering you weren’t there. He’d still make two mugs of coffee in the morning without thinking, setting one on the counter before realizing it would stay untouched.
He tried to fill the silence, dates with Leah, music, TV, late nights at work, but none of it helped. The townhouse felt too big, too empty, like it echoed with ghosts of conversations and laughter that used to fill it.
At work, he found himself glancing at your locker every time he walked past. The small sticker you’d put on it, a faded NASA logo, had started to peel at the corner. He almost fixed it once, hand halfway raised before he stopped himself.
Phoenix noticed the way he’d gone quiet. “You good, Bob?” she’d asked one afternoon after a post flight debrief.
He’d nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”
It wasn’t a lie exactly. He was tired, but not from flying. From thinking. From missing you in a way that gnawed at the edges of his focus.
He started replaying the last few weeks before you left, before he had fucked up everything more than he knew.
He thought about the sound of your laugh in the car, fighting him for the aux and playing Chumbawumba on repeat much to his dismay. He thought of you sitting on the couch, bathed in the setting sunlight, looking up at him like he hung the moon.
He couldn't stop seeing the moment from that night, when your eyes dropped from his at the bar while Leah walked back with a tray of drinks. The moment that something in you seemed to give up.
And the thing that had hurt the most:
You hadn’t just needed space. You’d needed distance — from him.
And the worst part was, he couldn’t even blame you.
So he threw himself into work. Stayed later. Ran drills he didn’t need to. Anything to keep his hands busy, his mind too full to wander.
But at night, when the world finally went quiet, he’d catch himself scrolling through old photos, your shoulder pressed against his, your smile easy and unguarded, and he’d feel it again.
That sharp, hollow ache of missing something he hadn’t realized he’d already lost.
------
It all came to a head a week and a half after you left.
Bob had gone through the motions, flying, briefing, pretending everything was fine, but the silence in the townhouse grew louder with every passing day. Your coffee mug stayed in the sink. Your jacket hung by the door. He’d stopped even trying to text after the umpteenth unanswered message, but he still found himself unlocking his phone, staring at your name.
Leah noticed. Of course she did.
They had been taking a walk by the beach after dinner, the setting sun bleeding out over the water, when she finally said it.
“You don’t have to keep pretending, Bob.”
He blinked, caught mid-step. “Pretending what?”
She smiled, soft and sad. “That everything’s okay. That you’re okay.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head.
“I think we both know your heart isn’t in this anymore.”
Bob froze. The words hit like a hundred G's, sudden and crushing, inescapable.
“Leah, what’re you-”
“It’s alright,” she said gently, cutting him off before he could stumble through the question. “You’re a good man, you know that? Too honorable to follow your own heart.”
Her eyes met his, clear and steady. “I’ve seen the way you look when her name comes up. The way you go quiet. I think… maybe you’ve already found the person you’re supposed to be with. And that person isn’t me.”
He swallowed hard, gaze darting away toward the horizon. He knew he should say something, deny her observation and tell her that she didn’t know what she was talking about. He should have fought, insisted that Leah was the one for him.
But he couldn’t.
Her observation froze him, rewiring his brain in a way that made it seem so obvious.
Leah smiled again, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”
Bob squeezed his eyes shut in shame, gutted by her kind words. She wasn’t angry, wasn’t cruel, wasn’t even surprised. Just quietly heartbroken and willing to step away gracefully like the best kind of person.
He had walked her to her car, feeling like the world’s biggest ass when she kissed him on the cheek one last time and wished him luck. He had apologized softly, insisting that he did have feelings for Leah during their relationship, wanting her to understand that he never meant to make her feel like he wasn't fully committed. This made her quietly chuckle as she shook her head.
“I know, Bob. I could practically see your head explode with the realization when I brought it up just now.”
He apologized again, feeling like the scum of the earth and watched as she drove away.
He realized he should be feeling a lot more upset for a guy who’s girlfriend of 6 months just dumped him. He should be gutted, wrecked. But when he got home and shut the door behind him, the silence didn’t seem to crush him as much as it had before.
He kept waiting for the ache to hit, for regret to roll in like a wave.
It never did.
Instead, something quieter settled over him. A sense of clarity that left him equal parts relieved and terrified all at once.
In the days leading up to your arrival home, he found himself replaying every conversation you’d had before you left. Your lack of physical contact, pulling away, careful tone, the way you’d said you needed time, how you wouldn’t meet his eyes when you said it, but he could still see the hurt and disappointment radiating off you.
At the time he thought you had just been upset at the change in the dynamic, had been hurt because he told a secret that wasn’t his to tell.
Now, he knew that was partially the case, but he also knew there was something more.
Because the more he thought about it, the clearer it became.
You weren’t just his best friend. You were the measure, the baseline he unconsciously held everything else against. Every laugh, every quiet morning, every woman he’d tried to love since meeting you.
And now that you were gone, he couldn’t unsee it.
He couldn’t unfeel it.
_____
Bob scowled at his phone, the group chat lighting up with a text from Natasha letting everyone know that you were on your flight back and she’d be grabbing you from the airport. That was followed by a threat to be at The Hard Deck at 6pm sharp for a welcome home party.
Bob knew he had brought it on himself, that he had royally fucked up before you took off to Houston, but it still hurt that you hadn’t deigned to text him your plans or ask him for a ride from the airport.
The bar was buzzing with energy when you and Natasha walked in. Rooster spotted you first, shooting off his barstool and crushing you into a hug that knocked the wind from your lungs. Hangman followed with a clap to the back and a drawled “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”
The rest of the team crowded in at once, laughing, easily believing your lie that you were visiting family, but your eyes found Bob almost instantly.
He stood off to the side, beer in hand, posture just shy of stiff. He hadn’t rushed forward like the others, unsure of his place. He just… looked at you, like he wasn’t sure you were real. Like you had hung the sun and the moon in the sky.
And that one look undid all two weeks of mental barriers you had erected around your feelings for Bob Floyd.
When the noise finally settled and Phoenix dragged the rest of the squad toward the bar, you found yourself walking over before you could second-guess it.
“Hey,” you said softly.
Bob blinked at you like you were an apparition before nodding back.
“Hey.”
The silence stretched, thick and awkward. This was Bob, the one person you’d never had awkward silences with and now neither one of you knew how to fill it.
He offered you his bottle of beer and you nodded in thanks, taking it from him and swigging a drink to give yourself something to do.
“How was it?” he asked finally. His voice was careful, like he was afraid of the answer.
You shrugged, trying for lightness.
“Grueling. Long days, lots of testing. I’m pretty sure I won’t want to see another centrifuge for the rest of my life.”
That earned you a small laugh, his gaze open and honest, boring into yours and pinning you where you stood.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said. Quiet, earnest. “I…hated the way that we left things. Hated that I fucked up so bad. That I hurt you-”
“Bob-” you cut him off. “Let’s not do this here okay? I’m happy to be back, we can talk more at home alright?”
He let out a deep sigh but nodded, bringing his arms up and pulling you into a hug before you could second guess it.
His arms were a solid weight around you, pulling you tight to his chest, encompassing you in a way that screamed ‘home’, and had the backs of your eyes burning. You returned the hug, holding him close while you could before pulling back, avoiding his gaze as you took a step away, your body singing from the close contact with him.
You were so fucked.
The rest of the night passed in a drunken blur as your body settled back into this known routine. You laughed and drank and played pool with your friends, always hyper aware of Bob on the periphery.
You hadn’t conversed with him outside of your conversation leading up to the hug, and when it was the wrong side of midnight he gently helped you into the Uber he called, making sure to grab your bag out of Natasha’s car before sliding into the other side.
The trip home was quiet, the air thick with something that you couldn’t name.
You’d followed him into the kitchen, sliding onto your barstool as he poured two glasses of water, sliding one across the counter to you. His face was a little flushed with alcohol, his normally perfect hair mussed in a way that made you want to run your fingers through it.
He took a large drink and met your gaze. There was a pause, the kind that used to be comfortable between you. Now it felt like a minefield.
He took a breath, “Listen, about before you left… about Leah-”
You shook your head before he could finish. “It’s fine, Bob.”
“It’s not,” he said quietly, resolute. “I keep saying sorry to you lately, and I know that’s not fixing anything, but I just-” He stopped, exhaling hard. “I’ve been a shitty friend. I hate that. I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me.”
You looked down at the drink in your hands, throat tight. “You didn’t mean to.”
“No, but I still did it,” he said. “And I keep doing it. And I don’t know how to make it right except-” He stopped himself before he said too much. Except by earning you back.
When you finally met his eyes, he looked raw, open in a way that made it impossible to stay angry. You sighed, the smallest bit of your guard slipping.
“It did hurt,” his jaw clenched and he nodded. “But I get it. I know you didn’t do it to hurt me."
You took another sip of your water. "Look, I had two weeks to…think about things. And we can just call it water under the bridge, okay? I missed you and want things to go back to how they were…before. Can we just try to do that?”
His shoulders eased a little, that quiet hopeful light returning to his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll try.”
You gave him a small smile, the first real one since you’d come home.
He’d take it.
For now, that was enough.
Even if every part of him wanted to tell you everything. That Leah was gone, that he’d meant it when he said you were the person who mattered most, that he finally understood what it felt like to lose you.
That he had definitely been in love with you for the better part of a decade, but was just too damn stupid to see what was right in front of him.
Instead, he just asked if you wanted some more water, and when you said yes, he smiled like maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t ruined everything after all.
_____
After that night, Bob started trying. Really trying.
You could see his regret for his actions, his desperation for normalcy, in a hundred small ways.
Your favorite coffee waiting on the counter before you woke up. The playlist he coordinated for your morning runs. The way he’d start cooking dinner before you got home every night, pretending it was “way easier to cook for two.”
He’d linger longer in conversation, laugh a little louder at your jokes, meet your eyes a little too long when you talked. It was the kind of attention that used to come so easily between you, but now it felt… deliberate. Careful. Like he was trying to prove something to you.
And it was killing you... again.
Because every thoughtful gesture, every quiet kindness, every soft look across the table chipped away at the fragile resolve you’d built in Houston. You’d gone there to remind yourself that your life could be bigger than this, that you could stand on your own without orbiting around Bob Floyd.
But now, he was right there again. Making it so damn hard to breathe.
You told yourself he was just being a good friend. Making amends. Feeling guilty about letting your secret slip to his girlfriend.
Because that’s what it had to be. It wasn’t fair to think otherwise, not when he was still in a relationship.
So you smiled. You thanked him. You laughed when he teased you, and tried to ignore the way your pulse jumped when he brushed past you in the kitchen, large hand on your waist as he gently moved you out of the way so he could get to the fridge. You told yourself to stop reading into it, stop hoping.
But then there were moments that broke your resolve.
Like when you came home late one night and found him asleep on the couch, a movie paused on the screen and your NASA sweatshirt balled up under his head like a pillow. A handwritten note left for you on the counter that dinner was in the fridge and instructions on how long to put it in the microwave. The small smiley face and heart finishing the letter off.
Or when he looked at you across the bar one Friday and smiled, soft, open, like he’d finally found his way home.
You kept telling yourself he was just being Bob. Kind, thoughtful, good to his core.
You kept telling yourself not to read into it.
You kept failing.
Because every laugh, every shared look across the ready room, every casual touch of his hand against your back when he leaned close to point something out, it all felt like more.
You’d lie awake some nights, staring at the ceiling, furious at yourself for hoping. For letting yourself imagine he might look at you the same way you looked at him. Because Leah was still in the picture, at least, as far as you knew. And the guilt over loving another woman's boyfriend only added to your anger.
So every time he showed up with your favorite takeout, or left a Post-it note on your desk that said something stupid like Don’t forget how amazing you are, the ache sharpened.
Because kindness from Bob Floyd always came from love, and as always, the love that he was giving wasn’t the kind you so desperately craved.
And he didn’t know that every time he tried to show you how much he cared, he was breaking your heart all over again.
______
The first thing Bob heard when he opened the door with an armful of groceries was the chime of a FaceTime call, coming from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The name of the caller lit up the screen and Bob’s heart leapt to his throat at the name: Johnson Space Center - Houston, TX.
The call cut off and he heard your muffled voice from your room where you had answered it from your phone.
He tried his best not to eavesdrop on your conversation, focusing instead on putting away the produce he had bought for tonight’s dinner.
You emerged from your room a few minutes later, shoulders tight, eyes rimmed red. You stopped dead when you saw him in the kitchen, fully expecting him to be at Leah’s. His heart broke at the rejection written on your face and he watched as you attempted to pull yourself together, to not allow him to see you break.
“You okay?” he spoke softly even if he already knew the answer. He left the question open ended, leaving it up to you to choose whether or not to fill him in.
You forced a nonchalant shrug, and stared at a spot on the countertop, not meeting his gaze.
“Guess I should’ve known I’m not what they’re looking for.”
His chest ached. You looked so small standing there, fighting to hold yourself together. He wanted to fix it, to make it right, to call up god damn NASA and tell them what a bunch of fucking idiots they had to be to not see your potential.
But all he could offer was the truth.
“They’re wrong,” he said firmly. “You’d have been perfect.”
You shook your head, but before you could argue his palms cupped your shoulders and he forced you to meet his gaze.
“They’re wrong, Fury. And just because you weren’t selected this time doesn’t mean it’s a ‘no forever’. It’s just not right now.”
You froze, the words and the conviction behind them hitting deeper than you wanted them to.
Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.
“And when the time is right? You’ll be ready. And you’ll show them just how fucking wrong they were for not seeing how incredible you were the first time.”
Something in your chest cracked at that, because you almost believed him.
______
Things with Bob got worse before they got better, though “better” wasn’t the right word anymore.
Bob kept finding new ways to show up for you. The car battery mysteriously replaced before you could even complain about it dying. The oil in your jeep changed. The boots that you’d been meaning to take to get fixed somehow magically appearing in the front hall, looking like new. Fresh flowers waiting for you on the counter at home because 'they reminded him of you'.
He’d act like it was nothing, brushing it off with that shy, easy grin of his.
“Just figured I’d take care of it while I was there.”
“You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“Don’t mention it.”
And you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because every time he did something kind, every time his voice went soft when he said your name, you felt that quiet, impossible hope claw its way back up your throat.
And then you’d see a text light up on his phone, and you knew who it was from, and the air would go out of your lungs.
So once again you attempted to build walls for your own sanity. Little ones at first. You stopped lingering in the kitchen after dinner, started volunteering for more late exercises, more simulator time. You told yourself it was good. You needed distance, discipline, control.
But Bob noticed.
He noticed the way you smiled without really looking at him again. The way you laughed with everyone else just a little louder, a little brighter, like you were trying to prove something. The way you always had somewhere to be.
One night he finally said it, quiet but steady.
“Did I… do something wrong again?”
You looked up from the report you were pretending to read, your pulse jumping at the uncertainty in his voice.
“No, Bob. You didn’t.”
He nodded, but the crease between his brows didn’t ease.
“You just feel… far away lately.”
You forced a small smile, soft but tired. “Sometimes things like that happen in friendships.”
He looked like you’d just punched him.
You couldn’t stand it, the guilt, the ache, so you stood and brushed past him toward the hallway, pretending not to see the hurt in his eyes.
Behind you, you heard him exhale, quiet and shaky.
And later that night, when you passed by the living room, you caught sight of him sitting on the couch. The lights off, a half-drunk beer in front of him, staring at nothing.
It was the first time you’d ever seen Bob Floyd look lost.
And it broke something in you that you’d worked so hard to keep whole.
After that night it was like Bob doubled down on his efforts. Like he was determined to rip down the walls you were frantically trying to build.
Bob was everywhere.
He’d wait for you after debriefs, walk you to your car, drop off your favorite snacks “just because.” He started remembering the little things again, the brand of protein bars you liked, the playlist you used to play before a mission, the fact that you hated when people talked during takeoff.
It was familiar. It was safe.
And it continued to hurt like hell.
So you laughed when he made jokes. You thanked him when he did something kind. You smiled and deflected, keeping your voice light even when your chest felt too tight.
You built the walls back up one polite sentence at a time.
And Bob...
Bob could feel every brick, and worked valiantly to rip each one back down.
He didn’t know what else to do. He thought he was showing you, really showing you, how much you meant to him. But every time he reached for you, you seemed to pull just a little further away.
He’d catch you watching him sometimes, quick glances that vanished the second he turned his head. The kind of look that made his heart race, even as doubt started to creep in around the edges.
Maybe he’d waited too long.
Maybe whatever you’d felt for him was gone.
He replayed every conversation, every time he’d seen your smile falter, every time you’d chosen distance over closeness. The thought that he might have missed his chance tore at him. Not because you didn't care, but because he'd unintentionally hurt you too deeply for you to ever let him back in.
His mind tortured him with all the ways he hadn't realized he'd hurt you during his relationship. But the one thing it kept coming back to was the night that you overheard him and Leah having sex, the forced nonchalance in your tone the following morning. The way you looked like you were just holding it together.
And he had thought you'd been upset about the noise.
He started second-guessing everything. Should he say something? Should he tell you that Leah was gone, that it had been over for more than a month, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since?
But then he’d see you laughing with Hangman or teasing Rooster, that same easy grin on your face, and the words would die in his throat.
You looked happy.
And Bob Floyd had never been good at taking something that wasn’t freely offered.
So he stayed quiet.
And he waited.
______
The ready room was nearly empty, just the hum of the air conditioner and the shuffle of papers. You were perched in one of the jump seats, half out of your flight suit, running through your checklist like it held the answers to life’s mysteries.
Bob hovered nearby, like he always did. He’d been watching you for days now. Watching as you smiled when you should’ve been upset, cracking jokes too quick, and acting fine when something about you screamed otherwise. He could tell you were getting to your breaking point with something… him most likely, he thought. And he wanted to be there to catch you in the fallout.
“Hey,” he said gently at first.
"Hey," you continued to scan the list in your lap.
"You alright?"
"Just peachy, Bob."
He ignored the sarcasm behind your words.
“It seems like you’ve been off lately.”
You didn’t look up from your checklist, even though he knew damn well it had been completed minutes ago.
“Just tired.”
“You’ve said that a lot.”
“Because it’s true,” you snapped a little too fast, eyes still glued to the page.
Bob shifted closer, frowning.
“It’s not just that. You’re different with me again.” His voice dropped, almost pleading, sick of this same old song and dance. “Did I do something?”
You sharply exhaled, flipping the clipboard shut.
“Bob, drop it.”
“No,” your gaze snapped to his at the finality in his tone. “You’re my best friend. You think I don’t notice when you’re pulling away from me… again? When you won’t even look at me when I’m trying so hard to make things normal? Tell me what’s going on.”
Your grip tightened on the clipboard.
“It’s nothing.”
His gaze burned into you as he took a step closer. The air seemed to tighten, shrinking the space between you until you could feel the heat of him.
“It’s not nothing,” he said, his voice low but sharp now, that rare edge cutting through the calm he usually clung to. “These past months have been killing me. So just…fucking tell me. Please,” he begged. “Whatever it is, I can take it.”
You froze. His words hit something buried, something you’d worked so hard to keep locked away. For a heartbeat, all you could hear was the rush of your own pulse. The silence between you was heavy, trembling with everything unsaid.
You’d spent months pretending, mastering the smile, the glance away, the practiced silence every time his name was mentioned. It was easier to lie, to carry the ache quietly, than to risk everything by speaking it aloud.
But now, with him standing there, eyes fierce, chest rising and falling like he’d been running, it was all too much. The weight of it cracked something open inside you.
“You want the truth?” Your voice came out sharp, brittle, almost a laugh but not quite.
“Yes!” His frustration boiled over, raw and desperate. “Please, Fury.”
And the dam finally broke.
You shoved to your feet, chest heaving as you threw the clipboard onto your chair and spun towards him.
“The truth is I can’t do this anymore, okay? I can’t sit here pretending everything is fine, holding myself together while I watch you with someone else. While you forget me and then treat me like I mean more to you than just a friend. I can’t fucking stand another night when you bring her home and then act like the only problem is the noise.”
The color drained from Bob’s face.
“I was never mad about the noise, Bob!” your laugh broke, jagged. “I’m mad because it’s you. Because I’ve been in love with you this whole fucking time, and every day I have to watch you give yourself to someone else, when all I want is to be that person! I have to watch you touch her and kiss her and laugh with her like it’s not fucking killing me. And I have to sit there and just be the best friend because I was a coward and didn’t tell you how I felt after the Uranium mission.”
Just as quickly as the fire had lit within you it sputtered out. The room went silent but for your ragged breathing. Bob just stared, stricken, like the floor had dropped out from under him.
You were shaking, staring at a spot on the floor as your voice dropped to a whisper.
“You wanted the truth? There it is.”
And before he could speak, you shoved past him and stormed out, the slam of the ready room door echoing in your wake.
______________________
Me, leaving y'all on that cliffhanger:
JK PLEASE DON'T KILL ME I PROMISE IT WILL GET BETTER!!
Summary: After years of friendship, reader finally decides it’s now or never to confess her feelings to Bob—only to have him appear at the Hard Deck, hand-in-hand with someone else.
author’s note: I hurt my own feelings writing this.
My computer died so I posted this from my phone- sorry if the formatting is weird.
warnings: ANGST, eventual smut, Reader’s call sign is Fury
Roost•er (ˈrüs-tər) verb: to wait too long to act and miss one’s opportunity; to hesitate at a critical moment
You always did have the worst timing. For being one of the best fighter pilots in the world, you think you’d be a bit more observant.
You had been friends with Robert Floyd for years, graduating from Top Gun in the same class and placing first overall. You worked like a well oiled machine, him in the backseat and you in the box, and you blew the rest of your class out of the water.
Spending that much time with someone led to a fast friendship forming. One that spanned the years following North Island. It followed you through late night patrols, deployments to separate continents, funerals for fallen comrades, and many a failed relationship on both sides.
Bob Floyd was your best friend, had been your best friend for years, and always would be your best friend. And you were totally content with that.
Until the day that he was selected to go on Maverick’s mission and you weren’t.
It hit you like a ton of bricks, timing absolutely impeccable, as Bob pulled away from giving you a shaky hug, tapping his flight helmet against yours in tradition and looking into your eyes.
It crashed over you like a tidal wave as you watched him climb into the backseat of a plane that was about to take off on what was, for all intents and purposes, a suicide mission.
It drowned you, pulling you under as the cockpit slid closed and he turned towards you, putting his hand up to the window and forcing a watery smile as he looked at you one last time.
You were madly, desperately, hopelessly in love with your best friend.
And there was a very real chance that this was going to be the last time you saw him alive.
You clenched your shaking hands and turned towards your own aircraft, saluting the groundcrew before ascending the ladder to the cockpit, settling in as you watched Dagger squad go through precheck.
“Spare 2, armed and ready,” your voice carried through the radio.
“Spare 1, armed and ready,” Hangman’s voice came through the comms and you took a deep breath as Payback, Phoenix, Rooster, and finally Maverick called in ready. Your gaze was locked onto Bob’s plane, eyes fixed on the white of his flight helmet as if you could project your thoughts directly into his mind just by looking hard enough.
Please, you thought, please come back to me safe.
You and Jake sat idle on the deck watching as each dagger was catapulted off the deck, taking to the sky and fading into the distance, taking part of you with them as they went.
When, miraculously, they had all come back safely at the end of the day, you swore you wouldn’t let another day go by without letting Bob know how you felt.
You always were the best at lying to yourself.
There was always a justification for holding off.
That night on the aircraft carrier was madness, the party that took place among the crew not at all according to regulation but epic nonetheless. Music was blasting through the mess, smuggled alcohol was being purposefully overlooked by the MPs, and the Dagger Squad was in rare form.
Bob was flushed with excitement, his grin hadn’t stopped since pulling Rooster into an embrace after their dramatic landing on the deck.
You had smiled at the absolute joy on his face as he looked around and took in their complete squad, a day full of miracles leaving him breathless with wonder and gratitude.
His gaze had caught yours from across the mess and he wildly gestured you over. You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across your own face as he pulled you into a bonecrushing hug, pulling you back and shaking you a bit in excitement.
“Fury! Can you believe it!?”
You laughed alongside him and shook your head.
You really couldn’t believe that everything had worked out the way it did, but you were so incredibly thankful that Bob, and the team, were home safe.
The thought flickered through your mind then, about pulling him away and telling him about your newly discovered feelings, but you quickly shook your head against it. He was having so much fun, high on life, a bit drunk, and it wouldn’t be fair to deprive him of that.
No, you thought, there would be a better time.
———
You realized you probably should have told him before you agreed to sign a lease with him.
Against all odds, the higherups had decided to keep Dagger Squad on permanent station at Miramar. While the squad was happy to stay in each others orbit (training and executing a suicide mission will create lifelong friendships, who’d have known), most of them weren’t actually stationed in San Diego.
So followed the month from hell that saw the team packing their homes, shipping cars cross country, and figuring out housing for their new rotation.
You swore as you deleted another listing off your favorites list on Zillow rentals. Most of the pictures had been AI generated and the place was actually a dump. Not to mention $200 a month above your price range, and an hour away from base with traffic.
Bob had graciously allowed you to crash in the sparsely furnished spare room at his townhome. He had somehow finagled his way into the real estate deal of the century and you were extremely jealous as you drove back to his perfect little home.
You kicked the door shut behind you, dropping your keys on the entranceway table and toeing off your sandals.
“Honey, I’m home!”
You called out and were met with a laugh coming from the kitchen.
“In the kitchen, darling!”
You bit back a smile at Bob’s high pitched imitation and slid onto one of the barstools, watching as Bob spread condiments across a few slices of bread.
“How’d the showing go?”
“Oh great,” you smiled as he placed a Diet Coke in front of you and took a sip, heart skipping at the gesture. “It will just be me and me 20 roommates. Only down side is they’re rats and the place was a freakin pit.”
Bob sighed, finishing up the sandwiches in front of him and placing one in front of where you sat on the bar. Your eyebrows flicked up in surprise and you nodded your thanks.
“Anyone tell you that you’re the best?”
He blushed and turned back to his sandwich.
“That bad, huh?”
You sighed through your bite, swallowing and letting out a little moan at how freakin good the sandwich was.
“Worse than you can imagine. It was also way over my budget. I don’t know how anyone lives in this stupid state. Everything is so god damn expensive.”
Bob hummed and took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly as if mulling something over.
“You know,” he swallowed, “You could always just stay here.”
You sucked in a breath and stared at him, eyes wide. He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
“It’s just- it would be nice to split the rent, and most of your stuff is here already. That spare room wasn’t going to be used for anything anyway. Just thought it might make sense, is all.”
It was on the tip of your tongue to softly let him down. It wasn’t fair to the man to have a roommate that was secretly in love with him afterall.
As if he sensed your denial, he shrugged and turned back to his sandwich.
“Just think about it is all. You’re my best friend and we’ve lived together before, I think it’d be easy to pick it back up. But you don’t have to say yes if you want to live somewhere else.”
As it turned out, you were never all that good at saying ‘no’ to Bob Floyd.
———
You hadn’t really accumulated a lot of stuff during your time in the Navy, so your official ‘move’ into Bob’s spare room consisted of Phoenix, Rooster, and Hangman inviting themselves over to ‘help’ move the 6 sad boxes, a dresser, and 1 ikea bookshelf from the UHaul to your room. Helping, of course, consisted of downing the beers they brought over and yelling ‘pivot’ at each other as the guys struggled to get the bookcase up the stairs to your room.
You and Nat were unpacking your boxes, hanging clothes on hangers and organizing the closet as the boys continued to struggle with the stairs.
“Aren’t most of them like, actual engineers? You’d think they’d have figured this out by now,” you joked and Natasha laughed, folding clothes into the dresser at your direction.
“Just cuz they’re engineers doesn’t mean that they’re actually smart, Fury.”
“Touche.”
“So,” Nat changed course, “how are you feeling about living with Bob again?”
You shrugged, a play at nonchelance as you focused on smoothing out one of your shirts, keeping your hands busy and your eyes away from the extremely perceptive pilot in front of you.
“Good, we roomed together back at LeMorre a few years ago so shouldn’t be anything too different. Just gotta remember to clean the lint trap when I do laundry or Bob might actually evict me this time.”
You could feel her gaze boring into you and you reached for another shirt to keep yourself distracted, feeling a tendril of sweat roll down the back of your neck.
“Yeah, the only difference is you didn’t realize you were in love with him back then.”
The flimsy Homegoods hanger snapped in your hands at her words.
Reallllll smooth.
Your gaze narrowed on her knowing one and you opened your mouth in rebuttal but she held up a hand to stop you.
“Save it, I’m not an idiot, dude. I do, in fact, have eyeballs, and it’s plain as day that you’re head over heels for him.”
“Would you keep your voice down,” you hissed at her, lunging like an animal towards the door and slamming it shut so nobody would hear. You turned back to her in indignation.
“I’m not… it’s not like…” you trailed off at her unimpressed look as the fight left your body all at once, and you sunk down to the floor. You flopped dramatically on your back and scrubbed your hands over your face.
“Ugh, you’re the worst,” she snorted at your dramatics and continued placing your clothes onto hangers, cool as a cucumber.
“Was it during the mission?”
You let out a squeak from behind where you were still hiding your face with your hands and nodded your head.
“Hey,” she pulled your hands away from your face. “Why haven’t you told him?”
You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself up on your elbows.
“Oh I don’t know, Nat, maybe because he has been my best friend for over a decade and has never once shown any romantic interest towards me. Not to mention the fact that we now live together so I would be homeless if things were to go tits up!”
“Oh my god, you are so dramatic - you’d never be homeless you’d come stay with us. That just sounds like an excuse to me.”
“That’s because it is, but I don’t appreciate you calling me out on my bullshit like that! So rude.”
She laughed and shook her head. A knock came from the door before it swung open.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything steamy in here, ladies, but if I am, don’t stop on my account.”
You threw the broken hanger at Jake Seresin’s head.
———
Living with Bob was wonderful torture.
You picked up right where you left off, easily falling back into the groove of living in each other’s space. It happened too easily and your traitorous heart screamed that it just showed how effortless it would be to be with him, romantically.
You found yourself on the cusp of blurting out your feelings to him on a few separate occasions, just barely biting back the words before they could spill from your lips.
The one day where your simulation had gone catastrophically wrong, leaving you to be absolutely reamed out by Cyclone, had Bob cooking you an entire feast, plying you with wine and reminiscing about all his most embarrassing stories just to get a smile out of you.
You’d been loose with alcohol, curled onto the couch and drowning in one of his sweatshirts that you’d nabbed from the laundry. Your body had filled with warmth as you watched him animatedly tell you about the time where he and his cousin had played hooky, and ended up trapped on a ride at the local amusement park. When his mother had turned on the news she’d received the shock of her life to see the both of them being helped out of a roller coaster car by the local fire department.
You couldn’t help but smile at the amusement on his face, watching as his eyes lit up with laughter at the story. His hand pushed his glasses back up his nose as they slid down, and everything in you screamed to reach over and plant your lips against his.
You’d beaten back those thoughts with a stick.
He’d have blamed it on the wine if you said or did anything that night.
You’d woken up late one morning, swearing at the fact that your alarm hadn’t gone off. Glaring at your phone you unlocked it only to find the calculator app up, a glaring 0630 staring back at you from the equations bar.
A knock at your door had you scrambling out of bed and you called for him to open the door.
“I tried to let you sleep as long as possible. Your flight suit is washed and on the kitchen table. Coffee is in a to go mug and I made a few breakfast tacos for you to have on the drive to base. Can you be ready in 10?”
You stared at him in awe, one foot frozen in a pair of regulation pants as you balanced on one foot. It would have been so easy to tell him then.
“Bob Floyd, I am in love with you.”
But you bit back the words again, swearing your undying loyalty to him as you scrambled to get ready.
Running late and scrambling to get out the door so you both wouldn’t be late for work definitely wasn’t the time to confess your actual love for the man.
So you waited.
You continued to have movie nights in, your feet in his lap, the both of you red with laughter as you binged old comedies. He had his nights out and you had yours. Girls nights with Nat and nights out with the squad.
Bob came home late every now and again and you assumed he had been out with Rooster or Hangman.
You waited and waited.
Nat pushed you to come clean, tired about hearing all about how her backseater’s eyes were so blue, or how he was so funny. She was definitely tired about hearing you theorize what he’d be like in bed, gagging and shutting your train of thought down as she punched you in the arm.
But no matter how much she pushed you just couldn’t do it.
Because the truth was you were so, incredibly, scared.
The thought of flying into enemy territory, easy peasy.
The thought of telling your best friend that you were in love with him and maybe wanted to have his metaphorical babies one day? Fucking terrifying.
You were a coward, thru and thru, and your cowardice was finally going to come around and bite you in the ass.
———
It was a night at the Hard Deck just like any other. Same old song and dance - Hangman and Phoenix running the pool table, the rest of the guys taking over the dart board, and you and Bob sat at the bar chatting as usual.
You watched with what must have been a lovesick smile as he animatedly told you a story from training the day before and something settled deep in your gut.
You tried to shake the obvious look from your face as he looked down to his phone with a smile and decided that you’d had enough of waiting - it was time to man up (figuratively speaking) and tell him how you were feeling.
If he didn’t feel the same then you would deal with that when it happened.
You took a deep breath and turned towards him fully, willing yourself to meet his gaze.
“I have something I need to tell you,” he nodded his head and let a big smile cross his face.
“Me too!” he looked down at his phone before back up at you, excitement clear in his gaze.
Your heart skipped a beat, surely there was no way… this wasn’t a movie and things like that didn’t happen in real life, but still… the way that he looked at you with that smile he couldn’t tamper down made your pulse beat faster.
You gave him a shaky smile and nodded, watching as he practically bounced on his toes in excitement.
“You go first,” you couldn’t resist one more delay, it would give you an additional minute to get your nerves up.
As if those words were a dam that broke his restraint he blurted out the words that changed everything.
“I have a girlfriend!”
———
Part 2
author’s note: *runs and hides* I’m SORRY! It’s going to get worse before it gets better but I promise it will get better (eventually)
Summary : Despite how much he irritates you, when Jake loses his father’s watch, you go to the moon and back to bring it back to him.
Pairing : Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️ :)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so sorry for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading !💞
Word count : 5.5k
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“Lightning watch out !”
You barely had time to register that Javy was screaming your call sign before a ball came crushing down next to you, sending sand flying everywhere on your opened book and sticky, lathered in sunscreen, skin.
Beautiful colors of pink and violet were painting the sky, the sun beginning his descent towards the western aerosphere. It had shined brightly throughout the entirety of the squad’s monthly beach day, bathing your skin in warmth and golden light.
“For fuck’s sake, Javy ! You guys can shoot down a target from two hundred feet while flying at Mach one but you can’t aim a volleyball for shit !” You snapped, dusting the thousands of grains of sands from your book and towel.
Next to you Natasha was hiding a laugh behind her own book.
Pointing a finger at her, you warned, “don’t you dare laugh at me, Nat.” You got up to brush off more sand off your legs, “that’s why I hate going to the beach with them, there’s nothing less relaxing on this earth,” you mumbled out, a frown making the lines on your forehead prominent.
“My bad, Lightning !” Jake called out, his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound, though his tone was very much not apologetic, and the smirk stretching his lips only fueled the irritation simmering under your skin.
Glaring at him, you debated for a second on yelling back a piece of your mind, indulge into this game he seemed to initiate anytime he could. Riling you up, provoking you and then simply grinning like an idiot when you eventually ended up taking the bait.
But for once, you decided to be the bigger person. So you settled on raising your middle finger high enough that he could very much identify what lovely sign you were throwing his way.
“I love you too, darlin’ !” He yelled back.
You rolled your eyes so hard you feared for a moment that they’d get permanently stuck.
“Careful, you’re blushing,” Natasha snickered, still lying next to you.
Scoffing you flipped her off as well, “which side are you on ?”
“The side of love, darlin’.” She smiled in a perfect imitation of Jake’s Texan drawl.
You couldn’t have contained the laugh that broke out of you even if you tried, “shit, you actually sound just like him.”
“I know,” she cooed, obviously proud of her trick, “is it turning you on ?” She inquired, wiggling her eyebrows at you.
A shocked laugh escaped you, “Geez Nat—“
“OH MY GOD WHAT TIME IS IT ?” Javy’s sudden gasp made you both jump as he came running towards you, where all of the squad’s stuff was and he started abruptly digging through his bag.
“It’s seven.” Bob supplied after a quick look to his watch.
“I was supposed to meet my mom for dinner fifteen minutes ago,” he explained, panicked as he was hastily grabbing all his stuff and throwing it carelessly in his bag. “Jake, can you drive me ?”
Usually, you carpooled to avoid bringing everyone’s car and having to park too far away if the beach was busy that day.
“Let me think about it…” Jake walked over, deliberately slow, pretending to think it over.
Javy groaned, not in the mood to entertain his friend’s antics, “come on, man.”
Jake sped up a bit, raising his arms in mock defense, “alright, alright, don’t throw a fit mama’s boy. I’ll drive you.”
As he was gathering his own stuff, you suddenly saw him frown, and then frantically look around. Lifting his towel, emptying his bag only to pack it again, passing his hands in the sand in visible hope of stumbling upon something…
You were about to throw in a witty remark when you noticed something missing on his wrist.
His watch.
His father’s watch.
In its place was now a tanning line. A ribbon of whiter skin surrounded by his Californian and natural Texan tan.
It didn’t take a genius, nor being Jake’s best friend to know how precious that watch was to him, or to guess that it might have been one of the last few things left from his dad.
He wore it at all times. There weren’t much occasion you had seen him without it ever since you’d met him. It had stayed securely around his wrist all throughout Naval Academy, and then had stayed through every one of his deployment until he got permanently assigned in San Diego. During every flight, every mission, every exam even, every casual outing… You could always see the watch rest proudly on his cuff. Perhaps it was the only thing about him Jake didn’t feel the need to flex, a quiet legacy he carried around with him, feeling the weight of it in his every move, every decision.
The only times he ever took it off was during underwater training and at the beach if he went for a swim. Surely a watch like that was waterproof and even capable of descending a few feet deep, but the fact that Jake was unwilling to bring it with him in an environment it was specifically designed to survive in, was only another proof of its value to him.
He never talked about it. Never ever voiced the words ‘my dad’ out loud, but everyone knew. You knew.
Javy was ready to go, packed bag at his feet as he hastily threw in a t-shirt over his head, “Jake ? Are you good to go ?”
Jake froze for a moment. It was rare to see him display anything other than sheer haughtiness. And it weirdly tugged at your heartstrings to see him look so lost for an instant.
You were about to help him look for his watch — sure you hated him, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel empathy for him losing something so precious to him, when—
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He said a bit absentmindedly, his eyes still frantically looking around as he stuffed, slightly violently, all his stuff in his backpack.
He quickly got up, threw the bag over his shoulder as Javy was waving everyone goodbye and starting to make a run for Jake’s truck.
You watched Jake with a shock you hoped wasn’t too visible. Yes, he was the emotionally constipated type, never one to speak about feelings or do so much as even mention or acknowledge them, but surely when he was about to lose, perhaps forever, the one thing that probably meant more to him than the whole world, he would say something, express himself, let it out.
And you knew that if he’d speak up right now, the whole squad would stop everything and help him look for it. Javy would run right back on the warm sand and rampage through the entire beach if he had to.
Surely, he had to know that the squad wouldn’t see him as weak over getting a little panicked upon losing the one item he held so dearly in his heart ?
But you watched, stunned, and for some reason with a weight pressing down on your chest, as Jake looked one last time at the beach, eyes boring into the sand as if the distance would give him some perspective and help him spot the watch in a nanosecond.
“See you on Monday,” he threw to everyone over his shoulder, soundly halfhearted as he turned around and began to walk towards his truck, joining Javy.
The image stuck with you for some reason. it was like seeing him willingly abandon a piece of himself behind, and for what ? Just so he could hold on to his ‘feelings make you weak’ Hangman persona ?
If you had been closer to him, and in any place at all to call him out on this, you would have screamed at him. Yanked him back by the collar and prohibited anyone to leave this beach until the watch wasn’t back on its rightful place, on Jake’s wrist.
“I think I’m gonna head out as well,” Reuben spoke up, “does anyone want me to drop them home ?”
“Me please,” cheered Mickey, dusting some sands off his chest.
“Yes, please. Thanks Reuben,” Bob smiled, gathering his things.
“I’ll ride with Y/N, we’re gonna head back as well, right ?” Natasha turned to you.
If you had been able to say anything other than insults and provocative remarks, you would have reassured him.
If you had been able to consider yourself his friend, you would have helped him look for it.
“Y/N ?”
But you were capable of none nor were you any of those things.
And still—
“Actually I’m gonna stay a bit longer,” you blurted out without really thinking about it.
“You sure ?” Natasha questioned, skeptical.
“Yeah, the sunset is beautiful, it’s still warm and my book is getting really good, I’ll stay for a bit.” You assured, as if trying to convince yourself more than Natasha.
“Alright,” she conceded, still eyeing you a bit suspiciously, “be careful, you text me when you get home and don’t forget that Penny’s right next door if you have any problem,” she pointed to the Hard Deck which was facing the beach.
“Yes mom,” you chuckled as she playfully rolled her eyes at you.
As Reuben’s car drove away, you stood there for a moment. Watching the waves crash on the beach, the soothing sound of it blending with the distant echo of music coming from the Hard Deck. This beach wasn’t an especially popular one, and you marveled for a second at being the only person standing there.
Why had you stayed ?
You kinda had blurted it out without any real thoughts of what you would actually do once left alone.
Because you hadn’t stayed for the sunset or your book, in fact, the book was getting a bit boring if you were honest.
Jake’s expression when being met with the realization he’d lost his watch suddenly flashed into your mind and it made your heart clench. And perhaps it was what prompted you to start digging in the sand where his towel had previously been lying.
“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” you muttered to yourself while rummaging through the sand, the watch couldn’t be far… right ?
You didn’t even notice when the warm light of the sunset got subsided by the sharp, white one of the moon.
The spot where the squad had previously established its camp was empty. You didn’t find anything apart from a few seashells and a colony of small crabs that you had probably woken up from their slumber.
You probably should have gone home. The watch obviously wasn’t there. But then your gaze drifted out towards the ocean… the guys usually played volleyball closer to the water, perhaps Jake had lost the watch around there ?
The cold breeze coming from the ocean had started to pick up as you searched the grounds of what was previously the volleyball court.
And when you didn’t find anything there, you moved on to other parts of the beach, trying to remember and retrace the entirety of Jake’s steps during the day. Your knees were aching from being constantly on them, hands pruned from the wet sand you’d been digging up, nails completely darkened by the grains. Your phone was slowly dying, using all its battery to shine inside the holes you were digging up, desperate to see a flash of silver. And it was cold, so, so cold. The wind was getting stronger, making you clutch your hoodie tighter around yourself.
The moon had well settled into the sky now, an indicator of just how much time you’d spent there.
You had wanted to give up, oh so many times. But everytime you had wanted to get up and leave, an image of Jake’s face would flash back into your mind. The way he had looked back at the beach, like he was saying goodbye to his dad a second time. And every time, without fail, your brain had conjured images of him getting home, and calling his mom back in Texas, telling her about how he had lost the watch and the image was just too painful for you, enough to bring unwanted and in your opinion, unjustified, tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much.
Anyone could have argued you were being overly dramatic over a guy who you proclaimed your hatred towards from the rooftops. And you would have agreed. But you wouldn’t leave this beach until the watch was secured in your hands.
You were on your hands and knees, near shore where the water was gently lapping up at the sand, bringing new things and taking away some when—
“Y/N ! Is that you ?”
Penny’s voice from the front of the beach made you jumped.
“Jesus Christ, Penny !” You exclaimed, a hand over your racing heart, “you scared the shit out of me !”
Jogging up lightly to meet her, you saw her frown when she took in the state of you, her worried face illuminated by the Hard Deck’s sign.
“What are you doing out there, sweetheart ?” She asked softly, and you could perceive the same tone in her voice she’d use with Amelia sometimes, no doubt that her maternal instinct were kicking in, seeing you all alone, covered in sand and digging up holes in the dark.
“Oh I was— I lost my bracelet earlier, you know we had our beach day with the squad ? Yeah, so the bracelet means a lot to me and I— I couldn’t leave without it.”
You pestered Jake for being emotionally constipated but you couldn’t even admit to Penny, of all people, sweetest woman alive who’d never judge you, that you were doing this solely for him.
“I see,” she said, an empathetic smile pulling at her lips, “I’ll help you.”
“No don’t worry Penny, it’s alright, promise. I’m all good.”
Was there a sick part of you that wanted to be the one to find Jake’s watch ? Maybe, you would deny all of it thought.
“At least I’ll wait for you, I just closed the bar.”
“Don’t worry,” you repeated with the sweetest smile you could mutter out at the moment, “I won’t stay much longer anyway.”
“You sure ?”
“I am, thank you though that’s really nice of you.”
“Could you at least activate your location please ? And also text me when you get home, okay ?”
Saluting her you let out a chuckle, “I will, Penny. Promise.”
“Alright.” She conceded, bregrundly.
She knew this beach was safe, otherwise she would have never left you alone. You parted with a warm hug and watched her drive away, similar to how you’d watched your friends leave a few hours ago now… God, had it been really that much time ?
You were beginning to lose hope, Jake’s watch seemed to have truly vanished, and you tried to ignore the heavy feeling sitting on your chest that came along with this conclusion. Telling yourself to check towards the west side of the beach before leaving, though you knew it was useless, you couldn’t really recall Jake going there, you still crouched, and began to dig, again…
Phone flash blasting in the dark, the light reflected on something then…. Silver !
“Oh my god !”
You rubbed your eyes to make sure the sight in front of you was real and not the fatigue making you hallucinate. But it was real, the small silver circle was still there.
“Oh my god !” You exclaimed again in a laugh, immediately digging in.
And sure enough, the watch was there. Covered in sand, but there. You carefully inspected it for damage, but other than the general dirt, it seemed fine.
Turning the watch over, your eyes caught something. The initials of who you could only guess was his father were delicately engraved in the metal, G.S. Before you could even think about it, your thumb passed, almost tenderly over the gravure.
A small, disbelieving laugh escaped you again, and it was incredibly chocked up. You didn’t even notice you’d been tearing up until you felt something wet roll down your cheeks.
Quickly you wiped the tears off, a feeling of embarrassment creeping up your neck even though you were the sole person standing on this beach, moonlight illuminating your figure.
Forcing your emotions to settle down, it was only a watch for Christ’s Sake, you practically ran all the way back to your car. It felt as if your whole body was buzzing, and you couldn’t explain this weird feeling of excitement and… was it fulfillment ?
A genuine giddiness was coursing through your veins as you drove home, you couldn’t wait for Jake to have his watch again. See him settle, knowing his father’s legacy was in him, like it’s always been and always would be, but the physical representation of it, back on his wrist. The comforting weight of it bringing meaning to every one of his moves.
The excitement kept you awake once you were home, so you took the time to carefully clean the watch. You physically couldn’t give it back to him like that. And soon enough, once you were sure that there was not even the tiniest grain of sand left in any notches, only then, did sleep finally caught up to you.
The sun wasn’t even up yet when you made your way to base the next morning. You had decided that you would just leave the watch in his locker, he didn’t need to know who found it, and maybe he wouldn’t be too happy to see you holding his father’s watch, considering you hated each other…. Right ? At least that’s what you told yourself.
Arriving in front of his locker, you opened his numbered lock, honestly who was stupid enough to put in their birthday as a password ?
But then, anyone could argue that it was weird you knew his birthday, as someone who hated him so much.
Refusing to give this any more thought, you neatly placed the watch in his locker, on a little rag. You made sure one last time that it was perfectly clean, made sure it was not askew, made the sure the rag wasn’t wrinkled…. And for a moment it felt as if you were stalling.
“My god, I need to get a grip,” you mumbled to yourself, finally closing the locker door, a bit more forcefully than you had intended.
“I’m telling you, my mom is obsessed with getting me in a relationship !” Javy complained to Jake on their way to the locker room, “last night she just kept showing me pictures of her friends’ daughters and being like ‘you two would make an adorable couple’ like, oh my god, can’t a man go at his own pace ?”
Jake only hummed, not exactly in the mood to discuss Javy’s mom self proclaimed matrimonial agency.
Each of his step was heavy. Heavy with the lack of sleep and the mass pressing down on his chest. The missing weight on his wrist made him feel strangely stripped bare, like a piece of himself was missing, left where he had abandoned it on the beach the night before.
When Jake had gotten home after dropping Javy off, he had cursed himself. He couldn’t believe he had actually walked away, without even taking the time to look for the watch, no he had just left.
He had to refrain back tears when his mom had called him that night, asking him about his day, and he hadn’t had the courage to tell her what had happened, consumed by sorrow and shame. He felt pathetic. He spent that entire night sulking, thinking about how ashamed his father would be if he saw him like that. It felt like letting him down.
“Like she doesn’t get that I don’t want to settle down, I mean not yet anyway—“
“Yeah, tell her you want to keep bringing girls home from the Hard Deck every weekend for a little while longer, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear it.” Jake finally answered Javy’s rant, trying to give his remark its usual wit.
“You fucking jerk, you’re supposed to be on my side !” Javy whined, opening up his locker.
Jake was abort to retort something but the words died on the tip of his tongue when he opened his own locker.
He froze.
He was met with his watch. Neatly placed on a small rag, looking as new as the day he had received it from his dad, just a few days before losing his battle against cancer.
His heart skipped a beat in his chest. How ?
Jake stayed there for what felt like an eternity to him, but was only a few mere seconds, just staring at the watch. He could faintly hear Javy next to him still talking, now rambling about how his mother compared him to his cousin or whatever, but the sound of his voice was drawn out, an echo in Jake’s ears.
With shaky hands, he gently grabbed the watch and immediately turned it over, eyes fixed on his father’s initials that he traced with a tender pass of his thumb, and his heart clenched, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotion.
He had no idea how the watch had gotten there, and perhaps it should have worried him a bit more — whoever this was had cracked the impossible code of his locker for Goodness’s sake ! — but he chose to pay it no mind.
Now Jake wasn’t superstitious or a believer of any kind, far from it, actually. But in this moment, he chose to believe that whatever, whoever had found his watch and brought it back to him, had somehow been missioned by his father, who had probably been very upset about his son being so careless with the precious time teller.
Jake knew it was stupid, truly. His father, from the beyond, somehow orchestrating a whole plan to find the watch left on the beach and leave it in his locker on base, was a stupid theory. But the thought of it made a warmth spread out in his chest and his eyes sting slightly. So he decided that for once, he would let himself believe in a little stupidity.
This weird mix of euphoria and serenity hadn’t left him the entire week. He felt good, more confident now that the watch was back on his wrist. And he would sometimes just stare at it for a few moments, in amazement and incredible gratefulness for having been given a second chance, that’s how he saw it. And he would honor his father in every action he took while securely wearing the watch.
He had found a new vigor, a new desire to win, one that made him better, he thought. Though the squad would probably argue it just made him more insufferable.
So that’s with a pumped up step that Jake walked into the Hard Deck that week end, closely followed by everyone.
“Alright, what do you guys want ?” He cheered, still in an exceptionally good mood.
The squad all gave him their orders before going to find some seats, you merely grumbled a ‘nothing that comes from you’ and somehow, Jake understood it meant a virgin mojito.
He made his way to the bar, patiently waiting for Penny to finish off her conversation with a customer.
“Hey, sailor !” She greeted with a smile when she saw him, “what can I get you and the squad ?”
After he told her, she started to prepare the drinks on front of him, making small talk, asking about training, how life was on base when—
“Oh by the way,” she seemed to remember, momentarily stopping the making of your virgin mojito to look at Jake, “do you know if Y/N found her bracelet ?”
Jake frowned, confused.
“Um, I don’t know. I didn’t know she had lost a bracelet,” he said, head turning slightly to look for you in the crowd and he suddenly frowned more, looking back at Penny, “in fact, I didn’t even know she wore bracelets, her wrists are usually bare.”
“Oh, because I saw her last week, after your guy’s beach day. I closed the bar a little earlier than usual because it was pretty quiet, and she was there, digging in the sand, looking for her bracelet. I proposed to help her but she said she was fine. It was quite late though, so it really must have mean a lot to her, that’s why I was wondering if she’d found it. But I’ll ask her myself later then, thanks Jake.”
Penny’s words had the effect of a sledgehammer hitting Jake right in the chest. The realisation dawned on him and he froze for a moment, not sure what to do with the newfound piece of information.
“You okay ?” Penny asked him, his shock seemingly visible on his features.
Her voice got him out of his trance.
“Yeah, yeah I’m good, thank you for the drinks Penny, talk to you later !”
He made a beeline for the spot the squad had settled in, their usual one, next to one the pool tables. He absentmindedly handed the drinks to everyone, keeping your virgin mojito in his hands and making his way over to you. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that it was borderline painful. It seemed as though his vision had zeroed in on you, only you. Images of you on the beach at night, cold, alone, tired but still looking for his watch flashed into his mind and he felt a knot get caught up in his throat.
He barely heard the ‘thank you’s’ the squad threw him.
Leaning over some of the high tables near the windows, you were watching Mickey, Reuben and Bob engage in a heated game of pool.
“No Mickey it’s still my turn,” you watched with a smile as Reuben interjected his friend, “you sinked the cue ball so I get to shoot twice, gosh you’d think that you’d know the rules after playing literally every week end !”
You snorted, amused by their banter. And out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake walking towards you. Expression unreadable but his step visibly determined.
Arriving in front of you, he practically shoved the drink in your hand.
“I told you I didn’t want anything,” you said, monotonously, nonetheless still grabbing the glass.
Any excuse was good enough to start a fight with him.
You turned your gaze back to the pool game unfolding in front of you, but when the quick wit you were expecting from him never came, you turned back to him, frowning.
His jade green eyes were trained on you. Chest rising up quickly, like he’d ran a marathon before coming here. You didn’t think you had ever seen him so… moved.
“You good ?” You asked, letting your tone convey the tiniest bit of concern.
Jake took a shaky breath, “why didn’t you tell me ?”
The hand that was bringing the glass to your lips froze halfway through.
“Tell you what ?”
“My watch.” Was all he said, eyes still boring into yours, seemingly looking for answers you were absolutely not intent on giving.
Your eyes quickly flicked to the leather band sitting proudly on his wrist.
You had noticed it all week, how it was right back on shining on his cuff. How Jake had seemed to smile even more cockily than before, brighter. And you hadn’t been able to ignore the weird, warmth feeling spreading in your chest every-time you had caught him eyeing his wrist with a flash of pride and cherish.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, forcing yourself to keep an annoyed tone as your eyes flicked back up to meet his.
“There’s no use in lying, I know it was you.” He said, voice firm and steady despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to choke him up, “why ?”
You weren’t known to give up that easily.
“Jesus Seresin, I literally told you I have no idea what you’re talking about, go win at darts or something, leave me alone.”
Swallowing uncomfortably under his prying gaze, you silenced the tiny voice in your head that was telling you just how much similar to Jake you were in terms of showing feelings.
Facing your stubborn resolve in not telling him the truth, Jake let out a small, humorless laugh, “Y/N I just want to thank you properly, so please, for once, just let up.”
Let up. Stop fighting me for a second, was really what he was saying. And looking at him be willing to be honest and open for once did something to you.
“I did it because you looked all pathetic, okay ? And really, I didn’t want you sulking all day on base and mess up every training.” you finally conceded, tone annoyed despite the loud thumping of your heart in your chest, “besides it was just underneath where you had put down your towel, so really you could’ve found it if you had put a bit more effort into it. But I guess that it’s just another thing I’m better at than you, huh ?”
It was a complete lie. And both of you knew it.
Just the fact that you had been the only one to notice he had lost his watch told him everything he needed to know. And he knew from Penny that you had stayed well past midnight looking for it. To see you in front of him, knowing the length you had been to for him — despite what you were saying — made his heart do something inexplicable.
And Jake moved before he could think any more about it. He slightly bent down to wrap his arms around you, slipping under your own and hugging your middle, bringing you into his chest, chin resting on your shoulder, head touching yours.
All your muscles stiffened on instinct. The contact took you by surprise and you stayed frozen like that for a second, letting him hold you without reciprocating the touch.
He was warm, very warm. His arms were tightly wrapped around you, one draped across your shoulder blades and the other one across your waist. His body was firm against yours and for a moment, you almost thought you could feel the thumping of his heart against your chest. Your head was resting just shy of the crook of his neck, on his shoulder, and despite yourself, you caught a whiff of his smell, residue of jet fuel, his expensive cologne, the warmth of his skin and something so undeniably him it almost made your head spin.
“Thank you,” he whispered shakily, a small crack in his Hangman armor.
Those words and his tone felt like a detonator, hearing him sounding so small almost broke your heart. It only took a second after that for your arms to wrap around his neck. And as soon as your arms made contact, you felt his whole body relax and melt into you.
“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered back, rubbing his back comfortingly.
He seemed so small in this moment and it pulled at your heartstrings to know he was letting you be the one to seem him like that.
“You don’t know how much this means to me.” He murmured into your neck.
Oh, but you did. That was the whole reason you had done it.
It seemed as thought the entire bar had gone quiet, leaving only Jake and you, wrapped up in each other. You had no idea how long you stayed like that. But you certainly weren’t complaining, your arms tightening around him was met with the same intensity from Jake.
But the sudden sharp sound of a glass hitting the floor and shattering in pieces took you both out of the peaceful and comfort trance the embrace had took you both in. And you both found yourselves pulling away, reluctantly.
You noticed the slight pink hue dusting Jake’s cheeks, and his green eyes were bright, almost glassed over, shining with unshed tears.
God knew that if you had the courage you would take him into another embrace right here and then, and not let him go until the first rays of sunshine peaked through the windows, or realistically, probably until Penny kicked you out.
But unable to succumb to your deepest desire, no matter how much you wanted to, you instead fell back into your old ways.
“Try not to lose it again, cause I won’t get it for you next time.” You warned, though your tone was missing its usual bite.
You would.
You would do it all over a hundred times if needed.
Jake let out a laugh, a bit choked up, but a genuine one nonetheless.
“I promise.” He said in a smile as bright as a thousand suns.
And you had a scary realization then.
That in fact, there was not a lot you wouldn’t do to see him smile like that again.
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author's note : I have had this fic idea for literally forever and I’m so happy I finally got down to write it.
I really wanted to kinda ‘dig deep’ into Jake’s character here, I hope it worked and that I was able to do him justice. He’s my baby I love him so much.💞
Also quick question, are we sick of Jake and reader being rivals ? It’s like my favorite trope with Jake and the only one I really see fit with a character like him, and I have so many more ideas but they are all with rival reader and I don’t want it to feel redundant for you guys, so tell me what you think !
briefing: a quiet winter night brings two best friends a little closer when Rhett surprises you with a small Christmas gift that means more than either of you expected.
words: 3k
warnings: implications of broken homes, parental absence, overwork, mild emotional hurt/comfort, and soft pre-romantic tension between teens.
A/N: Merry early Christmas, here's a little story for you! Let me know what you think! The title came from when I was listening to Christmas music on Spotify, and Thistlehair the Christmas Bear by Alabama came on.
CIRCA 2011
The morning was cold enough that every breath came out white, but the hallway was already buzzing with the usual chaos—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices bouncing off the walls. You fell into step beside Rhett like always, the quiet of your own little rhythm in the middle of it all. Just two 15-year-old kids against the world. Neither of you had eaten much before school, and your stomach was hollow with hunger, though you barely noticed. You dug into your bag, pulled out a granola bar, and held it out with a small, tired smile.
“Want this?” you asked softly. “Breakfast wasn’t great.”
He took it with a shrug, tucking it into his pocket, and for a moment just watched you. You rubbed the back of your neck, then your eyes, dragging a hand down your cheek as if trying to shake off sleep. He noticed the dark circles, the tiny slump of your shoulders, but it didn’t seem serious—just the way you always were.
“You look tired,” he said quietly, leaning slightly so no one else would hear.
You waved a hand at him, brushing it off. “Long night at work. You know how it is.”
He nodded, because yeah, he knew you worked, but he didn’t think about how late, how often, how much. For Rhett, you were simply… competent, steady, always handling your own stuff. “A hard worker,” he thought, and left it at that.
By lunch, you were sitting in your usual corner of the cafeteria, backpacks on the floor, notebooks open, pencils twirling absentmindedly. You muttered small things that sounded ordinary, like background noise: “Can’t stay too late today—Mom’s on the night shift again.” Your voice was calm, almost casual, like you were commenting on the weather instead of a hard truth about your life.
Rhett glanced at you and nodded lightly. “Right,” he said, not wanting to make it awkward.
“Dad’s in Colorado for the month… I think?” you added, shrugging as you doodled in the margin.
“And I’m working the weekend—they needed someone,” you finished, eyes flicking up to him briefly with that tired, faint smile that somehow made everything okay.
Rhett filed it away the same way he filed all the things about you he didn’t fully understand: busy family, independent kid, quiet, self-sufficient. He didn’t dig deeper, didn’t push. He just let it sit there, like a small, unremarkable fact, because you didn’t ask for anything, and you never made it seem heavy.
He had no idea what it actually meant.
The steps outside the school were mostly empty, the winter air sharp against your cheeks. You and Rhett settled onto the top step, backpacks resting against the wall, hands tucked into sleeves, breath puffing out in little clouds that drifted and vanished into the cold evening. The hum of the street behind you felt distant, like a world apart from this quiet bubble where the two of you sat.
“Got anything fun planned for Christmas morning?” Rhett asked, kicking at a pebble with his sneaker. He sounded casual, joking even, but there was a small edge to his curiosity.
You shrugged, dragging your sleeve across your hand before you answered. “Probably work.”
He froze for a moment, a small stiffening of his shoulders. “What? On Christmas?”
You let your gaze drop to the tips of your shoes, voice quiet and even. “Mom’s working too. Dad’s still out of town. It’s whatever.”
Rhett opened his mouth, maybe to say something, but before anything came out you quickly added, almost as if to patch over the heaviness in your words: “Anyway—did you and Perry do your chore swap thing for the holidays?” You smiled faintly, shifting the topic as smoothly as you could.
He nodded slowly, letting it slide. It seemed… normal. Just a weird schedule thing, nothing more. You didn’t look sad, didn’t ask for sympathy, didn’t linger on it. He didn’t want to press.
Later that night, Rhett sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, wrapping a small, clumsy gift for Perry. The paper tore in places, his fingers fumbling with tape, but he didn’t care about that. He couldn’t stop thinking about your words.
And then it hit him.
The pieces fell into place like a puzzle he hadn’t realized he was missing: You, working almost every single day. Your mom, balancing two jobs, is always exhausted. Your dad, away for work again.
No holiday plans, no trips, no gifts mentioned at all. The way you never brought it up, never complained, never asked for anything.
He sank back against his bedframe, chest tightening, stomach sinking. The quiet weight of it all pressed down on him. He’d missed it. He’d never realized how much of this you carried alone. And now he did, and it made his stomach turn, a sick, helpless feeling that gnawed at him until he clenched his fists and swore he would fix it, somehow, before Christmas.
Rhett slumped against the fence outside the gift shop on Main Street, counting the coins and bills in his pocket again. Almost every cent he had saved was gone. Spent. He knew if he asked his parents for money, they’d start asking questions he didn’t want to answer—questions about why he needed it, how much, if it was for something frivolous. He couldn’t do that. Not for this.
So he made a plan. For the next couple of weeks, he would work. Snow shoveling, odd jobs, helping neighbors move hay bales, anything he could get paid for. Every coin went into the mental tally for the bear he already knew he needed to get you. The one he saw from the window at the gift shop. He imagined the bear sitting in your arms, soft thistle fur glinting faintly in the light, tiny marble eyes catching the glow of the room, the faint scent of honey on its stitched nose. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was… right. That it was exactly what you deserved.
One afternoon, after several days of extra work, he returned to the shop, wallet heavier now. He pointed at the bear in the window, heart thudding. He saw the price and realized he was still short. “Uh… could you hold this for me?” he asked, voice small.
The shopkeeper peered over his glasses. “I can hold it, sure… but just for a week. If you don’t come back by then, it goes back on the shelf.”
Rhett nodded quickly, cheeks warm. “Okay, thank you.” He walked away, stomach fluttering. One week. That wasn’t much time, but it was enough. He would make it enough.
The days crawled by, each one filled with shoveling, hauling, and odd jobs. He carried the thought of the bear with him constantly, sometimes tugging at the pocket where he kept the saved money, sometimes just imagining you holding it, eyes soft, shoulders relaxing into it.
Finally, a few days before Christmas, he had enough money. He rushed back to the shop, heart hammering—but when he reached the window, the bear was gone. His stomach sank.
“What happened?” he asked, voice tight, stressed.
The shopkeeper chuckled. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll grab it out from the back. I knew you’d come for it. And ain’t no one else looking for an old stuffed bear.”
Relief hit him like a punch in the chest. He grinned, practically bouncing on his toes, clutching the bear like it was the most precious thing in the world. Rhett excitedly paid for the bear and headed straight for his house.
Back in his room, he wrestled with the leftover wrapping paper. He wasn’t good at this, never had been, but he tried. He smoothed the paper over the bear, folding corners, taping edges, pulling it tight. When he stepped back, part of one foot of the bear poked out awkwardly. But to Rhett, it looked fine—he had done his best, and that was enough.
He tucked it aside on his desk for the night, brushing a hand over the soft fur one more time, breathing in the honey scent, and whispering, “She’s so worth it.”
Your phone buzzed in your pocket just as the last customer left the small shop, the bell above the door jingling faintly. It was Rhett, asking how work was going.
You: Off in ten.
You tapped your thumbs against the counter, then watched the screen light up again.
Rhett: Want me to walk you home?
You grinned despite your exhaustion and typed back.
You: If you want :)
He did want. Terribly.
By the time you slipped into your coat and scarf, Rhett was already there. Leaning against the brick wall beside the door, hood pulled over his head, shoulders stiff. He tried to look casual, relaxed, like he wasn’t about to hand over the most carefully saved-for thing in his life, but his foot tapped the sidewalk impatiently, rhythm uneven, betraying him.
Every few seconds, he shifted the bear under his arm, inside his jacket, smoothing the crumpled wrapping, biting his lip, panic flashing in his eyes. He told himself he looked calm, but the truth was obvious to anyone paying attention: he did not.
The door opened with a soft creak, and you stepped out into the cold, the crisp December air biting at your cheeks. You adjusted your beanie and scarf, and your boots made quiet scuffs against the frozen sidewalk. You looked exhausted—sleepy eyes, slumped shoulders—but then you spotted him.
Your lips curved into a small smile.
Instantly, his ears burned pink. He straightened up a fraction, trying to hide it behind the hood, but it didn’t help. Not at all.
“Hey,” he said, voice just a little too high, cracking in the tiniest way.
One of his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shaking slightly despite his best attempt to stay composed. Every few seconds, his other hand brushed the bear inside his jacket, as if checking it was still there, still safe, still yours.
You leaned on your bag for a moment, rubbing your hands together, shivering, but the smile stayed. Even through the cold, even through the long shifts and exhaustion, it was there—warm, quiet, and real. “Hi,” you said, genuinely happy to see Rhett after your long work day.
Rhett swallowed, throat tight, trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between the small brick wall where he’d been pacing and the tired, glowing presence in front of him.
Because he had this bear under his arm. And it was yours.
He shifted from foot to foot, the bear tucked under his arm, the crumpled wrapping paper pressing against his side. He tried to act casual, hands half in his pockets, hood pulled low, pretending the cold streetlight and snow-dusted sidewalk were normal and not making his chest race.
“Uh… so… here,” he muttered, sliding the bear out of his jacket and handing it toward you. “Merry Christmas. I guess.”
His voice cracked just slightly, and he immediately looked anywhere but your face—at the sidewalk, the corner of the shop, the dull glow of the streetlight—anything to avoid seeing your reaction.
You lifted the package, frowning a little at the bunched paper and crooked tape. “Rhett… what is this?”
“A… present,” he said, voice defensive but low, cheeks warm, heart hammering. He tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, tried to look nonchalant, but his fingers twitched nervously at the edge of the paper, smoothing the folds he knew were uneven.
You carefully pulled at the wrapping, and it practically fell apart in your hands, edges crumpling and tears running along the seams. Beneath it, the bear sat, soft and thistle-colored, its little fur shining faintly in the streetlight. Marbley bead eyes caught the glow, and even from this close, you could smell the faint scent of honey on its stitched nose. You ran your thumbs lightly over the fur, surprised by how soft it felt.
For a moment, your breath caught.
Everything hit you at once: nobody had given you a Christmas gift in years; he had chosen this just for you; he had saved up money for it; he had noticed things you thought no one saw.
“Oh… Rhett…” you murmured, voice breaking slightly, catching in your throat.
And that was when Rhett panicked.
Oh god… she hates it… she’s gonna think I pity her… what have I done—
He swallowed hard, bracing for your disappointment, for rejection, for the exact moment he feared would make him wish he’d never even picked it up.
He couldn’t look at you. He couldn’t risk it.
You didn’t hesitate. Before he could even brace himself, you stepped forward, one arm looping around his neck, the other clutching the bear tight against both of you. Your face pressed into his shoulder, hiding the small, trembling tears you hadn’t meant to let fall.
Rhett froze.
His chest tightened, heart hammering so loudly it almost drowned out the faint hum of the street. Lips parted, unsure whether to speak or stay still, arms momentarily frozen at his sides. He hadn’t expected this—not this.
Then, slowly, like he was testing the waters, his hands found your waist, wrapping around you gently, hesitant at first. Your tense body pressed into him, and the bear was squished snugly between you, soft and warm.
A shaky exhale left him, almost involuntary, and his chin brushed the edge of your beanie as he leaned just slightly forward.
“Hey… you okay?” he whispered, voice low, wary, searching.
You nodded into him, muffled sniffling vibrating against his shoulder. Tiny, faint noises of quiet crying, almost imperceptible, pressed against him. The bear’s soft fur and gentle honey scent filled the space between you, grounding him in the moment, anchoring the warmth and care he hadn’t expected to feel this strongly.
He held you tighter, heart hammering, arms unwilling to let go.
The snow crunched softly under your boots as you stepped away from the hug, still holding the bear close to your chest. Your cheeks were wet and, eyes still a little red from the tears, but the tight ache in your chest had softened, replaced by a quiet warmth that made the cold December air almost bearable.
“Ready to go?” Rhett asked, not wanting to rush the moment, but after realizing how exhausted you are, doesn't want to keep you out later than necessary.
You nod, wiping tears with your sleeve. You pull the bear to your face and hug it, pressing your face in its fur as you start your way home.
Rhett fell into step beside you, shoulders brushing lightly, just often enough to make your heart skip without either of you saying anything. Every so often, his eyes flicked down to the bear, then back to your face, trying not to let you see just how happy he was that you were holding it, that it mattered to you.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly, voice soft, careful, still a little shaky.
You gave a tiny, shy smile, adjusting your beanie a little lower on your head. “Yeah. Just… thank you,” you murmured, voice low, almost caught in the quiet night.
He cleared his throat, fidgeting with his hands for a moment, then did something he’d been silently rehearsing in his head: awkward, hesitant, but gentle. He slipped an arm around your shoulders. “Here—uh. Y-you’re cold,” he said, voice soft, eyes fixed on the snowy sidewalk ahead. Trying to make sure you aren’t hearing how loud his heart was beating in his ears.
You leaned into him immediately, almost instinctively, letting the warmth of his jacket and the gentle press of his arm seep into you. A small smile tugged at your lips, impossible to hide, though you fought it just a little, pretending for a moment that the ache of tiredness still lingered.
Rhett walked a little taller, head forward, biting back a grin that threatened to split his face in two. The glow in his chest spread slowly, quiet but unrelenting, as he stole glances at you without breaking stride, heart hammering in a rhythm that matched the crunch of snow under your feet.
The night was cold, the street quiet, but shoulder to shoulder, step by step, it felt like warmth was something you both carried between you.
Your street came into view, the small lamps casting pale circles of light on the snow-dusted pavement. You slowed, almost unconsciously, reluctant to leave the warmth of his side. Rhett mirrored you, shoulders close, one hand brushing against yours in the faintest way, hesitant to let go.
Finally, he did, though his fingers lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Your goodbye was soft, almost inaudible, a lingering warmth that wrapped around the cold air.
You hugged the bear to your chest like it was priceless—and then, almost without thinking, you leaned forward and hugged him again. Your arms pressed around him tighter, holding on longer than you probably should have, face buried in his jacket, needing the warmth and safety in that quiet night.
Rhett stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, then relaxed, holding you gently but securely around the waist, careful not to rush it. When you finally pulled away, breath fogging the cold air, he stepped back, eyes watching, making sure you made it safely to your door.
You turned briefly, giving a small wave, a smile that made the streetlamps feel brighter, before closing your front door behind you.
Rhett exhaled, watching your figure disappear inside. A hot cloud puffed into the crisp night air, chest rising and falling, heart thudding, cheeks still pink from the cold and everything that had happened.
Finally, he understood what everyone else at school had already known: he would give you the world if he could. And you’d take his hand if he ever reached for it.
Summary : A trip down memory lane brings you and Jake together as you both reminisce the tales of how you fell in love.
Pairing : Jake "Hangman" Seresin × Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️ :)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so apologies for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading, also I have no knowledge of the US navy or military, so sorry for any inaccuracies about that !💞
Word count : 11.8k
Part one :)
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Jake didn’t immediately drive home when he watched you close your door.
At first, he stayed. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just watching your door, excited to no avail to see it open in the morning to reveal your pretty face.
After a what felt like an infinity to him, he concluded that he didn’t want your neighbors to think he was a creep before both of you had even put words on your feelings.
Jake took the long way home, window opened, ocean air greeting his face and the sounds of the crashing waves making a poor attempt at soothing his racing heart.
Back at his place, it was clear to him that he wouldn’t get any sleep. He watched TV, reviewed his flight route sim for Monday, cleaned his apartment… twice. No matter what he did, his heart rate wouldn’t go down, nor the sweat slicking his palms no matter how many times he wiped them on his pants.
Jake didn’t consider himself to be a nervous kinda guy, by any means, but perhaps he had underestimated what the knowledge of the woman he’s been in love with for so long confessing to him in a few hours would do to him. It was a weird mix of excitement and sheer nerves. Had the course of your entire relationship truly changed in one night because of too many drinks you’d had ? Would the night and sobering up change your mind ?
By the time he had turned over these questions endlessly in his mind, he was taken out of his trance by the first rays of sunlight passing through the cracks of his poorly closed blinds. Without a second thought for these endless questions, he got ready to go back to your place.
Jake found himself standing in front of your door for the second time in the span of just a few hours. If earlier that night he’d been hopeful, excited and without any other words to describe it — love sick, the beating of his heart felt more hurtful than love struck now.
Swallowing felt difficult as he raised his hand to knock three times on your door.
The silence that followed somehow felt deafening. God, he should’ve known. You had changed your mind, probably sobered up and realized the mistakes you had made, you were avoiding him, playing dead, probably planning the papers to be transferred—
“Seresin,” your voice boomed, startling him out of his spiral as you opened your door in one swift movement, “you’re late.”
The relief upon seeing you was short lived, as a confused expression distorted his features.
“Late ? How am I late ? The sun’s barely up !” He countered, one arm pointing to the skyline where pretty shades of pink and yellow had began to illuminate the atmosphere.
“It’s actually been up for ten minutes, where has this military punctuality of yours gone ? I said first light, it’s the fourth one at least”
A scoff escaped him, and before any more futile arguing remarks could leave his mouth, he realized something. You were there. You had opened the door and not shooed him away yet. He barely could contain the small smile stretching his lips as he took what he hoped was a discreet, long look at you.
You had already closed shut your door behind you. You had changed clothes, which made Jake feel a bit stupid because his anxiety spiral didn’t even let him make the effort for you. Standing in front of him, arms crossed, looking at him with that frown that never seemed to leave the crease between your brows whenever you looked at him. The first and only time it did was just a few hours ago, he thought. But your usual cold and stern facade was betrayed by the pink hue blooming on your cheeks, a shade that reminded Jake of the one painting the sky above you. And that’s when it truly hit him. You had opened the door. You were there. Which could mean only one thing.
“Well, I’m here now,” he said, trying so hard to repress the giddy smile he could feel forming on his face.
“Yes you are.” You answered, an expression on your face that Jake couldn’t read.
“Is your head okay ?” He questioned a bit sheepishly, “I have ibuprofen in my car if you need.”
“I’m okay, thanks. I took one already, right when I woke up and realized the room was fucking spinning.”
Jake grimaced lightly.
“We can talk another time if you wa—“
“No.” You interrupted him firmly, “we are talking right now.”
Jake chuckled, raising his hands in mock defense. “Okay, okay, can I at least buy you something to drink and eat ? I know a nice place.”
“Is anything even opened right now ?” You asked, obviously dubious.
Jake couldn’t help but find funny the contrast of your behavior right now compared to just a few hours before with a little alcohol flowing in your veins. The stars had replaced the glowing sun of California when at this same place, right in front of your door, you had been ready to confess your love for him. And now you were acting like usual, meaning you were acting like his mere existence was a nuisance. To anyone, it would have looked like you had changed your mind and were ready to send him on his way. But to Jake, who never once missed a cue in your comportment, no matter how small or how imperceptible, it looked like an awkward attempt at keeping things the way they were — if only for a few minutes — before they inevitably changed forever. He had to admit, it was a strange feeling, to stand in front of one another, both aware of the words that you would exchange. And he couldn’t imagined how it felt for you, to have realized, and worse, outed the idea of your feelings when you were obviously not entirely in control of yourself. A control Jake knew you craved and found comfort in.
“Yes, it’s actually not too far from here.” When he saw your non-impressed look, he let out a chuckle, “come on, they even sell those French pastries you like,” he coaxed.
That seemed to do it, and somehow, Jake knew it would.
“Alright,” you conceded, “lead the way, Hangman.”
The drive was rather short. Jake wasn’t able to say if the silence filing the car was uncomfortable or just… charged.
Charged with every word left unsaid, that despite never having been spoken in the open, you both knew the extent of.
By the time Jake parked in front of the small coffee shop, the sun had settled in the eastern sky, casting a golden glow over San Diego. The early morning birds had begun to sing, it was a nice summer morning, Jake thought. It felt even nicer knowing what was to come.
“Ohh it’s cute,” you marveled, taking a look around the shop as you passed the threshold of the door, which Jake was holding open for you.
“I know, right ? And look right there.”
Your gaze followed his finger to the display of various pastries. It was like seeing your eyes light up, and Jake was unable to hide the huge grin stretching his lips at seeing you make a beeline towards the counter, admiring the sweet pastries from up close. He followed close behind you.
“See anything that catches your eye ?”
“Oh I sure I do.” You grinned.
A second after, a woman with a warm smile and kind eyes, came out of the kitchen in the back.
“Good morning, what can I get for you ?”
Jake turned to you, signaling you to go first.
“Hi,” you smiled, “can I get—“
A hot chocolate and a ‘pain au chocolat’, Jake guessed.
“A pain au chocolat and a hot chocolate, please.”
He did his best to hide his proud and fond smile.
“And for you, sir ?”
“Just a coffee, thank you.”
Jake paid for the two of you, promptly ignoring your protests. He led you to the backyard of the shop, where small tables were spread out around the yard. Trees and bushes were hiding it from the streets, giving it the intimate atmosphere Jake thought you would need to be comfortable. Adorned with flowers which colors seemed to come alive with the early morning greeting them, the yard was empty, except for the two of you, standing there.
“That’s really cute,” you remarked, looking around with a small smile on your face, “how did you even discover this place ?”
Jake led you to a small table, holding the trays with your drinks and food.
“Javy actually found it first,” he said, pulling up your chair, “occasionally we come here before or after training.”
“Ohh so you have little dates with Javy, I see,” you teased, sitting down, “what does that make me ? Your dirty mistress ?”
Jake let out a laugh as he sat down across from you, “I mean, you said it. Not me.”
“Our relationship isn’t off to a very great start,” you joked.
Jake’s heart skipped a beat right then and there, and he froze for a second.
“Relationship ?”
He cringed internally at how pathetically hopeful he sounded. But you didn’t seem to perceive his tone as expectant, only hearing slight surprise that your anxiety and nervousness totally misread in the moment. Panic flashed through your eyes as you rushed to explain yourself.
“I mean I thought that that’s what we were— you know because of yesterday ? I just— I mean I thought that was implied— but maybe I misunderstood—“
“No no, you’re good, that’s exactly what this is,” Jake interrupted your panic issued rambling, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible and not let show every bit of the giddy nervousness overwhelming his system.
You visibly couldn’t contain an exhale that perhaps you didn’t even know you were holding, and Jake could see your shoulders drop slightly out of relief. You let out a little embarrassed laugh that translated just how uneasy this whole situation felt.
“Sorry, this is a bit awkward,” you said, heat rushing to your cheeks at addressing implicitly the matter of this encounter between the two of you, “it’s just— I mean you know it’s weird, just like knowing we, um we both, you know.”
“Are in love with each other ?” Jake supplied, a small smile stretching the corner of his lips.
Your breath hitched on an inhale. The words seemed to hang between the two of you, freezing time if only for a second. And for a moment, Jake feared you would deny the word ‘love’, perhaps reduce it to ‘like’, diminish the affection you felt towards him, but—
“Yeah,” you only exhaled, a shy smile making its way onto your face and Jake physically felt himself relax, “so, where, um— where do we start ?”
“Well first I’d like to know how you realized after five mojitos that you were in love with me after spending the last few years hating me like you were paid to.” Jake said, teasing smirk firmly in place in hopes of hiding the way his heart was hammering against his rib cage.
Letting out a laugh you tore your gaze away from him, pointedly looking at the daffodils in bloom on your left, “yeah,” you admitted, stretching out the syllable, “that kinda came out of the blue, didn’t it ? That wasn’t exactly my plan to have it happen like that.”
“I can imagine.” Jake answered, smile reassuring as he tried to catch your eyes.
“I’ll be honest,” you said, straightening up and gaze returning back on him, as if regaining a bit of courage now that the words had finally passed the threshold of being spoken out loud, “I never, ever, not in my fucking wildest dreams, would have thought that I’d end up falling in love with you.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Jake laughed, “we didn’t really hit it off at first, and for the next years after that.”
“Oh my god,” you exclaimed in a laugh as if you remembered something, “do you remember when we met ?”
“I think the proper question would be if I could ever forget it.”
“I fucking hated you.”
“Feelings reciprocated, sweetheart,” Jake winked as you giggled.
It was a hot day in Pensacola, Florida. Which was pretty much the case of everyday in the Sunshine State.
You couldn’t contain the mix of excitement and nerves flowing through your veins as you passed the doors of the Naval Air Station. Today would be your first flight. You wouldn’t be solo, of course not, you’d be safely assisted by an instructor in your back seat, but still. After four grueling years at the Naval Academy and six month in Pensacola, you’d finally get your familiarization flight. It was putting you just a step closer to your dream, and what a step it was.
You had spent literal years visualizing and imagining this very day, and you were certain that nothing could ruin your day.
“Y/NNNN !” The loud shriek of your name startled you on your way to the locker room.
“Jesus Christ, Natasha !” you laughed, turning around to see her, “keep your voice down !”
She totally ignored you, jogging up next to you, falling into your step as you both made your way to your lockers.
“Okay but on a scale from one to ten, how fucking excited are you ?”
Hiding the huge smile stretching your face was impossible now.
“Twelve !” You squealed, putting all your stuff into your locker.
“God I can’t wait,” Natasha sighed, almost dreamily as she was putting her own stuff into her locker. “Did you see ? They sent us the list of our partners last night.”
“Oh did they ?”
While you would be flying with an instructor in the backseat, you would be flying in the same time slot as another student, navigating a small exercise together.
“Yeah, I’m with Kathy. I’m so relieved, I was scared to end up with Javy.” She exhaled as you were making your way to the briefing room.
You let out a laugh, Natasha and you had both met Javy during your first year at the Naval Academy and Natasha and him bickered and fought every time they could.
“Come on,” she laced her arm through yours, making you quicken your step, “they said the list would be hanged in the briefing room.”
You made a beeline for the list once you passed the threshold of the room, Natasha hot on your heels. Scanning the list with focused eyes, you searched for your name.
“I looked for your name last night, and you’re with a guy named um— what was it again… Jaden, I think ?”
“Jake.” You corrected when your gaze landed on your name next to a guy’s one.
“Yeah that’s it. He’s not in our class, I see him around sometimes. Guy’s southern and he has the biggest Texan accent I’ve ever heard, makes me crack up every time I hear him honestly,” Natasha chuckled behind you, before adding, “he’s super hot though.”
Turning around to face her, you raised an inquisitive brow.
“Objectively !” She defended herself, feeling exposed under your prying stare, “I’m just saying, if I liked men, I’d totally go for him.”
You couldn’t have hidden the surprise you felt at her words.
“He must really be something, then.”
“Oh trust me, he is.”
And Natasha was right, he was. But in the worst possible way.
He seemed charming enough when you went up to introduce yourself to him before the flight, when Natasha had pointed him out to you.
“Hey, I’m Y/N,” you said with a polite smile, extending a hand, “we’re flying together for the familiarisation flight.”
You had been doubtful of Natasha’s marvels about his looks. But you had to admit, he was hot. And hot wasn’t even cutting it. He looked like the type of man you fell in love with in dreams, a man so perfect it left your heart empty when you’d wake up knowing that no one even close to that man existed.
“Jake,” he said with a smile so charming it almost left you speechless for a second as his big hand slid into yours, his warmth immediately sipping into your skin.
And you felt your heart do something weird in your chest.
Ever since entering the Naval Academy and more so when entering the Naval Flight School, you had pretty much closed off every romantic relationship, choosing to focus on your career. And Jake was doing something very dangerous to your focus right now.
But his heavenly looks were quickly subdued by his godawful personality. And that was a harsh come back to reality.
“So this flight will consist of a small exercise, the one you’ve been training for on the sim. You’ll be in total control of the plane, we’re just in your backseats to make sure you don’t run us into the ground. Sounds good ?” Both yours and Jake’s instructors had explained in the ready room.
You had trained for this exercise probably harder than everyone else in your class, spending almost a hundred hours on that damn simulation to be sure to get it perfect for the big day. And from what Natasha had told you, Jake had been top of his class at the Academy and he had the highest sim scores out of every recruit on base.
Surely, this would be easy.
Take off went without any problem. And it felt surreal to finally have your hands on the center stick and know you were the one controlling the giant metal bird.
“Alright,” you heard your instructor’s voice behind you and echoing in your comms, “steady altitude, ceiling’s at ten thousand feet, start when you are ready.”
Making a turn right, you officially started the exercise. It was only a matter of placement, teamwork and height control. Nothing tricky or especially hard, nothing you hadn’t been training for.
Keeping a steady pace for the first part of the exercise, a quick look to your left made you frown. Jake’s plane was way too close to yours, more than what was necessary for a formation like that.
“T-6 one reporting to T-6 two” your voice crackled in the comms, “could you back up a little please ? You’re too close.”
“T-6 two reporting to T-6 one, I’m far away enough, staying in position.”
You — barely — contained a surprised and offended scoff. What the hell ?
What did he mean, ‘far away enough’, the guy was practically clipping your wing !
You expected your instructor or his to say something, tell him to actually back up, but they didn’t. You guess that as they had said, if none of you were in active danger of crashing, they wouldn’t intervene.
Swallowing back your pride, you said nothing else, just focused back on the exercise.
But it just got worse from there.
Jake was not even following the formation and exercise course anymore, deciding to show off and toe with the altitude ceiling.
“T-6 two to T-6 one, taking some altitude.” He said, not even a question, his voice sounding commanding.
Without a response from you, he took the initiative, plane rising up a few feet.
“T-6 one to T-6 two, abort, you’re too close to the ceiling.” You retorted, barely hiding your exasperation with his antics now.
“Not even a little, join me.”
The sheer audacity of that man was making your blood boil. You were about to cut his bullshit short when the voice of your instructor carried over from the backseat.
“You need to stick together, pull up.”
Your hand froze on the center stick for a second, what the fuck ?
“With all due respect sir, aren’t we supposed to steer clear of the ceiling ?”
“As long as you aren’t breaching it, it’s all good. Match his altitude.”
Reluctantly, you positioned your airplane next to his, keeping a reasonable and textbook distance from him.
Then out of nowhere, Jake sped up, leaving you behind and fuming under your helmet. What the fuck was this guy doing ?
“T-6 one to T-6 two, you are going too fast, slow down.” You called him out.
“You can never go too fast,” his voice crackled through the comms and somehow you could hear the self satisfied smirk in his voice and even though your eyes weren’t blessed to see it, you decided that this one definitely wasn’t as charming as the one he gave you earlier on the tarmac. “Match my pace.”
“No,” your answer was firm, you had already matched his altitude, and only because of your instructor, otherwise you would have given Jake a piece of your mind. And that was exactly what you were about to do. “You match my pace, end of discussion. I went to your altitude, so you go to my speed.”
Your authoritative tone was met with silence, one that left you squirming in your seat. For a moment, you feared that you’d get reprimanded by your instructor for being too harsh, or too commanding. But the scolding never came, only Jake’s voice resonated in your ears.
“Yes, ma’am,” was simply Jake’s answer, and you hated that you could still so clearly hear the smirk in his voice.
You felt yourself relax, maybe now you would be able to properly enjoy your first flight instead of worrying about his unpredictable next move. But perhaps had you been too quick to let down your guard.
Suddenly you were met with Jake’s radome, coming at full speed towards you. Your body, nor your mind even had the time to react, the only thing that registered was fear. Sheer and unfiltered fear that made your hands freeze on the center sticks. As quickly as he had turned around, Jake deviated, flying past you, almost clipping your right wing. His bird turned around you, closer than comfortable to the rear of your aircraft and finally ended up beside you.
It seemed as though time had frozen.
“Jesus Christ, Seresin !” You heard his instructor exclaim in an incredulous laugh and you wondered what there was to laugh about in this situation.
“That was an unnecessary maneuver, Seresin, very impressive but unnecessary.” Your instructor remarked through the comms and you were fuming over the praise.
Was no one going to firmly condemn his careless behavior ? If he had been one millimeter off, all four of you would be knees deep into the ground !
“Alright I think that’s enough for today, let’s go back to base.”
During the flight back to base, you felt stuck in that fight or flight feeling you got when you saw Jake’s plane coming right onto yours at full speed. Your knuckles were turning white on the center stick, and you did your best to hide your frantic breathing. Adrenaline was still pumping in your veins, your whole body trembling beneath your flight suit. Landing the plane proved to be a challenge, but your instructor seemed to notice none of it when he joyfully praised ‘beautiful landing, Y/N.’
When your boots hit the concrete floor, your instructor only threw you a ‘debrief in five !’ over his shoulder before he left you alone, standing next to your plane with trembling legs.
Behind you, you heard the heavy sound of someone jumping off their jet ladder, and when you turned around, your blood ran cold.
Jake was there. Helmet in hand, self satisfied smirk firmly in place after he had nearly killed you both. The fear left your body in the blink of an eye, only leaving fury boiling in your veins. You were already two meters away from him when you realized that your legs had taken you right up to him.
“Hey, what the fuck was that ?” Your outraged voice echoed against the wing of his plane.
He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, and his face contorted in a confused expression that only fueled the rage piling up in your throat.
“Hey, woah calm down.”
There couldn’t have been a worse possible choice of words for him in this instant.
“Calm down ? Calm down ?! You almost fucking killed us both !” You screamed, anger bursting out of you as you took another step towards him.
Jake seemed wildly unimpressed by the fury burning in your eyes, he only raised his brows at you.
“Well, are we dead ? No. So no need to come screaming about it in my face, sweetheart.” He scoffed, turning away from you and walking towards the hangar.
You thought for a second that your ears had deceived you. Who the fuck did he think he was ?
“Hey !” You walked after him, “I’m talking to you, do you realize how insane you fucking sound ? You almost—“
Suddenly he turned back around, and you almost bumped into him.
“No, do you realize how insane you sound ? Yelling at me about something that didn’t happen !” He snapped, “just because I pulled a maneuver that you can’t do doesn’t mean you have to nag my ear off about how it was ‘dangerous’ ! It wasn’t, because I know what I’m fucking doing.” He finished in a breath, his green eyes — that only an hour before you had found so enchanting — were boring straight into yours, and you didn’t like the flash of superiority you saw in them.
Natasha was right. He had a thick Texan drawl, and if you weren’t in such conditions you probably would have found it attractive.
“Oh my god, who the fuck do you even think you are ?” Your voice raised an octave from the sheer anger sizzling under your skin, an incredulous laugh left you, this situation couldn’t be real, “you don’t fucking know me !”
“Oh, I know enough. Do you know any fighter pilots who are afraid to approach the ceiling or go a little fast ?” He spat in your face.
“I’m not afraid I was just respecting the rules of the exercise and If you think playing with orders makes you better than me you’re a fucking idiot !”
That made him let out a humorless chuckle.
“I mean I don’t know. Didn’t hear any of the instructors complain, but I bet they’ll definitely have something to say about your landing.” He scoffed that last part out.
You didn’t think it was possible for your fury to reach new heights, but apparently every single word coming out of Jake’s mouth was making you discover new things about yourself.
“Jesus fucking Christ you are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, you fucking—“
“Hey what’s going on here ?” Your instructor’s voice resonated behind you.
Freezing, you felt your blood run cold for the nth time that day.
Turning around, you saw his brows furrowed. Clear disappointment on his face that made your heart sink into your stomach.
“What the hell is this screaming match ? We can hear you all the way to the debrief room !”
You half expected to hear Jake’s voice retort something to discredit you, but you were at least relieved to see he knew to shut it in front of a superior.
In front of both of your silence, your instructor’s voice raised again, “not much to say now, huh ? This is not the kind of behavior that flies high here, alright ? Both of you, grounded for a week. Maybe that’ll teach you something.”
“What ?” You heard yourself exclaim along with Jake.
“Sir, with all due respect—“ Jake started.
“I don’t want to hear it, you’re grounded. That’ll leave you some time to think about how a Naval Aviator must behave.”
Your eyes were strained on your boots. This felt so humiliating. And you knew exactly who to blame.
“Now get your asses to the debrief room.”
He turned around, boots angrily hitting the floor and Jake and you wasted no time to follow behind him.
“This is all your fault,” you heard him whisper accusatory next to you.
“Oh my God just shut the fuck up already.” You whispered in an exasperated exhale.
You didn’t think you had truly hated anyone, or even anything, for that matter. Sure, you disliked things. Disliked certain food, disliked the way certain people were too full of themselves, disliked rainy days… but you had never hated anything, especially anyone.
But you knew it then, you hated Jake Seresin. More than anything.
But it would be alright you thought. Jake wasn’t in your class, and after graduation you’d probably be sent on bases on opposite sides of the country. Or he would probably end up joining the Blue Angels, if he liked to play and do aerobatics for people to marvel at so much.
Either way, you’d never seen him again.
“Jesus, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, what an arrogant son of a bitch you were.” You snickered before taking a bite of your pastry.
Jake let out a laugh, slightly shaking his head, “I’ll have to agree with you on that one.”
You feigned to freeze, mouth hanging open around your pain au chocolat.
“Jake ? Is that… is that an acknowledgement of your past mistakes I hear ?” You wondered in a mock, overly amazed tone.
He playfully nudged your foot under the table as he rolled his eyes and you giggled, taking another bite of your sweet treat.
“That looks good.”
“It is.”
“Can I have a bite ?”
Truly, Jake didn’t expect anything when asking. You weren’t particularly fond of sharing your food. Especially if it was one of those French pastries you loved so much. And especially if sharing was with him.
But then Jake got hit back with the context of your meeting in such early lights of the morning. You loved him. Maybe that would make you more inclined to share. The thought had his chest filling with warmth and he hoped that the top of his ears weren’t reflecting the sudden fluster he felt.
You seemed to consider it, if only for a second, before your hand reached out with the pastry still in hand.
“Here.”
Refraining a grin, Jake made a move to grab the pastry but you swatted his hand away.
“Just bite it.”
Unable to contain it any longer, his lips stretched out in a delighted smile.
“Ohh bossy, I like it, sweetheart.”
Rolling your eyes, you were powerless to hide the pink hue blooming across your cheeks, “take the damn bite before I change my mind, Seresin.”
Jake leaned in, eyes boring into yours as his teeth sunk into the flakey treat. Warm and rich chocolate instantly filled his mouth.
“Mhm, damn that’s good.” He marveled in a mouthful.
“Of course it is, had you never tasted one ?”
He shook his head. Chewing, his eyes trailed down to your lips, and he wondered if he were to kiss you right now, if you’d taste like the chocolate you were eagerly biting off the pastry.
“You have a flake here,” your voice took him out of his reverie as you were pointing to the right side of your own mouth.
Purposely, Jake wiped the wrong side of his mouth and internally marveled at the rolling of your eyes.
“The other side, idiot.”
He leaned slightly over the table, “get it for me.”
“You are such a baby,” you muttered under your breath, nonetheless reaching out to gently wipe the flake off from the corner of his mouth, and he barely repressed the shiver running along his spine at your finger being so close to his lips. “There, take it.” You said, holding the crumb of pastry out to him.
Refraining a smirk, Jake leaned in, face coming impossibly closer with your held out finger. As delicately as someone like him was able to, his lips touched your skin, closing around the flake, tongue coming in to sweep it off your finger, barely grazing you. All the while his jade green eyes were locked onto yours, and he was able to see the whirlwind of surprise and fluster flash through your gaze. The pink hue on your cheeks took on a darker shade as it spread from your neck all the way to the tip of your ears.
“Thanks, darlin’.”
Jake could have sworn he saw your lips twitch, maybe debating on insulting him or maybe kissing him senseless, making up for lost time.
He prayed it was the second option.
You quickly retracted your hand, busying yourself with a sip of your hot chocolate, while Jake absolutely reveled in the obvious stir up of emotions he was causing in you.
Jake smirked before taking on a mock serious expression, “I mean, thinking about it, all of this could have easily been avoided if you had just matched my pace.”
Watching you realize the implication behind his words might have been the highlight of Jake’s year, an undignified scoff left you. “Fuck you, Jake.”
“We’ll eventually come to that, yes.”
Your eyes widened out before your foot kicked his shin under the table, “you are the worst, I hope you know that.”
He hummed, eyes raking appreciatively over your flustered form, “I do know, now why don’t you stop deflecting and tell me how you realized you loved me ?” He asked, casual smile firmly in place while trying to calm down the frantic beating of his heart against his chest.
Taking a deep breath, you put down your cup of hot chocolate and immediately your fingers went to play with crumbs from the pastry on your plate, looking for a distraction, your eyes followed the movement, not daring to face Jake’s intrusive stare.
You cleaned your throat before speaking, “um… a few months ago, maybe four or five months I don’t really remember, I had this talk with Bob and—“
“Bob ?” Jake interrupted, the ecstasy he felt upon you telling him about your feelings momentarily replaced by sheer confusion upon hearing the name of his teammate in such a context.
“Jake.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“I was talking with Bob at the Hard deck…”
Perched on your stool, you were sipping on your drink, eyes intensely trained on Jake from across the room.
He was leaning against the bar, flashing his dazzling smile at a pretty blonde that had been hanging on his arm ever since he’d set foot in the bar.
Nothing went unnoticed by your focused gaze on the pair.
Not the way the girl’s hand was brushing his forearm everytime he said something that made her laugh, not the occasional wink he’d throw after an overly flirtatious comment, and certainly not the proximity between the two that seemed to shrink with every passing minute they spent together.
To the untrained eye, it might have seemed like envy, desire, jealousy, even.
But you deemed evident that anyone who truly knew you would know that this was just pure resentment for Jake. You hated the way he talked, moved, behaved, breathe…
You just hated him. And perhaps what you hated above all was this mating parade he seemed to throw himself in every time the squad came to the Hard Deck. It’s like he couldn’t help but whore himself around for everyone to see, thinking that every woman on God’s green Earth wanted him.
“What are you doing ?” Bob’s joyful voice suddenly reached your ears, the sudden sound tearing you out of your trance.
“Jesus Christ, Bob !” You exclaimed, jolting and almost dropping half of your drink on your clothes, “where the fuck did you come from ?”
“I’ve been here for quite some time actually,” he smiled, somehow knowingly, at you. “What are you looking at ?” He asked again.
“Nothing,” you lied, “what were you doing just standing there ?”
“I was waiting for you to stop looking at Jake so we could talk.”
You froze, if only for a second, before forcing yourself to act normal.
Scoffing, you let out an undignified laugh, “Jake ? Do you hear yourself ? I wasn’t looking at him, i’d rather crash my plane and be left for dead before I even look at him a second longer than what the United States Navy requires me to do my job correctly. And even then I don’t even look in his direction, his whole existence makes me want to throw up.”
Bob watched your rant with raised eyebrows. “Wow, you must have had a lot on your mind.”
Yeah, perhaps that’d been too much.
Cringing a bit at your outburst, you cleared your throat, “yeah, it seems I did.”
Bob’s gaze turned to Jake, who was still eagerly talking with the blonde at the bar. And Bob hid a smirk when he made eye contact with Jake, the southern man’s eyes drifted towards you, checking to see if you were watching him. Bob saw the clear disappointment in his eyes when Jake noticed that you were too absorbed by swirling your straw into your drink, and he reluctantly directed his attention back to the woman flirtatiously gripping his forearm.
“Is it bothering you ?” Bob asked you in that calm voice of his.
“Is what bothering me ?”
“Jake flirting with that girl.”
Freezing for the second time in the span of three minutes, you looked back at your friend, wondering where the hell was this coming from, and why the fuck was your heart beating so hard against your rib cage.
“Why would that bother me ?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”
“I don’t give a shit what he does.” You tried to say as matter of factly as possible.
Bob hummed, “could’ve fooled me.”
You squinted your eyes at him, “is there something you wanna tell me, Bob ?”
He looked at you for a second, a warm smile on his lips as he seemed to carefully choose his next words.
“Can I ask you for some advice ? I have a friend who’s in a bit of a tricky situation, and I’d like to know what you think.”
A bit surprised by the turn of the conversation, you shrugged, “yeah, go ahead,” you agreed, sipping your drink and sneaking a glance toward Jake, one of his finger was twirling a strand of the girl’s hair and it physically made you want to throw up. He was disgusting.
“She likes this guy,” Bob started, making you tear your eyes away from the repulsive spectacle taking place in front of you, to look at him. “But I think she’s really in denial about it.”
You frowned, “in denial ? So how do you know she likes him if she doesn’t even know it herself ?”
He shrugged with a mischievous smile, “it’s obvious.”
“Hmm, and what’s the problem ?”
“I just don’t like to see her deny herself of something that could make her happy if she would just accept it.”
Your heart clenched at his words and a weird sense of longing filled your chest, almost unconsciously your gaze drifted to Jake again, and when your eyes met his for a brief second, you immediately looked away.
You cleared your throat, “why don’t you just talk to her about it ?”
“it’s just gonna make her clam up if I’m too upfront, I need to be more subtle than that. What do you think I should do ?”
Bob’s eyes were intensely trained on you, and you squirmed lightly under his prying gaze. It was as though his warm and sapphire eyes were stripping you bare, breaking down every one of the careful walls you’d spent years building up and you weren’t sure why the conversation was making you so uncomfortable.
“I mean,” you let out a sigh, taking a second to think it over, “I don’t really know. Maybe just have a conversation about life ?” You tried, “I know it sounds stupid but maybe talking about missed chances, how life is short and all that might make her realise something ? Act on her feelings ? I don’t know, Bob, sorry I’m not a huge help.” Chuckling, somehow sadly, you stirred up your drink with your straw, busying yourself by watching the liquid swirl in your glass.
“No, that’s great advice actually,” he smiled warmly at you, “I guess the guy she likes doesn’t really fit the idea she has of love, you know ? They haven’t always gotten along, so I guess she’s stuck with a vision of him that she refuses to let go of, and also even a version of herself.”
Your breath hitched without knowing why and Bob paused, his voice dropping to a soft and gentle tone.
“And I get her, you know ? It’s scary to challenge and let go of a belief you’ve had for a long time. But it’s a part of life, and I just hope that for herself, she’ll accept her feelings, and know that it doesn’t change who she is as a person.”
Feeling a weird and unexpected — even unwanted — wave of emotions crash over you, you swallowed difficultly. Bob’s words resonated so hard within you it felt like your inner world had shifted on its axis, and even though his wisdom wasn’t directed towards you, you felt so fully understood.
Instinctively, and without anything you could have done to stop it, your gaze searched for Jake in the crowd. He was still at the bar, but the tall blonde was gone. Sitting alone, he was lightly chatting with Penny whenever she came his way to fill up beers. He looked at ease, and your heart clenched at the sigh. The feeling of longing you felt earlier returned in full force, almost taking your breath away.
“Will you tell me if she finally realizes it ?” You asked Bob, eyes still trained on Jake.
Bob hummed, a hand coming up to your shoulder to squeeze it affectionately, “I have a feeling you’ll know.”
“So you’re telling me I owe our relationship to Bob ?” Jake asked incredulously and a tiny bit offended.
“Is that truly the only thing you got out of all this ?”
The side of his lips quirked up, “not at all, sweetheart. Absolutely loved how jealous you were. I’m happy to know it worked.”
Confusion slid his way onto your face, making a crinkle in between your brow apparent as you gazed at Jake, “happy to know what worked ?”
Jake reached out to tear a piece of your pain au chocolat, and was actually surprised you let him.
“You didn’t actually think I went home with every woman I talked to at the Hard Deck, did you ?” He said with a playful grin, throwing the piece of pastry in his mouth.
“I mean I don’t know, you are pretty damn convincing,” you muttered and Jake could hear the clear annoyance in your voice, and it only made him smile brighter.
He knew you were jealous every-time a girl came up to him at the Hard Deck, he could feel your eyes boring into the side of his head whenever he played into it. That was the only reason he did it.
“You know I never engaged with anyone, right ?” He asked, his voice dropping to a gentle tone.
“Do you seriously expect me to believe that ?”
God, he loved seeing you get riled up over him. Seeing you so blatantly show your desire towards him, even more so in a sense of possessiveness made him slightly feral if he were honest. It was the confirmation of every implicit sign you had unconsciously given him over time, the confirmation of every single fantasy he’s had, the confirmation of every ‘what if’s’. And finally having you talk about it in the open was a feeling like no other that Jake wouldn’t be able to describe, even with all the words in the English language.
“I just wanted to make you react,” he tilted his head in an attempt to catch your eyes, “I thought that maybe jealousy would make you realise something, and I mean… I was right.” He smirked teasingly.
You glared at him.
Jake straightened up a bit, “I haven’t really engaged with anyone ever since I fell in love with you.”
He found it surprising how easily the words were slipping away from him.
He saw you visibly tense up a little before speaking, “when did you fall in love with me ?”
He pretended to think for a second, if only in a poor attempt to not look completely head over heels for you, even though he was. Jake knew the exact moment he realized his heart beat to the rhythm of you, he could tell you what day it was, what time surely. The clothes you were wearing, what perfume you had put on, what song was playing in the background… and he would be able to recount it all in the most acute of details even in a hundred years if he were given the chance to.
“At Mav and Penny’s party when Mav moved in,” he finally said after a fake time of reflection.
Jake could see the exact moment the information registered into your brain. Your eyes widened, eyebrows raised and mouth hanging open in the most shell shocked expression he’d ever seen.
“Jesus Christ, Jake !” You exclaimed, “that was…” taking the time to think it over, the number you landed on only made you more astonished, “that was four years ago !”
Feeling the top of his ears redden slightly, he slowly nodded. “Yeah…”
You looked at him with an expression he couldn’t really decipher, shock, that’s for sure, but there was something else. Sadness…? Regret, maybe ?
“Why didn’t you tell me ?” You asked, in a bit of a breathless voice, “we could have had this conversation a long time ago.”
He shook his head with a small smile, “No, I don’t think we could have.” When he saw your offended expression, he was quick to explain himself, “I don’t think you would have been ready, I mean, shit I can’t believe I’m about to say that but Bob was right, you would have clammed up. Would have rejected me if I’d told you then, probably changed squadron to never see my face again. It wasn’t the right time.”
His response obviously surprised you, and he could see the faintest tremble in your fingers where you were cupping your hot chocolate.
“So… you just waited ?”
“I did.”
He saw you sucked in a breath, “why ?”
Jake stared at you for a moment.
The sun had well settled into the sky now, its rays coming down gently to bless your skin, making you look like a fallen angel who had taken the time to come down on earth and chose him, of all people, as a receptacle of all your attention. The sing song of the nearby birds only added to the feeling of serenity filing up Jake’s veins.
He’d always thought that he felt the most at ease in the air.
But perhaps all he needed was you.
Perhaps you expected a longer time of reflexion, but the answer came to him like en evidence, a quiet truth he’d been carrying for so long there was nothing much he could do to hold it back anymore.
“Because I love you.”
Time seemed to freeze for a moment.
“I love you and I knew this wasn’t the right time. I had hope maybe one day you’d feel the same way, you know ? and when I finally started to notice you did, I… I don’t know how to explain it, but it still wasn’t the right time. You were so focused on hating me that my feelings wouldn’t have changed a thing. You weren’t ready, so I waited.”
And he would have waited a million years if that’s what you had needed. He kept it to himself for now, thinking that perhaps it might be too early to be saying such things, but you were it for him, he waited because there was no one else he could ever fathom spend the rest of his life with. For four years, in his mind, it had always been you and him.
The expression on your face was unreadable, and for a second Jake feared that perhaps it’d been too much. And his heart dropped when he noticed the faint, glowing sheen of water in your eyes.
You let out a nervous laugh that was awfully watery, too much for his liking, “Jesus, Jake,” you looked up, obviously intent on trying to avoid any tear running down your cheeks, “who knew you were so romantic ?”
Jake absolutely melted at that. All he wanted was to smuggle you in the affection he had locked up during all these years, but he reigned it in, reminded himself to take it slow.
“Well now you know, and you’ll get to enjoy it plenty,” he said, eyebrows wiggling suggestively in hope of seeing a smile making its way back onto your face.
And it worked. The sound of your laugh blessed his ears, making his own lips stretch out.
“It was a nice night,” you said when your giggle died down.
“You remember it ?” Jake questioned in a hopeful tone, eager to know if perhaps that night had meant as much to you as it had meant to him.
“Yeah, it was nice to not be fighting for once.”
He let out a small snicker, “yeah… I think about that night often.”
“Tell me about it.”
Jake’s brow furrowed in confusion, through a smile remained on his face, “what for ? You just said you remember it.”
“So ? That’s when you fell in love with me, I had to tell you my story, so tell me yours.”
He lightly bit his lip, a poor attempt at refraining himself either from kissing you breathless or just pouring out more of his feelings into the open.
Clearing his throat, he took on an exaggerated storyteller’s voice, “on a nice and warm summer evening…”
Giggling, you leaned in, head resting on your open palms, avidly drinking him in along with his words.
“Goddamn is this thing heavy !” Mickey complained, voice strained with the effort of holding up his corner of the pool table.
“No shit,” Javy retorted, voice just as breathy.
“Did we really have to buy a fucking pool table as a gift ?” Reuben questioned while adjusting his grip.
“Why aren’t you helping ?” Bradley gritted out at Jake, who was right behind, simply watching the four of them struggling to get the large table through the door.
“I don’t know,” he smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, “you guys seem to be doing just fine.”
“Jesus Christ I’m gonna drop it,” Mickey groaned under his breath, “Penny !” He called out, “where do you want us to put this thing ?”
His question was only met with silence.
“Shit I can’t—“
He didn’t even finish his sentence that he let his corner of the table drop, landing with a loud thud. With Mickey’s abrupt abandon, all the boys dropped their own corner one by one, the table falling heavy on the ground.
Just a second after, Penny came rushing in.
“Hey ! Be careful of my floor ! It’s hard wood !”
“Oh so that’s when you decide to show up ?” Bradley groaned.
“Watch your mouth, Bradshaw,” she warned in a mock serious tone, index finger pointing directly at Bradley, “come on everyone, let’s get outside for drinks, we’ll take care of this later.” She beckoned.
Everyone followed after her, and just as Jake was about to pass the door’s threshold, he heard footsteps coming from downstairs. Turning around, he saw you.
The corner of his lips stretched out automatically.
If there was anything Jake loved as much as winning and flying, it was annoying you.
And you were easy to rile up, always jumped right into it. Sometimes, Jake thought that maybe you liked fighting with him just as much as he liked fighting with you.
“Lightning,” he called out.
Whereas a smile automatically made its way onto Jake’s face whenever he saw you, on your end, it seemed to be your eyes, rolling all the way to the back of your head that worked as a reflex whenever he set foot into your vision.
“What do you want ?” You huffed out, tone dripping with annoyance.
“A game of pool ?” He asked, picking up two cue sticks.
You let out a scoff, as if the idea was down right incongruous.
“What makes you believe I’d ever want to play with an arrogant jerk like you ?”
Jake shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face, “why not ? I thought you liked a challenge.”
You only glared at him for a moment before walking past him, making your way outside to join all the others.
But of course, Jake wasn’t gonna let you leave so easily.
“I mean I get you, I’d flee too if I were you. Really, there’s no shame in being scared to lose.”
Without even turning around, he heard your footsteps stop.
God, it was almost too easy.
There was no possible way Jake would have been able to council the absolute shit eating grin making its way onto his face as you backed up, facing him once again.
Your brows were furrowed in that ever lasting frown that seemed to never leave your face in his presence. But in your eyes was shining a twinkle of provocation. Jake and you fought everyday, in the air and on the ground, and you never let up an occasion to shut him up, much to his pleasure.
“Okay,” you conceded, “I’ll play with you. But darts, not pool.”
Smirking from ear to ear, it was physically impossible for him to smile bigger than that, but had it been possible, he would have.
You were good at darts. Better than good, you were great. Both of you knew that you wouldn’t be able to beat Jake at pool, so naturally you had picked something where you’d have a chance.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Shut up before I change my mind.”
Penny had an indoor electronic game of darts that the whole squad absolutely overused every time they came over.
Jake gathered all the darts, handing three of them to you.
“Ladies first,” he made a show of exaggeratedly letting you open the game, “we playing best of three ?”
Scoffing, you took the darts, “what ? You scared you’re gonna lose with just one round ?” You inquired, a teasing smile making its way onto your face.
Was Jake scared to lose ? Never. It thrilled him knowing someone could meet his skills and potentially challenge his never ending winning streak, though it was very unlikely.
But did he fear you’d run away outside after only one round of the game without even glancing twice his way ? Yeah.
The best of three was purely so he could spend more time with you.
“What do I get when I win ?” You asked, settling in front of the board.
“When you win ?” Jake laughed, “that’s a little presumptuous don’t you think, darlin’ ?”
“Look at you using big words, i’m surprised you know the definition. And I already told you to not call me darling.”
He had about a hundred and one witty remarks loaded and ready to go when the loud sound of the electric board reacting to the landing of your first throw cut him off.
Bullseyes.
You turned back to him, a satisfied smirk on your lips.
“As I was saying, what do I get when I win ?”
Your confidence and satisfaction over your abilities made his stomach flip. Gazing down at you, he hummed.
“Whatever you want, winner should get to choose their prize.”
Humming back, you threw your second dart.
The board cheered loudly. Bullseyes.
Shit, perhaps he had underestimated you.
Your third dart landed on the triple ring.
“What about you not talking to me for two weeks ?”
Jake simply raised his eyebrows at you, while pointedly ignoring the tug at his heartstrings.
“Jesus, do you hate me that much ?” He snickered, watching you gather back your darts as he got ready for his turn, hoping his tone came across as teasing disbelief and did not show any bit of the pitt he felt settling down in his stomach.
Turning back around to stand next to him, you didn’t dignify him with an answer.
“I want you to buy my drinks the next four times we are at the Hard Deck,” you simply said.
“I can do that,” he conceded, a genuine smile melting into his usual smirk.
Jake threw his three darts one after another, the projectiles all landing right in the center.
He suppressed a laugh as he heard you sigh in annoyance next to him, “thank you my dear Lightning for asking what I want if I win.” He cooed in an overly nice and touched voice, “Let’s see… I want you to be my wingman on every training for a month.”
That seemed to spark a new desire to win within you.
“Move over,” you mumbled.
Two triple ring and one double ring. Pursing your lips at your score, you let Jake take his turn.
“Okay what the fuck ?” You exclaimed after his first two throw landed on bullseyes. “You have to be cheating, there’s no way.”
“How exactly do you think I might be cheating, sweetheart ?”
“I don’t know yet, but trust that I will get to the bottom of this.”
His heart flipped when you didn’t even reprimanded him over the pet name.
“Okay, Sherlock. Call me when you have a lead.” He chuckled, throwing his last dart, which, obviously, landed on bullseyes.
You scoffed but Jake saw the hint of a smile pulling at your lips, and the warm feeling suddenly taking his whole body hostage felt familiar. He noticed it had been happening more and more around you lately.
“Tell me if you want any advice, you look like you might need some.” He teasingly told you as you got ready.
“For starters, you shutting up might help me so shush.”
“Ma’am, yes Ma’am.” He saluted you.
Jake saw you biting your lip in a vain attempt to repress a smile, “stop that,” you warned.
Two out of your three darts landed right in the middle, and he got this weird sensation of disappointment to know he hadn’t shook you enough to make you lose focus.
When he stepped up to get ready to throw, your hand lifted to cover up his eyes, not close enough to touch him, but close enough that he could feel the warm radiating off your skin.
He burst out laughing, “is that your way of checking I’m not cheating ?”
“Yes,” you replied in all seriousness, “now throw, I’d like to see you try to land a bullseyes like that.”
Gently, Jake grabbed your wrist and positioned your hand so it was now entirely covering his eyes, making direct contact with his skin.
You were so close to him now he could vaguely smell your shampoo, and Jake felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he refrained a shiver.
“That’s better,” he said in a breath.
“Just throw.”
Obediently, and not without feeling a strange flutter in his lower stomach, Jake threw his first dart.
The loud ringing of the board told him everything he needed to know.
“Oh come on you have to be fucking kidding me !” You protested while keeping your hand in front of his eyes.
A laugh bubbled out of him, “what can I say, darlin’ ? Greatness is not stopped by darkness.”
“Yeah right, okay wise man, did you get that quote from fucking Facebook ?” you chuckled and Jake followed along, “back up. I will get you to fail a throw.”
“I admire your life goals, Lightning.”
Your hand was still covering his eyes, and Jake was absolutely reeling from the closeness. He took two steps back and stopped. And he swore he could practically hear your eyebrows shot up.
“No no, cowboy, further back, come on.”
“Okay I feel like you’re the one who’s cheating now.”
You let out a giggle that made his heart skip a beat, “I will refrain from commenting these allegations for now.”
Jake’s cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling, but he found it be to a pleasurable ache, made better by the knowledge it was caused by you.
When he took another step back, his foot met the step that was very inconveniently placed in the middle of Penny’s living room.
It was a step that everybody cursed and that caused the literal downfall of a number of people. It was already too late for him when Jake realized it was there, and he felt himself stumble backwards.
“Oh my god, Jake !” Your panicked voice resonated in his ears as your hand finally left his eyes.
He landed hard on his butt with a loud thud.
The first thing he registered was your laugh. He squinted up at you, his eyes slowly getting readjusted to the light. You were doubled hover laughing, laughing so hard in fact that there was barely any sound coming out of you.
The pain Jake felt in his backside immediately dulled at the sight of you.
Pretending to frown, though it was very hard considering the smile that reached his ears, he looked up at you, “wow Lightning, I mean I knew you were vicious but to purposely hurt your opponent in order to win ? I really thought that was below you.”
Your eyes widened out through your laughter, “Seresin, you are not seriously accusing me of sabotage right now ?”
“Oh I very much am.”
Shoulders still shaking with the remains of your laughter, you lightly wiped the tears that had accumulated in your eyes.
And it hit Jake that rarely had he ever seen you like that. He had, of course, but always from afar.
He saw you joke with Natasha, affectionately banter with Bradley, laugh your ass off with Coyote… but never with him.
It did something to him right there and then, like his heart was soaring, similar to the feeling he got whenever he took off into the air.
And he decided he liked it.
“I’m sorry,” you said when the laughter died down a bit, “I didn’t mean to make you fall, I swear. I had forgot about this stupid step.” You explained, still smiling while you held out a hand to help him.
Jake made a show of looking between your hand and your face, which you playfully rolled your eyes at.
“I accept your apology,” he conceded teasingly, accepting your help and purposely letting you do all the work.
“Jesus Christ, you are heavy,” you groaned once you had finally gotten him back up.
Towering back over you, there was only a few inches between you now, and Jake noted how you didn’t immediately back away.
“That’s all muscle weight, darlin’.” He winked at you.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you retorted in a snicker but the red tip of your ears betrayed you. “Alright let’s finish this—“
“There you are ! What the fuck are you guys doing ? We’re about to eat,” Natasha exclaimed, bursting through the door.
Her booming voice made you both jump.
“We were playing darts, we’re almost finished.” Jake replied.
Natasha stared at the two of you, her eyes going from you to Jake.
“Playing ? As in playing together ?” She asked, visibly dubious.
“Yeah,” you answered, shrugging in a poor attempt to look casual.
“What even made you agree to play with him ?”
Jake witnessed the impact of her words on you. You took a step back from him, straightened back up and the smile made a prompt departure from your face.
You scoffed, not in the playful way you did only minutes prior, but more in the annoyed way, the way you usually did whenever you were near him.
“I don’t even know, guess I was bored.”
Natasha only nodded, “alright, come on outside now, both of you. Dinner’s ready.”
With only a brief look back towards him, eyes full of something Jake couldn’t decipher, you made your way outside.
He stayed inside for a moment, alone with the turmoil of feelings sitting heavy in his chest.
Jake considered himself to be an emotionally intelligent and aware man, so the answer came to him easily.
He was in love with you.
There was no hiding it, there was no denying it. The truth was simple and it settled quietly in his chest.
But he did chuckle to himself when he noticed the irony of the predicament he found himself in.
Of all the girls fawning over him, he had to fall for the one who despised him more than anything.
But it was okay, he thought, he could live with that. Sure, it’d hurt sometimes, but he could live with it.
Rubbing his face, he finally made his way outside and when he saw you laugh again with Natasha and Bradley, he realized that he’d be fine simply continuing to exist alongside you, no matter if you returned his feelings one day.
All he needed was you, whether you loved him back or not.
“Wow, you’re a great storyteller,” you marveled, visibly a bit choked up.
Jake only watched you for a second, eyes gently raking over your emotional form.
“Do you want the last piece ?” You suddenly asked, pointing to the last small chunk of pain au chocolat on your plate.
“I’m good, thank you, darlin’. Enjoy it,” he replied in a gentle and enamored voice.
He smiled over how your cheeks seemed to bloom over his tone, and you quickly ate the last piece.
“Do you want to go someplace else ?” Jake questioned, giving you an opportunity to compose yourself on the way.
And you eagerly grabbed the lifeline he threw you.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Getting up, you both made your way to leave, you leading the march. When suddenly you turned around, making Jake almost bumped into you.
“Wait,” you said, “I never actually said it.”
Jake didn’t even need to ask what you were talking about.
“It’s okay,” he reassured you, “you don’t have to.”
“I do.”
Your determination silenced him for a moment.
“I told you about that moment with Bob at the Hard deck,” you started to explain, your nervousness made evident by the quick flow of your words, “but that’s not when I actually understood. After that talk, I kept thinking and thinking… and Jesus, to think it took me this much time, gosh I sound stupid,— anyway, I truly realized it yesterday. I know you know that but I need to say it. When you were driving me home I was looking at you, and you had been so nice the whole evening and it felt so good and then in the car it just hit me, that I— I…”
You took in a deep breath.
“I love you, Jake.”
Jake never imagined that words could have such an impact on him. But those three little words alone almost made his knees buckled, and God knew all he asked was to be on his knees for you.
“Do you remember what you said you’d do when I finally tell you ?” You asked, eyes courageously boring into his, voice slightly breathless.
His breath hitched, lips quirking up.
Wordlessly, he leaned down and preened over seeing you meeting him halfway, lightly standing on your toes to avoid him bending down too much.
Finally, his lips met yours, in the most gentle of kisses. And it seemed as if tension left his body altogether at your contact.
Jake made a noise into your mouth, a mix of pure relief and desire for more. Instinctively, his hands came up to cup your face, deepening the kiss. Your lips moved together in a rhythm that felt strangely familiar, and Jake took it as a sign that you were simply meant to be.
Eventually, you both had to reluctantly pull apart, if only to catch your breath. Forehead against yours, thumbs rubbing your cheeks affectionately, Jake felt… fulfilled.
“I love you, Y/N.”
A giggle of pure giddiness escaped you and Jake couldn’t hold back from stealing another quick kiss from you.
“Do you want to go for a swim ?” You asked, smiling up at him, your arms coming up around his waist.
“We don’t have swimsuits.” He answered, the smile and love in his eyes never leaving as he gently brushed a strand of your hair back behind your ear.
“Does that really bother you ?”
Your smirk was downright mischievous and it made his stomach flip.
“Now that I think about it… not really, no.”
Laughing, you pecked him again. Grabbing his hand, you eagerly made your way out of the coffee shop, and to his car.
You both had the whole day ahead of you. Hell, Jake thought, you had the whole life ahead of you. And he couldn’t believe he finally got to share it with the one person he had dreamt about for the past four years. He watched you excitedly jump into this new chapter with him and it made his heart soar.
Yeah, it couldn’t really get much better than this.
Three weeks later, the squad burst through the Hard Deck doors like they owned the place, and at this point, some regulars were actually questioning if you guys owned shares in the bar.
“Alright,” Jake clapped his hands, “who’s up for pool ?”
“Geez can you give us a minute at least ? I don’t know, let us settle down,” Natasha complained.
“Yeah, hell no bro.” Mickey declined, “I’ve had enough of losing.”
“Same here,” Javy agreed.
“Don’t even bother asking me,” Bradley warned.
“Come on, Seresin, I’ll play with you.” You said, throwing a smirk his way that everyone interpreted as sheer arrogance.
“Gladly, sweetheart.”
On his way to the pool table, Jake clapped Bob on the shoulder, shooting him a bright, almost grateful smile.
Everyone felt deeply confused watching the two of you get ready to play.
“Am I fucking hallucinating ?” Reuben questioned.
“I think that time she got drunk permanently altered her brain and now she acts like his… friend ? That’s fucking weird.”
Bradley and Natasha eagerly nodded in agreement.
Bob was the only one harboring a small, knowing smile.
And the whole squad watched in awed disbelief….
As Jake let you win.
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Author’s note : okay this was never supposed to be this long😭 I feel like I genuinely talk too much, if that’s the case please let me know I’ll try to post shorter fics😭 I yap and yap and yap and all I do is yap😭
Also so sorry for how much time this took, I’ll definitely try to get back on a more regular posting schedule.
Hope you liked it as much as the first one, thanks again for your patience !💞💞
Here is everyone that asked to be tagged, I have also taken the liberty to tag people who asked for a part two but didn’t necessarily asked to be tagged, I hope that’s okay !! Thank you to all of you for the love you’ve shown the first part, I hope you’ll like this one just as much !!💞
Summary : After too many drinks at the Hard Deck, your emotions are running high and witnessing everyone reject Jake when all he wanted to do was play pool, was your last straw.
Pairing : Jake "Hangman" Seresin × Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️:)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so apologies for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading. Also I have never been drunk in my life so sorry for any lack of realism there💞
Word count : 6.1k
Part two :)
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“This is so much fun,” you declared, mostly to yourself, as you took a sip of your fifth drink, swaying slightly on your tool.
Reuben and Mickey had insisted to go to the Hard Deck on Friday night after a grueling week of training, and they dragged everyone with them. They even had managed to get you to come even though you were fervent on spending a calm evening at home. Their insistent pestering and pleading, along with Mickey promising to buy you your first two drinks, eventually sealed the deal for you. Who were you to refuse free drinks ?
Quite quickly after arriving at the bar, all of you had settled in your self proclaimed corner, the one with the biggest pool table which was also not too far from the throwing darts game.
It was later into the evening now, you had let yourself seduced by shots with Natasha and you hadn’t exactly stopped drinking after that. Sipping your mojito happily, you took a moment to take a look at the members of your squad, who were spread out in two groups. Natasha, Bradley and Bob seemed to be having a vigorous debate over by the dart board, while Javy, Reuben, Mickey and Jake were engrossed into a party of pool, which Jake was leading, of course.
Bradley had invited you to their game a little while ago but you had gently refused, opting to just sit for a moment, content to watch your friends have fun while enjoying the warm feeling the alcohol was giving you. It wasn’t very often you drank, not really liking the way you became so emotional and loosed tongue. But so far, you seemed to be doing fine, the liquor in your system making you feel giddy for once and not so mushy like it usually did.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, how the hell are you still winning when there’s three of us against you ?” Mickey complained, which caught your attention.
“This is actually starting to feel unfair,” Reuben agreed, putting his cue stick on the pool table, while Javy was letting out an exasperated grumble.
“I don’t know boys, I’m just that good. There’s nothing you can do about it except maybe just make peace with it,” Jake retorted, a smirk brighter than the sun itself stretching his lips. “Let’s go again, I promise to go easy on you this time.” He winked charmingly at his three friends who were staring at him with infiltrated irritation.
“No way, I’m out.” Javy capitulated, throwing his arms in the air before walking towards the bar.
“Okay,” Jake smiled, letting the last syllable linger, “damn, didn’t know you were such a sore loser Coyote.” He called out after his friend, “come on, Payback, Fanboy, you two against me.”
“Sorry man, honestly it’s not even fun anymore,” Reuben declared.
Jake just waved him off, turning to Mickey expectantly.
“No way.” The man simply said before walking with Payback towards the rest of the group next to the dart board.
Jake was left with an air of incredulity deforming his features.
“What the hell, guys ? So what, you’re just gonna leave me hanging ?”
“Now you know what that feels like,” Bradley called out to him with a smirk, evidently proud of his quick wit.
“Shut the fuck up, chicken.” He then, looked at the rest of the squad while walking over to them, “are you serious ? No one wants to play with me ?”
You had been watching the whole exchange quietly from your barstool, and you didn’t like the way Jake’s tone changed, almost imperceptibly to the normal human ear, but it didn’t go unnoticed by you. Nothing he would ever do would go unnoticed by you, which you considered to be your greatest misfortune.
“Are you really surprised ? Nobody likes playing with you, Hangman.” Natasha retorted harshly.
In any other circumstances you would have agreed with her, threw in a snappy remark of your own, not wasting an opportunity to put him in his place. But in your state, her tone sounded overly cruel in your ears. And the way Jake reacted was not helping the oncoming wave of empathy and emotion you could feel rising in your throat.
He simply looked at them with an unreadable expression for a second and just as he was about to say something, Javy returned to the dart board, carrying a tray full of drinks.
“Alright who’s up for darts ? Jake, don’t even think about it dude, leave us a chance to win.”
Jake cleared his throat, “Yeah, okay. I mean, I thought pilots like you would like some competition but if you like an easy win, have at it,” he conceded with a resigned grimace.
“We’re not in the air, Bagman, let us have fun. Not everything has to be hardcore competition,” Bradley almost snarled at him, while taking off some drinks from Javy’s tray.
Jake let out a bitter chuckle, “yeah, alright. Have fun then.” He said before walking back to the pool table, where he had left his drink.
Despite the bravado he forced himself to put on at all times, it was clear as day he was hurt, and you felt your heart tighten. It wasn’t often you saw him showing any other emotion that wasn’t infuriating cockiness, thinking about it, never had you seen him like that.
Jake loved pool, everyone knew that. Sure, you could say that every respectable fighter pilot liked pool, it was always fun to play. But Jake ? Genuinely loved it, his face would light up when he was playing, especially when he was winning. Which was pretty much all the time. Every time you all went to the Hard Deck together, he would practically rush for the pool table in the left corner, hurrying everyone else, already putting on chalk on his cue. He knew all these strategies, which you had always laughed at, why need strategies ? It was literally a ball sinking game. Jake was also capable of doing these — this you’d admit — insane tricks with the balls, giving them effects as he sunk them, even making the cue ball jump over a striped one so that it could sunk one of his full ones and he was always ecstatic to show off to anyone who would deigned to watch him.
And with no warning, you felt tears rising to your eyes as you stared at Jake sipping his drink all alone. Why would they reject him like that ? He just wanted to play. Your heart lurched at the sight, your squad having fun together, and Jake, reassembling the balls to prepare to break them, so that he could play, by himself.
Without any second thought, drink still in your hand, you got up from your stool, swaying lightly and cursing as your feet hit the ground. If you needed any confirmation that you had too much to drink, this was it.
For a minute you felt dizzy — your blurry vision not helping — you waited a moment to avoid completely falling flat on your face and made your way to your friends by the dart board. Sniffling and keeping your head up high to avoid having tears run down your cheeks.
Bob was the first one to spot you coming, and immediately he seemed alarmed by your expression. A quick touch of your cheek confirmed that you hadn’t done a good job of containing the evidences of your chagrin.
“Hey, Y/N, what’s happening ? Are you alright ?” Bob asked gently, getting up from his stool so he could get to you.
His worried tone made everyone perk up, and all the pilots started to gather around you.
“You okay ? Did someone bother you ?” Bradley asked.
They were all accustomed to how emotional you could get while drunk, but Bradley especially would never put aside the possibility of some weird guy harassing you.
“You guys are—“ you were cut out by a pathetic little sob, “so mean !” You said an accusing finger pointed in their direction.
“Y/N, you’ve had too much to drink, okay ?” He said gently, while going to take the drink from your hand, which you quickly retracted, pulling it against your chest.
“No, you guys are so mean,” you sniffled, “why won’t you play with him ?”
Everyone shared confused glances, in the corner of your eye you saw Javy murmured to Reuben something that sounded like “the fuck is she talking about”.
Natasha got closer to you, features morphing into something gentle, she knew better than anyone how to handle you in that state.
“Y/N, who are you talking about ?”
The fact that none of them even had the smallest idea of who you were referring to was your last straw. They had just dismissed him entirely, someone they flew with every single day. Threw him away with some hurtful remarks, left him all alone and they had the nerve to ask who you were talking about ?
“What do you mean who am I talking about ?” You whined, the emotion felt like it would burst out of your chest from feeling too much of it, “Jake ! I’m talking about Jake ! He wants to play pool but none of you wants to play with him !”
Mickey bursted out laughing then, which got him a stern look from Bradley.
“Don’t worry about him, sweetheart.” Natasha told you, “he’s a grown man, he’s fine. Why does that bother you anyway ?”
“He’s not fine !” You insisted, smalls sobs along with the alcohol making you hiccup, “he’s sad ! Go play with him, right now.”
“We love you, Lightning, we really do,” Reuben started, “but no way in hell.”
“You’re really not helping,” Bob reproached him with a sigh.
Mindlessly wiping the tears running freely on your cheeks with your free hand, you tried to refrain the next sob that was threatening to break out.
“Fine, I’ll go play with him then.” You declared in a very determined tone, already turning around and making your way over to Jake, swaying lightly on your feet.
“Hey Y/N come back—“ Natasha was about to go after you but Bob quickly stopped her.
“It’s okay, she’ll be with Jake, he’ll take great care of her,” he mischievously smiled at her, which only got him a puzzled look.
“What, you seriously don’t know ?” He asked her, visibly incredulous.
The chatter of your friends got more and more distant as you got closer to the pool table where Jake was sinking balls easily with an evident lack of enthusiasm. There was a laziness to his movements, like he was disinterested. The contempt and rejection from the squad seemed to had drain all the excitement of the game for him.
He looked like a kicked golden retriever puppy and your heart couldn’t have possibly handled more.
“Hangman !” You called out, quickly wiping the tears that had ran down during your walk there, “I’m playing with you.”
Jake suddenly stood up straight from sinking a ball upon hearing your voice, and immediately he seemed startle by your expression, similarly to how the rest of the squad had been only minutes ago.
“Hey, Lightning, you good ?” He asked, getting closer to you, his sharp eyes taking you in and inspecting you for any physical hurt.
You waved him off, while trying to ignore how his concern made your whole chest feel warm, when you’d sober up you’d probably blame it on the alcohol.
“Put the balls back in the middle, I’m playing with you.” You declared, words slurring slightly.
Jake only looked at you for a second, his raised brows betraying his surprise.
“You,” he started, pointing a finger towards you, “want to play with me ?” His index now pointed at him.
Taking another sip of your drink, you nodded into your glass.
“Yes, that’s what I said. I’m playing with you.”
“How much have you had to drink ?”
“Jake that is literally not the point, I want to play pool, so let’s play pool !” You insisted in a whine, putting your glass down on a table — not before taking another sip — and going to collect the balls he had already sunken from the pockets.
He stared at you, taking you in. Your urgency felt uncharacteristic, especially if it was related to doing anything with him. Jake never really saw you drunk, it wasn’t often you allowed yourself to reach such a state and when you did, you usually sticked close to Natasha or Bradley. Your behavior was completely new to him and it was taking him aback a bit.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of the squad eyeing you both, while whispering things amongst each other. A few seconds passed, the gears were turning in his head, he looked at your drink on the table, your tears streaked cheeks, the way the squad was so very obviously gossiping about the two of you… And then it clicked.
Jake took one long look at you carefully placing all the balls in the middle with the rack.
“You know you don’t have to play with me if you don’t really want to, right ?” He began cautiously, a gentle tone in his voice. “I was fine playing on my own.”
But the words ‘on my own’ seemed to trigger another wave of tears, they ran freely down your cheeks as you sobbed, “no you were not, you were sad.”
Jake’s whole face seemed to melt instantly.
“Aww, sweetheart…” he cooed, taking a step towards you.
But before he could get anything else out, you continued.
“And they are so—“ you began through sniffles, “so mean for treating you like that all because you wanted to play pool. So I am playing with you, I want to play with you.” You finished while weeping the tears from your eyes.
Jake stared at you for a moment, feeling like his heart would burst out of his chest just from looking at you. You were standing in front of him, determined and adorably empathetic — glassy eyes from the alcohol and the tears boring into his. Your cheeks were flushed from all the drinks you’d had, and you were leaning against the pool table, probably in an attempt to stabilize your dizzying vision.
He felt something dangerous happen to him, standing in front of you, having you be so nice to him for perhaps the first time ever since he had met you, he felt dangerous thoughts cross his mind — the ones he only ever allowed himself late at night, in the quiet of his apartment — and travel to the tip of his tongue. But he caught himself before they could become anything more than that, thoughts. Jake forced himself to swallow the words, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was overcome with an emotion he couldn’t possibly had voiced you, but his face showed nothing of it when he looked at you.
Pink lips stretching into a fond smile, jade green eyes soft and staring at you with… was it fondness ? The alcohol might had been blurring your judgement.
“I really appreciate it, darlin’, that’s very nice of you. I’d love for us to play together.” He said in a soft, soothing tone, hoping to calm your meltdown and the state of distress you were in at the sheer idea of him playing pool alone.
You nodded, satisfied by his answer, and Jake helped you put all the balls back in the middle with the rack before taking it off. He handed you a cue stick.
“Break ‘em.”
“No, you do it.”
You knew he loved to break.
Seeing a spark of something you couldn’t decipher flash in his eyes, he let out an almost bashful smile as he looked at you, and you gestured for him to take the shot, not sure you could handle his intense eyes on you any longer.
Jake got in position, upper body getting close to the table and your drunken brain immediately diverted your eyes to the curve of his ass, making a warmth spread out in your chest that you couldn’t blame on the liquor.
“Eyes on the game, darlin’.”
Your heat skipped a beat.
“I was watching the game,” you slurred, hoping your cheeks weren’t any more flushed than they already were because of your many drinks.
He let out a chuckle as he lined up his shot and every ball went bouncing off in every direction. He managed to sink a striped one.
“Alright, you take the full ones.” He told you.
Simply nodding, you watched him take another shot, sinking a ball. And then another successful one. It’s been quite some time since you’d seen him play this close, he was really good. On his third shot, he missed, finally letting you take your turn.
Circling the table and holding on to it, you tried to find the best angle to sink one of your balls, “You know I’m very good,” you stated like it was obvious, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve played.”
Jake caught himself before he could make any remark about how in your state he wasn’t expecting you to be world champion anyway.
“I wouldn’t know,” he settled for instead, “we’ve never played together.”
You abruptly stopped your rounding of the table to look at him, both of you standing perfectly on opposite sides. Your brows frowned in a confused expression and Jake wanted nothing more than to kiss away the crinkle on your forehead.
“Have we really never ?”
“Never,” he confirmed, “you don’t exactly carry me in your heart, remember ? You always say you don’t want to play with an arrogant jerk like me.”
His words seemed to fall on you with the weight of a thousand suns, your heart aching at his depiction of your own words.
“Do I really say that ?”
But Jake didn’t seem to notice the way his — yours — words had affected you, he only laughed as he continued to reminisce.
“Yeah, I tried so many times. Don’t tell me you don’t remember all the nights I literally begged you to do just one game with me ? You normally never even want to be in my vicinity when we come here.”
You shook your head, feeling the emotional overload pile up in your chest, rising in your throat to form a lump that was impossible to swallow.
“Oh…” was the only pathetic sound you managed to get out.
“Anyway, I’m glad to finally see what you are made of, Lightning.” He finished with a small chuckle.
But it had been too much too fast. The crushing realization of your harsh words, the way you had treated him no better than your friends you just yelled at a few minutes earlier, made you sick at yourself.
Still holding your cue stick in one hand, you broke out into sobs. Your head fell into your free hand, shoulders shaking with the force of your inconsolable chagrin.
If you had been able to see Jake’s face you probably would have laughed at the way his eyebrows raised comically fast.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” he said in a hurried panic, putting his cue stick down on the pool table to cross the distance that was separating you, “Y/N what’s wrong ?”
He raised his hands in an instinctual move to put them on your shoulders to try and comfort you, but unsure of what his touch could do to you right now, he awkwardly put them back down. Instead he lowered himself slightly, trying to catch your eyes where you had your head bowed down into your hand.
“Y/N ?” Jake called out softly.
“I’m an awful person—“ you said in a huge sniffle, tears cascading down your cheeks with no way of stopping them. You still refused to look at him. “I’m so sorry Jake, so sorry, I’m so mean—“
He managed to get over his temporarily shock, attention now entirely focused on your wellbeing and seeing you smile again. He gently took the cue stick out of your hand to put it on the table, and before you could bring your newly free hand to your face, he took it softly, fingers wrapping around your wrist.
“Y/N ? Could you look at me for a second, sweetheart ?”
You shook your head, sobbing harder now.
“I’m sorry, Jake. So so sorry—“
“Everything is alright, I promise. You did nothing wrong,” Jake soothed, rubbing what he hoped were calming circles onto your wrist. “Could you look at me, please, Y/N ?”
Rubbing your eyes in a clumsy attempt to wipe the tears staining your cheeks, you finally lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. Jake’s heart nearly broke witnessing your lip quiver, signaling that another wave of tears was incoming. Your features were contorted into a chagrin he never witnessed before, an expression he never thought he’d see on your pretty face. And he got the most irrepressible desire to take you into his arms, rock you softly and shush you soothingly until your wet lashes dried.
His brain sent out the signals before he could stop it, his arms lifted open in an instinctual move to bring you into him, but stopped himself at the last second, arms still frozen open.
But your eyes caught the movement, and it was enough for you to launch yourself into him, sending him stumbling backward a bit from the force you had thrown yourself with. You buried your nose in his collarbone, your arms around his waist holding on as tight as your drunken state allowed you to.
It took Jake a second to get over the shock before his arms wrapped around you, one hand holding your head while he put his chin on top of it, gently caressing your hair.
“Shh shh, it’s okay, baby. Let it out. Everything is okay, I promise, everything is fine.”
Like he had imagined it only seconds before, he swayed you gently from left to right. Soothing voice hitting your ears and calming down your distress. You sniffled as you completely melted into his embrace.
“How you feeling, sweetheart ?”
“Better,” you mumbled against his collarbone.
Jake let out a fond chuckle, “i’m glad.”
He continued to rock you gently for a few minutes before he slowly began to pull back so he could look at you, his arms still wrapped around you. Your tears had dried, leaving small stains on your cheeks as you looked up at him.
“I’m really sorry I’m so mean to you all the time, Jake. I don’t know why I act like that.” You confessed in a small voice.
He gently put a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes soft as they gazed down at you.
He hummed softly, “I’ve got a little idea.”
You waited for him to explain further but when he didn’t say anything else, you frowned.
“What are you waiting for ? Tell me.” You whined.
He just smiled knowingly.
“I think that’s something you need to figure out on your own.”
Your bottom lip stuck out as you pouted and Jake playfully tsked you.
“Hey none of that,” he warned jokingly, “what can I do to bring a smile back on your pretty face ?”
Gazing at the table on your right, your voice found a new determined tone.
“I want to play pool.”
“Is that really what you want ?”
“Yes, with you.”
The smile that broke out on Jake’s face almost made you look away from how dazzling it was.
“Alright, let’s play, sweetheart.”
He handed you back your cue stick, signaling for you to take your shot since it was your turn. Aligning yourself with the cue all, tongue between your teeth in deep concentration you took the shot and—
“Oh, well I’m worse than I thought.” You stated with a hint of disappointment as you completely missed the cue ball.
Jake was unable to hide a laugh, “to be fair I don’t think everything you drank is helping you. Want some help ?”
“From the pool king himself ? Yes please.”
Jake was happy to notice some of your wit coming back, he came up behind you, not close enough to touch but close enough that you could feel his warm breath on your neck as he bent down slightly at your level.
“Just get really close to the table, yeah ?” He put a warm hand between your shoulder blades as you went down, “aim for number 5 over there,” he pointed at the ball.
You got low like he told you, chest almost touching the table, hips and ass pushing back as Jake respectfully stepped aside so he wouldn’t collide with you. Focusing really hard on where you wanted it to go, you finally took your shot and the ball went straight into the left corner pocket.
Excitement immediately made you stand up and turn around to see Jake harboring a bright, wide smile.
“Look at that, a true natural.” He praised, flashing his palm for a high five you eagerly participated in.
“What can I say ? I have the world champion player by my side,” you chimed.
You both continued to play pool, Jake very subtly letting you win. And when you had sunk all your balls and hazardously shot the 8-ball in the left middle socket, you squealed as Jake clapped for you.
“You beat me fair and square, sweetheart.”
That was clearly debatable, but you were in no state to question it, your victory seeming totally legitimate in your eyes. You walked around the table to go get your drink.
But right as you were about to take a sip, Jake — who had somehow crossed the distance in three steps — took the glass out of your hand.
“Hey ! That’s my drink !”
“How about you stick to water for now, mmh baby ?”
All the fight left your body as soon as the petname hit your ears, his Texan drawl making it sound so sweet. His voice having rendered you completely pliant, you just nodded.
“Let’s go ask Penny for a glass.” He prompted and you quickly took a hold of his arm as he guided you to the bar.
You were still holding on to Jake and Penny wasn’t able to hide her surprise when she saw the two of you.
“That’s certainly a sight,” she said with a smirk, eyeing the way you were clinging to Jake. “You okay, sweetie ?” She asked you.
“I’m great,” you assured, a tired but bright smile stretching your lips.
Jake chuckled fondly, “could we have a glass of water Penny, please ?”
The older woman nodded and quickly got out a glass that she filled with ice and water before she handed it to you. You thanked her and began downing the drink.
“Well, you definitely needed it.” Jake joked, ruffling your hair affectionately, “when you finish that glass, I’ll drive you home, yeah ?”
You nodded as Penny looked at Jake with squinting eyes.
“How much have you had to drink, sailor ?”
“Don’t worry, I just had one beer a few hours ago.”
“Alright, drive safe.”
Jake saluted Penny as you finished your glass, settling it down in the bar.
“Good night Penny !” You waved at her, the older woman eagerly returned your gesture.
“Alright, let’s say bye to the squad now.”
Making your way over to the squad, still firmly wrapped around Jake’s arm, it was almost comical to see your friends’ look of disbelief when they started to notice you walk over.
“Alright gang,” Jake caught their attention, “I’m driving Lightning home.”
All of them were stunned silent at seeing you two so close, and you so pliant and calm with him. Bob was the only one harboring a small, tender smile.
“Drive safe, we’ll see you guys on Monday.”
“I’m sorry, is no one gonna mention any of this ?” Reuben undignified himself while gesturing wildly to the two of you.
“What is that supposed to mean ?” You inquired, not liking the way he seemed to be referring so hostilely to Jake and you.
“Leave them alone,” Bradley’s voice caught everyone’s attention. “You get her home safe, Hangman.” He looked at Jake straight in the eyes, tone firm and authoritative before he softened and turned to you. “Text us when you’re home, alright ?”
While everyone was expecting Jake to come back with a smug and arrogant remark — like he usually did — his simple, diligent nod raised everyone’s brows. You let go of Jake momentarily to go hug Bradley, he wrapped his arms around you and left a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Don’t do anything you’d regret tomorrow,” he whispered in your ear.
“Me ? You know I could never Bradshaw.” You replied jokingly.
Jake patiently waited for you as you hugged every member of the squad. When you came back to him, you immediately took hold of his arm again while he bid everyone goodnight and led you to the door after your goodbyes.
The fresh air of the summer night was a welcome sensation on your flushed cheeks. “Tonight was so much fun,” you declared.
Jake chuckled, quietly wondering how could it had been fun for you when you spent half of it crying your heart out for him.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, sweetheart.”
“Did you have fun ?” You asked, looking up at him expectantly.
Stopping next to his truck, he looked down at you, feeling the words swell up in his chest — in which his heart was hammering. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm the swirl of emotion billing in his throat.
“Yeah, I did. Thanks to you.” He said in a voice that carried so much fondness it felt like a warm embrace.
A bashful smile made its way onto your face, as Jake refrained the urge to leave the softest kiss on your forehead, instead he just opened the passenger door for you and helped you in.
The drive was rather short, but Jake was struggling to focus on the road as he could sense your intense stare on him. Your eyes never wavered from his face and despite himself he could feel heat slowly coming onto his neck and cheeks.
Parking out in front of the small house you were renting near base, he came to your side to open your door and helped you out. In front of your door, you both stopped.
“Thank you for tonight, darlin’.”
Your hazy eyes bore into his with an intensity that shook him to his core.
“Jake ?”
“Yeah, baby ?”
“I think I figured out why I’m so mean to you all the time.”
He froze, his heart skipping a beat, not sure if it was from excitement of finally hearing the words he longed to hear from you or fear of having you say them while the alcohol was clouding your judgement.
“You did ?” His voice was strained, feeling his palms sweat and wiping them down on his pants.
“Yes. The reason I’m so mean to you all the time is not because I hate you, I think—“
“Y/N, Don’t say anything, please,” he stopped you, putting his hands on your shoulders.
Giving him a confused look, you felt your heart drop, “why…?” You asked, voice small, “you don’t wanna hear what I have to say…?”
Jake let out a sigh, “It’s not that, sweetheart,” he assured, voice gentle, “I just don’t want you to say things you could regret tomorrow.”
“Do you know what I was going to say ?”
He gave you a small smile, one hand sliding from your shoulder to cup your flushed cheek, thumb rubbing gently. The cool temperature of his hand was a welcome sensation as you nuzzled against it.
“I do.”
“But I want to say it, I want you to know.” You whined, putting your hand on top of his that was cupping your cheek.
“Believe me, I already know, darlin’. Have for quite some time now. But when you say it to me, I want it to be because you are ready to say it, not because the alcohol is forcing you to.”
But Jake could still see the disappointment in your eyes and your pouting lip was making a reappearance, completely melting him from the inside.
“How about you tell me tomorrow ? When you’re sober.”
“I won’t have the courage to do it tomorrow ! That’s the whole point of doing it now…”
“Then I’ll wait, it’s okay.”
Feeling the tears starting to come back with the frustration of not being able to express what you had been feeling this whole time, you complained, “I don’t want to wait anymore, Jake. I lo—“
“Baby, please don’t,” Jake put a panicked hand over your mouth.
You frowned and he could see your eyes getting hazy with tears.
“If I take off my hand, will you listen to me for a second ?”
As you nodded, Jake moved his hand from your mouth to your cheek, so both of his hands were holding your face. He hated knowing he was the cause of the small tears that were slipping from your confused and hurt eyes.
“Y/N, I promise that I feel the exact same way you do, I have for years, okay ? And there is nothing on this earth I desire more than to finally hear you admit it, but when you do, I want it to come from you, not the alcohol.” Drowning in his jade green eyes, his words made your heart almost beat out of your chest. “I want you sober when you finally tell me, cause then there won’t be anything else holding me back from kissing you like I’ve been dreaming of, alright ?”
His words stunned you quiet as his thumbs gently wiped the tears on your cheeks. It’s like your breath had been taken away. Nothing had been said, and yet you both knew. The silent truth was lingering in the air, silencing every other noise. In this moment it was only you and him, standing in front of each other, finally on the same wavelength.
Your lips stretched out on their own. Unknowingly to you both, your hearts were beating in synch to the rhythm of your unspoken, and yet certain, feelings.
“You have to promise me something, Jake.” You finally said when you found your words.
“Anything.”
“You need to come find me tomorrow, so I can tell you. Tomorrow morning, first light, I want you right here in front of the door, so I can tell you. If you don’t come to me I’ll never have the courage to go find you myself.”
Jake let out a shaky, relived exhale before a smile broke out onto his face.
“I will, sweetheart. Promise.”
“What time will you be here ?” You eagerly asked, already impatient for the first rays of sunshine to cast a golden glow over his features as you would pour out your entire heart to him.
Jake chuckled, before he bent down slightly, leaving a tender kiss on your cheek that you leaned into the best you could.
“I’ll be here at first light, just like you said. If you think I’m not impatient as well, you’re mistaken, darlin’. Now go to bed, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow, we have a lot to talk about.”
You nodded, embracing him as tight as you could.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jake.” you said in a barely contained excited giggle.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”
You opened your door, flashing him one last smile before closing it and disappearing inside of your home.
Jake didn’t know exactly how much time he spent in front of your door after you closed it. His chest felt tight, heart filled with the quiet love he had carried all these years, a love he’d finally be able to express out loud.
He looked up at the moon which was casting an eerie glow over the street, and prayed for the night to fly by fast. He usually loved the stars, but looking up at them he found himself thinking that he’d be fine never seeing another star again if he meant he finally got to be with you. He smiled, feeling giddy like the first time he’d realised he was in love with you. He had waited patiently for years for this moment to come, and somehow it felt impossible to sit tight for another few hours.
Jake couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come.
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Author’s note : alright I definitely didn’t planned for this little fic to get that long, but I hoped you liked it, thank you for reading !!
Next fic I’m working on is Pleasure Is No Shame - Part 3, I can’t wait to bring it to you !!💞
the 5sos song title on your wip list too 👀 perhaps your taste is immaculate, who could say 🤭 i need to hear about number one on your list tho !! a dream ??? consider me intrigued
hi kate!!
yess, your eyes do not deceive you, that is a 5sos song title in my list. i draw a lot of my inspiration from music and other media i see. so a few of their songs have made their way as the title of my stories (so original, i know).
and i'm soo glad you asked about number one as it is the next fic i plan on posting. it's currently sitting at 5.5k words so far and will be broken up into two parts. it honestly came to me one day while i was thinking about the experience of developing a crush on someone you had zero interest in AFTER having a dream of them. then i was listening to when did you get hot by sabrina carpenter and knew this story just had to happen.
that basically sums the story up. i really want to emphasize on the friendship bond before the relationship develops so there will be lots of fluff with bob before the pining and jealousy kicks in. i hope you enjoy it when it comes out 💕
RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder. people send asks with the title(s) that most intrigue them, then you tell them something about it.
okay so i don't think i'm play this game right exactly because a lot of these aren't written out, just ideas i've accumulated in my notes app. BUTTT, i am so excited to share them and see anyone's thoughts on them. i hope you enjoy reading through them!!
1. behind my eyes ― bob floyd x f!reader friends to lovers. the fluffiest friendship before a dream changes everything. some unrequited love sprinkled in.
2. the long game ― bradley rooster bradshaw x phoenix sister!reader not much planned from this idea, but there is a lot of pining from the reader..and jealousy.
3. waste the night ― bob flyd x f!reader second chance romance. the pair reconnects when reader gets a job as a civilian contract at topgun. some awkward tension after reader dumped rooster...yikes. lots of angst and second guessing.
4. promises ― bradley rooster bradshaw x f!reader the sad angsty hours. reader and rooster are childhood friends but maverick's actions put a strain on their relationship on multiple occasions. (i'm actually super excited to write about this)
5. white flag ― joaquin torres x doctor f!reader ah yet another second chance romance. this takes a bit of creative liberties of joaquin's origin story since the mcu doesn't follow his backstory in the comics. after joining the air force in his youth, the reader and him break up before reconnecting when he becomes the falcon.
6. impossible ― bradley rooster bradshaw x f!reader after the reader's feelings aren't reciprocated during a confession when the pair were teens, a final goodbye leaves room for a better start when they reconnect at topgun.
7. untitled ― topgun guy x f!reader so i don't know who i'm even writing about for this idea lol. but it's basically about childhood penpals meeting as adults and it will be full of fluff.
8. my mind has not been silent since you ― bradley rooster bradshaw x f!reader lots of tension, fighting, rivals to lovers. both trying to be the best at topgun and rooster doing a terrible job at hiding his feelings.
okay that is all my ideas i have so far. please lmk if any interest you, i am more than happy to talk about them.
lastly, a special thank you to @quietbluetune for tagging me in this game. i had tons of fun and it helped me organize the mess that lives in my notes.
thank you so much for tagging me @avastarred i love this idea !
RULES make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder. people send asks with the title(s) that most intrigue them, then you tell them something about it.
my brain is, unfortunately, a never-ending machine just as yappy as me so i have so many ideas. some are full-blown and fleshed out, others are vague concepts. i wish i could be writing 24/7 bc i have soo much i wanna dig into, but id be honored if anyone wanted to learn a bit more about any of these in the meantime xx
1. starting line — bob floyd x reader drunken miscommunication trope craziness, a ton of angst/yearning, and a lot of squad teasing
2. everything but married — single dad!bob floyd x reader fluff and domesticity overload !! bob is the sweetest dad of two and down BAD
3. tongue tied — bob floyd x reader mutual pining, some spicy scenes, and fake-dating… only you’re not fake-dating each other
4. untitled halloween special — bob floyd x reader a smutty little halloween one shot (unfortunately has to wait to be posted next year)
5. untitled — bob floyd x reader a half-baked piece about fucking bob while wearing his sweatshirt. that’s it, that’s the plot
6. untitled — bob floyd x reader more fake-dating with a twist. tropical destination wedding, yearning, and boundaries that are begging to be crossed (my first idea for him i STILL haven’t gotten to finish yet… soon, i hope)
7. set it up — bob floyd x reader yup… based on the movie set it up !
8. the collector — bob reynolds x reader 5 + 1 vignettes of bob’s personal & romantic growth as he settles into his new life. how each thunderbolts member (and you) helps him find home along the way
9. stirred — bob reynolds x reader friends to lovers, idiots in love, roommates who are basically more… misinterpretations lead to some pent up sexual frustrations neither of you can hold back on
10. untitled — bob reynolds x reader smut based on that video of lew doing pottery… then it spiraled into a full blown plot bc it’s me
11. untitled — bob reynolds x reader half-baked rivals to lovers who are brought together when sam and bucky merge their teams
12. tell august i’m waiting — bob reynolds x team sam reader they have a ton of history and are thrown into a new dynamic together years later
13. untitled — another team bucky bob x team sam reader bob is falling for you fast, but there’s two people standing in his way— himself and joaquin torres
14. start over — vigilante x reader angsty smut based on the 5sos song (go listen to it, you’re missing out if you haven’t)
15. know you naked — adrian chase x reader 5 + 1 childhood friends to lovers. five times he sees you naked, and the one time it’s different
16. untitled — adrian chase x teacher!reader i don’t got much on this one… half-baked with a cool, in-depth plot i lowkey forgot lol
17. untitled — adrian chase x reader childhood friends to lovers but you don’t know he’s vigilante. you’re torn between who you’re in love with and who you’re falling for despite it being the same person
18. colors — mcu peter parker x reader iirc my first EVER fic from years ago. something i think would be nice to revisit and finish
19. untitled — steve harrington x reader “enemies” to lovers with season one steve. you team up together against your will, but you discover more than you’re really willing to accept
20. if i call you mine something i’ll probably never post and probs wanna keep just for me but it’s my BABY fr. currently sitting at 106.8k (yes u read that right) and we’re just hitting the end of the second act
21. in the focus, i’ll be waiting old, abandoned fic from my fexi days. still excited about what i had in store for that plot… maybe one day it’ll be finished or reworked for another character
NPT to some mutuals who also write <3 feel free to participate if you’d like, but as always no worries if you don’t want to xx @genuinelygemini @theres-a-bea @calzbabylon @teascorner @geminiwritten @winterswift @bucksbby @barnesandashes
[Love, for you, was a foreign but soft, slow and sweet experience. For Bob, it was a big "Hey, you? Fuck you!" from the universe. He finds himself somehow, slowly, sickly sinking into you.]
-------------‧₊˚🍋🟩✩ ₊˚🌿⊹♡--------------
Your bad experiences with love had come as a child. You, a mutant child with also mutant parents who were in many ways overprotective. It wasn't their fault, really. You were lucky enough to be able to hide your powers as a teen, and they seemed normal to everyone they knew. But being paranoid meant being safe. Being overprotective meant staying normal.
And normal you stayed. As normal as possible, of course. You never had any boyfriends or girlfriends during school, but you maintained decent grades and stayed quiet enough to not get bullied all too much. College was going the same way. Ordinary, simple, plain. You were headed for a bachelor's degree, something so common in the world. Something so ordinary.
But somehow, as trouble always did, it found someone who didn't need it. Ultron's attack on your hometown had been a quick one, but a terrifying one. Your apartment building collapsed, and without thinking you had used your powers to get people out.
When it hit you, it was a terrifying realization. You're a mutant, people know that now. People don't like mutants, they're treated like subhuman trash. But despite this fear, people cheered. Mothers thanked you, news reporters asked for you, couples praised you for saving their lovers, and you were stunned. People loving a mutant? Cheering them? Thanking the Lord for their protection?
For once, you weren't normal or ordinary. You were extraordinary. And it may be selfish, but you enjoyed it. You enjoyed the attention from others, the flowery comments and the feeling of finally sticking out. Eventually, you were scouted by Tony to work alongside the Avengers
But only a year later, the war broke out and Tony passed. And the Avengers' was - obviously - disbanded. You were left to wander, falling back into your past of just blending in. Until Bucky contacted you with the offer. Join "The New Avengers".
And join you did! You were itching to get back out there, put back on that suit of yours and enjoy the feeling of free-falling and living on nothing but a prayer. (a/n: BON JOVI REFERENCE EHE)
You met the team, a much...rougher group then your beloved Avengers, but a team nonetheless. You were a real, bonafide, experienced Avenger ready to get back on the scene! You were ready to enjoy praise and save a few lives. You were enthusiastic, putting your all into the missions.
But Lord, these people SUCKED!
That was a bit of a stretch, but still. Walker was a major asshole who you didn't think even neared Steve's legacy, Yelena and Ava were much too "stabby" for you, and Alexei was a tad bit too obsessed with the marketing side of things. You didn't hate any of them, of course, they were fine people - but they were nothing like your Avengers'. Your team. All except for Bucky, he was the same as always. You loved sharing that same banter with him, the same kind you had with the other Avengers when you were an early-20-something with absolutely nothing to prove for once. But the rest of the team was so...abnormal. Not exactly in the uniquely perfect way.
And then there was Robert. Bob, as you became accustomed to calling him. He was a sweet thing, he really was. He was quiet as a mouse around you, and only raised his presence - merely to that of a house cat's - if certain others were around. He didn't join you guys on most missions, didn't seem to have any control of his powers other than 0% and 100% on that rare occasion a few months ago. He was invincible, but he wasn't the best fighter. You mostly brought him along for smaller things. Gang busts and attempted robberies, that kind of stuff. And slowly, you found yourself admiring him. He was 2 years older than you, so you shared some similar experiences. He enjoyed watching you as you baked - and you learned to enjoy that too. He liked doing the simple things, really. You washed dishes, tidied the living room, folded the heaps of laundry, and did any other mundane chore you were tasked with - all together. He really was a house cat. Soft, quiet, and always finding a way to silently exist in your space. And you adored him.
You found yourself thinking of him when you listened to love songs; songs that you previously had assigned to no one in particular. You started giggling when he did anything slightly silly, started kicking your feet whenever your mind wandered to a possible future. Something so soft, so domestic, and so out-of-reach. You never got to experience a real childhood and with that came a lack of any teenage love story. You never let yourself get close enough to have crushes, and you were 99% sure no one ever yearned for the high school version of you. So Bob, this dork you worked with, was the first person you got to experience love with. It was a nice feeling, really. It was soft, motivating, comforting, and so gentle. You didn't feel the pressure to make him yours, you just enjoyed his presence. Your love was soft.
Bob's love was sick. (a/n: madds buckley reference????) His love was fearful, nausea-inducing, unlucky, and impossible to ignore. While you giggled and kicked your feet, Bob screamed into his pillows and paced his bedroom. You were nice, too damn nice. A kickass actual superhero who was somehow the nicest person he'd ever met. Someone who never complained about his presence or his inability to balance his powers, someone who was gentle and affectionate. You kissed his head as a kind gesture, gave him the first warm bite of all the baked goods you made, and made him feel as if he was on cloud nine.
Until he would fall down again. Crashing face-first into grasslands metaphorically named "reality". You'd achieved so damn much in a lifetime two years shorter than his own. You spent your twenties saving lives and making speeches. He spent his shuffling for drugs and picking up odd obs - just to buy more drugs. Robert Reynolds loved in a fearful manor, one that had him asking "WHY ME?" on some nights. Nights where he would have similar dreams to yours, ones where he was your husband and you were his wife, maybe with some kiddos in the bunch. He'd curse his luck, really. Why him? Why did cupid have to stab his eyes out with arrows and leave him with retinas that only seemed to gravitate to you?
He swatted away at the tugs in his heart at first, he really did. But the universe had its way of magnetically pulling him to you in it's own way. He's mostly accepted it. An odd, shameful sort of acceptance. "My name's Bob Reynolds and I'm in love with a woman that has the full right to treat me like nothing like a slug in her path!" It's sad, really. You're not out of his league - definitely not as much as he thinks you are. You're an angel and he's a puddle left from a mediocre, disappointing rainstorm that didn't accumulate anywhere but the dips in the pavement that never got filled. He's desperately evaporating to you. In slow, unwilling bits.
You loved in old Sinatra songs, he loved like dirt on pavement. His love was a reckless tidal wave, yours was a river bubbling with a soft, flowery aroma. Your giggles on the phone with your mom matched his anxious rambles to his therapist. You were a mirror of Bob's feelings - one of those mirrors in a fun house that makes everything look odd. You were the sheriff with the statue in the middle of town - Robert Reynolds was a wanted man, and love was his accidental crime. Lock him up, throw away the key.
His hesitation is trashed without any hesitation. He's a weak, weak man. He doesn't resist your charms anymore, he's given in. "You wanna go out on a run with me?" You coo, zipping up your athletic jacket and fixing your shorts. It's 6:00am, Bob's only up because the sound of Blondie coming loudly from your speaker had kept him from staying in his already fragile slumber. He didn't mind too much. The sound of "Call Me" playing every morning, mixed with your footsteps, reminded him that he'd be able to see you before you truly got ready for the day. Hair undone, super suit off, and eyes still slightly drowsy from the dim lighting.
"I'll have to pass that up, I'm still tired." Bob mutters, hands fighting the urge to pull you to him. Instead, he grabs a random apple from the kitchen counter. Best to sink his teeth into the sinner's fruit then let his misery slip from his mouth. Love me, tell me you want me too, tell me you're not too good for me.
"Aww, really? I made an extra smoothie! And John is out because today's his custody day. I'd love to have you joi-"
"Actually yeah I think that's a great idea-" He blurts.
You giggle, passing him a bottle with a smoothie just like yours. Strawberries, blueberries, bananas, all that good stuff. He swears he saw you out kale in there too, but the color is soft pink so maybe he imagined that in his efforts to distract himself from you.
He's imagined a lot of things when it comes to you, and maybe this run will be another stepping stone to get him closer to pushing that long denied dream into reality. For once in Robert Reynolds' life, he likes being sick. To suffer, sink, and drown in your presence is a demise he'll take every grueling minute of, as long as his heaven is granted to him in the form of your soft arms and even softer words. Hands up, he's surrendered to his untimely demise at your hands.
‧₊⚡˚ 💛⚡︎ ꪆৎ⸝💙✶˚‧.
A/N: My first non Pietro/Peter Marvel fic! 😭 I've LOVED Bob's character since I saw thunderbolts, and I started this while watching my 4th rewatch of Thunderbolts and finished it after my 6th rewatch 🧍. I HAVE A PART TWO PLANNED FOR THIS, I SWEAR, but I'm really caught up with college and work gahh 😭 I also have SO MANY drafts. Lots of Peter I haven't finished and a few John Walker fics. Also a huge headcannon post for Peter 😈😈 HERES THE SONG THAT INSPIRED THIS FIC EHEHE👇
summary: the only thing worse than seeing your best friend’s brother again is being snowed in with him— and your unresolved feelings.
or, you and bob floyd might not hate each other as much as you think
warnings: 18+, enemies to lovers, ex-academic rivals, best friend’s brother trope, a touch of angst, smut, forced proximity, hurt/comfort & found family if you squint, winter wedding, oc of bob’s sister, bob is sassy, everyone knows they’re in love but them, slight backstory on reader’s home life, mention of financial insecurity, alcohol, language, lots of soft romance & fluff, plot is basically just 30k words of foreplay
word count: 53k (i’m so sorry) — ao3, masterlist — playlist
author’s note: i had a blast writing this for the lovely @lewmagoo holiday event & hope i did my prompt some justice ! i feel like there’s a severe lack of etl for our favorite fly boy—and while some of it may be a little ooc—i couldn’t resist putting this spin on him. this is my first crack at smut, too, so i’m so sorry if it sucks lol. i know this is incredibly late, i unfortunately had a family emergency over the holidays, but i couldn’t wait until next year to share this one. it’s technically still winter— that’s my excuse. anyway, it was good to have an indulgent little snowy wonderland to get lost in. i hope it can do that for you, too xx thank you for reading, ik it’s a big one !
Your heartbeat kicks as you wind up the hill— An ornate, tall, ivory building slipping into view between strips of bare branches and amber-glowing antique street lamps.
There’d been a speech, a pep-talk, an inner monologue, all running wild through your head the closer you came to this moment.
And yet, somehow, nothing could’ve prepared you for the rush of adrenaline and symphony of deafening, conflicting reminders clashing behind your skull when it finally arrives.
The nerves sit like a lump in your throat— An unshakable, persistent reminder this wasn’t nothing like you tried to tell yourself it was.
No, of course this wasn’t nothing. This was your best friend’s wedding, for God’s sake.
But that wasn't the reason your hands were sweaty and restless, twisting around the little trinkets on your keyring incessantly, glittering under the glow of an occasional passing streetlight.
It wasn’t the reason your pulse was concerningly erratic, your lip caught between your teeth, your stomach in knots so long it forgot any other form.
Not at all.
Truthfully, you couldn’t be happier about this: an extended weekend of nothing but ebullience and bliss for the most deserving person you know. A perfect night, perfect weather, perfect venue— Already busting at the seams with warm joy and soft smiles like a heartbeat in the cold.
But if you were being honest, it didn’t help that her past was tied to yours. It didn’t help that celebrating joining her new life and memories with old was bound to dig up yours.
And it certainly didn’t help that she was related to the very person you loathe.
Actually, loathe was putting it nicely. You’d be more than happy to go the rest of your life never seeing Bob Floyd again.
Or at least you had yourself convinced of that.
Your Uber pulls to a jerky stop along the covered turnaround at the main doors of the Inn, tires scraping ceremoniously against the cool cobblestone.
The sleek black of the car is bathed in faint, warm, twinkling lights strung tastefully around every pillar, every perfectly-preened bush, and every window wreath. They mimic the stars glistening above a canvas of pitch black night, moon a subtle sliver slipping through the forest in the distance.
A mantra races through your mind as you force your albeit shaky legs to unfold and slide along the leather, pointed heels coming in handy to push the last notch of the door open.
It echoes, screams over every other thought as you exhale sharply in the freezing December air, smoothing over your cocktail dress and untucking your hair to shield your ears from the bitter bite.
Don’t pay him any attention. This weekend isn’t about him, it’s about Abby. Be the bigger person, just avoid him. Don’t even—
Your body careening backward into the solid weight of another pauses your internal rambling.
Unwavering, warm hands gently find purchase along your elbows to steady you as you stumble, dropping one of your bags from the trunk upon impact.
You’re gearing up to apologize profusely—laugh at yourself in the arms of this steady stranger for being so caught up in your own shit that you’re not paying much attention—when you turn in their grasp and are met with a familiar face.
The very person you wanted to avoid was the first you see, standing broader and taller over you compared to the last time you saw him.
His familiar sandy-brown hair is perfectly combed and gelled into place, glasses gleaming under the moon glow, thin lips stitched into a knowing smile bordering on a smirk as he peers down at you.
His hands—his presence, his heat—don’t move. He stays, anchoring you until you break free, smoothing down your hair and breaking eye contact to hide the way you were flushed from your misfortune.
Your plan wasn’t off to a great start.
Your face shifts into something blatantly unamused and disinterested like second nature, defenses snapping back into place.
“Still clumsy,” he lilts, head cocked. “Some things never change, I guess.”
You step back, letting a breath of cold air slice between the heat of your bodies getting reacquainted against your will.
“You ever watch where you’re going, Floyd?”
A deflection.
You’re being defensive—admittedly wrong—and you know it, but it’s like it’s out of your control. It’s muscle memory around him, a reflex too ingrained in you to shake.
His eyes flick between yours, smirk widening a fraction like it brought him joy to see you perturbed. You know it did.
“Wow, did a cold front move through or is that just you?”
You shoot him a look, turning with a huff to busy yourself with the bags left untouched in the trunk.
Listen to yourself, you think. Don’t pay him any attention.
“In my defense,” he adds, moving alongside you, trying to gauge your reaction. “You were the one who backed into me.”
“Well, this is kinda heavy,” you mutter, strained voice evidence of your point as you tug your suitcase free and drop it between you with a hollow thud. “Besides,” you exhale sharply, eyeing him. “You shouldn’t be walking that close to an open trunk.”
“You’re not the only one carrying heavy things, you know,” he counters, stepping behind you and picking up a stack of cardboard boxes, all overflowing with different decorations and wedding trinkets.
You blink, quietly trying to shake the feeling he dropped everything just to keep you from falling.
Of course he would do something like that.
You’d rather take the scrape on your knee or twist of an ankle.
He doesn’t second guess— Just shifts the stack of boxes to one hand, steady against his side, and pops the handle free on your suitcase with the other.
“I don’t need you to do that,” you say, trying and failing to grab your bag back as you sling the other across your arm.
He sends you a smile over his shoulder, already dragging your bag along with him.
It was a look that bordered on warmth… Or maybe it was condescending— Prideful to a point like this proved you needed him. He thrived on that.
“And risk you taking out another guest? Not a chance.”
He slips through the main doors already whirling open, muscles flexing a little unfairly—and annoyingly—under the thin stretch of his sleek, crisp white button down.
When did he get that kind of body?
“Stop staring and hurry up before that chill of yours comes inside, too,” he calls back, chuckling under his breath as you thank the driver one last time, slam the trunk shut, and follow him into the warmth.
The heat of the lobby floods your bones in an instant.
There’s a faint flicker of a wood-burning fireplace in the corner, casting heat over the lobby adorned with intricate, classically-antique furniture. A fresh-cut tree—at least 16 feet or so—fills the space with the earthy smell of pine, dressed in delicate lights and glistening ornaments, centering a mirrored staircase daintily winding around it.
A spill of familiar laughter and humble conversation floats through every doorway, the muffled clinks and clatter of toasts and reacquaintance in the distance.
You’re about to grab your stuff from Bob so you can check in, get away from him, and find the Floyd you’re actually here to see when a pair of tall men saunter up— Champagne flutes full, clothes neatly pressed, neither of them subtle in the way they check you out.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror just past them— Cheeks and nose pink, lips full, makeup still in place, curves of your smooth skin cut from soft shadows, and hair somehow decent, despite the wind whipping just behind you.
You looked good. At least one thing was still going your way.
“Baby on Board,” one of them calls, clapping a firm hand on Bob’s shoulder and taking the stack of boxes from his hands. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that sharing is caring when it comes to helping a lady?”
The stranger gives you a winning smile, all bright teeth and smug pride.
He’s the same height as Bob, just broader— Charming to the point of a fault, hair perfectly blonde and coiffed, eyes the kind of green that looked blue the longer you got lost in them.
Bob’s jaw sets, expression blank and unamused at his friends’ attempts to swoop in.
“That’s Abby’s,” he points out flatly.
The smug one’s smile falters. “Oh,” he mumbles, setting the stack down on a table behind him and effortlessly shaking off whatever fractured piece of bruised ego threatened to show.
“Lt. Jake Seresin,” he introduces, voice smooth, shoulders squared, cool and confident as his eyes slowly slip down your body. He shakes your hand firmly, grip impressive and intentional. “Pleasure.”
Before you could return the gesture, the guy next to him steps in— Hand extended and paired with a similar smirk, standing straight like he has something to prove.
He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome— Albeit a little shorter than the other two lieutenants. He smelled expensive—looked it too—dressed in a sleek, black button down and leather jacket.
“Don’t waste your time on a guy whose call sign is Bagman,” he dismisses lightly. “Lt. Javy Machado.”
“It’s Hangman,” Jake corrects, briefly rolling his eyes and tipping his flute to his lips, attention never leaving you.
Your eyes flick between the two of them battling it out for your attention like children. A faint smile creeps up, your lips twisted into something that lived between unimpressed and… amused, voice light and coy.
“And you think I’m spending my weekend with either of you why…?”
Jake purses his lips, head tilted as his eyes darken a tad. “You bite. I can work with that.”
Bob bulldozes through their attempts— Body stiff, expression rigid, eyes heavy and impatient. You kinda forgot he was still here, all broody and bored.
“Are you two done embarrassing yourselves yet?” he snaps, shifting his weight, shooting the pilots a look.
Javy steals a flute off a fresh tray being brought into the dining room behind him where the festivities were unfolding and hands it to you with a grin.
“Not our fault you missed the boat, Bobby.”
You raise your eyebrows, interest in drowning whatever little time you had to spare this weekend in either of them quickly dwindling. They really weren’t good at this, but they certainly thought they were.
You couldn’t tell if it was charming or overdone.
Bob runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes narrowed. “Funny. This is Abby’s maid of honor,” he explains, introducing you and sharing your name.
Their expressions falter—teasing, flirty nature snapped on cue—so quickly it makes you shift your weight and swallow so uncomfortably you have to convince yourself they didn’t hear it.
Javy’s eyes dart toward you, taking you in again like you somehow changed since the last time he looked. Jake chokes—literally chokes—on a smug sip of champagne, now anything but assertive and poised.
Hell, you put together these were Bob’s friends—Rooster’s friends, therefore, Abby’s friends—but based on the way their expressions went cold and the flirty competition was sucked from the room like it never existed in the first place, you’d swear they were introduced to a murderer.
You figured they knew about you—knew Bob wasn’t your biggest fan, of course—but you were suddenly insecure about the prospect of whatever it could’ve possibly been that Bob told them about you.
Of course he had somehow already ruined your one opportunity to achieve the much-needed, mindless task of keeping the other side of your bed warm this weekend.
They were both headstrong—in more ways than one—but they were still options. Attractive ones, at that.
Guess they were out of the question now.
You try your best to swallow down your anxiety threatening to come loose and unravel you and plaster on your best clueless expression— Lips parted softly, brows furrowed just so, hint of a smile so you weren’t akin to the bitter monster he had apparently made you out to be.
“What… You guys know me?”
“Of course,” Javy pipes up, clearing his throat and glancing between you and Bob in a way that was anything but inconspicuous. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Jake gives him a shove, subtle as a freight train.
You bite your nail innocently, hiding the nervous slant in your lips. “You have?”
“Rooster’s girl’s best friend she claims was the sibling she never had?” Jake points out, teasing smile tugging at his lips as he glances at Bob who bristles. “Yeah— We know you.”
Well, when he puts it like that, duh— Of course they do. But you weren’t stupid. You know that knee-jerk reaction was more than just finally meeting Abby’s best friend.
You hum sweetly in acknowledgement, mind abruptly cut off from trying to scrape together a way to salvage this encounter by Bob shoving the stack of Abby’s decor at Hangman.
“Great. Everyone knows each other,” he mumbles, miserably failing at hiding his expression worn thin. “Go make yourselves useful like you promised and give this to Abbs.”
“I can just take it,” you pipe up. “I should probably help her finish setting up before anyone else gets here, anyways. Y’know… maid of honor duties, or whatever.”
“And make you more of a liability than you already are? No way.”
Bob steers the two pilots toward the room they came from before they could get a word in edgewise, sparing no time for an explanation on what it was they seemingly know about you.
Your lips press together, arms crossed. “Are you ever gonna let that go? I barely even touched you.”
He studies you for a beat, all faux contemplation. “Mmm… I don’t think so. It’s fun to watch you get all worked up.”
You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore the way he managed to make the tension between you pull tighter, managed to spark a live wire with patronizing, prideful glances and smug smiles he tried to pass off as sweet.
“Your CO’s coming, right? Maybe he’d like to know one of his lieutenants can’t handle a little weight.” You lean closer, voice sharper, adding, “Or pressure.”
His eyes flick between yours. Once, then twice, corner of his mouth upturned and twitching. His shallow blue eyes darken behind the glint of his wire frames, daring, like he was going to push it further— Whatever further meant.
But he retreats, exhaling sharply and swiveling your suitcase back to you with a tilt of his chin.
“Get yourself checked in. You’re missing the party.”
Something unnamed flickers in his expression, eyes trained on you even as he adjusts his sleeve cuff and starts for the room he just sent his squad mates.
“You were right,” you call after him over the rim of your flute with a smirk, watching him freeze on command at a sentence so seldom said.
He turns on his heels slowly, confusion a veil over his face: brows lifted gently, hands shoved in his pockets, head slightly cocked like he can’t help but be curious.
It didn’t take much for you to have his full attention.
You smile effortlessly, shaking your head and grabbing your luggage as you echo,
“Still so bossy— Some things never change.”
A lot of the guests had already arrived by the time you dropped your things off in your room, freshened up, and made your way downstairs again.
It was quaint, quiet, but buzzing and warm in all the perfectly familiar ways that made it feel like you uprooted a slice of home under Montana skies and planted it in the secluded mountains of upstate California.
The party was small, living in between a welcome party and just a makeshift gathering of everyone who just so happened to fly in early and be in the same place at the same time.
The second description was more fitting.
A tiny dining room on the north end of the Inn served as home base for old acquaintances reintroduced and the tangled threads of delicate, new beginnings.
The atmosphere settled like reassurance— Intimate, like old and new memories bent to become one. The gentle lull of easy conversation and laughter swelled like a symphony pouring from the French doors propped open. Beyond it was an array of intricate finger foods, small tablescapes, and mingling bodies all bathed in delicate candlelight— Successfully delivered and set up by Coyote and Hangman, apparently.
The Floyds were like gravity, quietly possessing this special knack for bringing comfort wherever they were. A loose handful of close friends and relatives existed comfortably in their presence— You included, especially once you finally caught sight of the one person you were actually here to see.
Abby was always your center, your safe space to land, that one steadfast pillar of support, never wavering. Always there for you, always grounding. Always on your side, your one piece of solidarity— Even now that she came attached to the arm of a new addition.
She spots you immediately, turning when you step into the room like a sixth sense, something only the two of you could feel. And the fracture in your world remembers there's grace in healing when she smiles— Beaming and bright and beholden. Already the perfect bride.
Or, more importantly, your best friend.
A flood of elated sounds close to squeals of glee fall from her lips, immediately slicing through the dots of guests to greet you.
You’re in her embrace instantly, held at arm’s length just enough so she could take you in. She makes you do a stupid little spin in a chorus of giggles like you were 15 again, standing on the edge of her bed in your first homecoming dress or her mother’s clothes playing dress-up.
“I can’t believe you’re finally here!” she gushes, smile never faltering and pulling you into a tight hug.
Over her shoulder you spot Bob, already watching you two like a magnet— Expression unreadable. Not cold, not distant, just a quiet truth you didn’t have the code to decipher.
Something you weren't meant to see. Something he didn’t mean to show.
You shake it off, busying your attention back on your friend once you pull out of her knuckle-white grip you missed dearly.
“Of course,” you assure, a little breathless. “It’s the week of your wedding— Where else would I be?”
“Nowhere, or I’d disown you.”
You laugh, hands woven between hers and giving her a tight squeeze that says Duh.
This made it all worth it— All the sideways glances and sharp smile lines and stiff posture.
This was your family— She was your family.
And nothing would ever change that, not even her brother. She might be his blood, but she was a piece of your soul.
Even he couldn’t change that.
“You look stunning,” you gush, voice low and sweet, eyes playfully ogling the bride-to-be in the way she damn well deserves. “I literally couldn’t picture anything more perfect— You weren’t kidding when you said this place was better than your dreams.”
“Isn’t it?” She sighs blissfully, grabbing some passed finger foods for you both as they drift by. “I knew you’d love it. And so do you! How do you always manage to look so good fresh off a plane?”
You shrug, smile growing, munching on your share of hors d’oeuvres. “Talent.”
“Truly. You’re the only person I know who steps off a flight looking better than when you boarded. It’s unfair.”
You press your wrist to her forehead, pinching your lips in faux-contemplation.
“You sure you’re not feverish? Already drunk on…” You steal a glance at the custom signature drink menu making a premature debut past her shoulder. “Bird Strikes? God, who thought of that?”
She swats your hand away. “Don’t even get me started.”
“Whiskey, honey syrup, and a twist,” you read, shrugging. “At least Bradley has taste.”
“Your mom’s favorite.” She goes quiet, pulling you close— That familiar, grounding rub against your skin, something you’d know in any lifetime. “I wish she could be here.”
You study her: the quiet sentiment, the worry for you when it’s her time, and that look— The one that never lets you hang off the edge for too long.
“She does too,” you say, voice softer. “I just know she’d be obsessing over you— And Rooster’s choice in cocktails.”
The fiancé in question slides up along Abby, arm wrapped firm around her waist, lingering squeeze above her hips that makes you smile— Same gentle confidence and alluring presence.
The mustache too.
“Place your bets now,” he boasts, tugging his wife-to-be closer into his side. “It’s gonna outsell the Abby Road easy.”
You giggle with him, exchanging a polite half-hug with his free arm as Abby rolls her eyes loosely.
“Says the guy who didn’t even want to do signature drinks.”
You ignore her playful pouting, leaning forward and pretending to examine his mustache with vigor.
“Damn, I swear that thing gets bigger every time I see you. It’s like you comb it with Miracle-Gro.”
Rooster grins proudly, chuckling under his breath.
“I’m surprised I’ve had the willpower to avoid telling him to shave it,” Abby adds.
“I’m not— You’ve always had a thing for guys with mustaches.”
Rooster’s interest is piqued tenfold, brows lifting, smirking at his girl turning red on his arm. “Huh… Is that so?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Um, yes absolutely so,” you counter, smile growing. “Tim Rooney.”
Her eyes widen, memories rushing back to her as she gapes. “Oh my God— Mr. Rooney, sixth grade gym class! Fuck, you’re right.”
“Mhm,” you hum, stuffing the last bite of long-forgotten crostini in your mouth with an accomplished nod. “Of course I am.”
Rooster looks delighted, expression intrigued and flirting with mild satisfaction as he brushes over his mustache.
“Damn, honey, did anyone else ever stand a chance?”
“No,” she teases, leaning closer, voice low and loving. “Only you— Even without the ‘stache.”
“Ew,” you tease, mouth twisting as Abby’s lips brush against his. “Save it for the wedding night, you two.”
“Oh, please— Bold coming from the woman who’s gonna bitch with Bob 24-7.”
Before you could protest, cheeks heating at her subtle dig, Rooster beats you to the punch, thumb brushing over her shoulder with an amused smile.
“How is that even remotely the same thing, Abbs?”
“Trust me— It’s like their own weird version of foreplay.”
Rooster snorts. “Freaky.”
Your heart stutters, pulse racing. It’s not true—not even close, no matter how much Abby loved to tease—so why did it make your palms sweat, make your body feel tense and heavy, suck the air from the room when you catch a glimpse of him again?
You bite your lip, trying to brush it off— Failing. “I’ll let that one slide because it’s your wedding.”
Abby smiles, brow lifted. “Or because it’s true.”
The pair stares expectantly, making the room narrow. You suddenly felt really aware of your surroundings, of your body, of what the lines in your forehead and the heat in your cheeks gave away without your permission.
“Oh, do you hear that?” You hold your hand up to your ear, doing your best to sell your excuse. “I think I hear your mom… She wants to say hi.”
And you beeline to where you spotted Mrs. Floyd before Abby could grab you back, trying to drown out the way Rooster laughed and you could feel her knowing eyes sear into the back of your head—expression still loving—and calling after you,
“She’ll just tell you the same thing!”
The rest of the night was harder without Abby as a shield.
It’s not that you didn’t love the Floyd family and all their friends—well, your friends too… Small towns tend to run in all the same circles—but catching up with old ties never really seemed to be that easy in large doses.
Talking with Mrs. Floyd was, however, always the opposite. She was the epitome of comfort, always somewhere safe to land, just like her daughter. You knew her basically your whole life, and she knew you— Which unfortunately, much like Abby, included knowing your tells.
Your body language was never well hidden, nor your faux joy or best attempts at pleasantries. That meant you couldn’t really hide the fact that you weren’t particularly enthralled to be in the same room as her son again.
Or same state, for that matter.
She gave you some hugs that felt like home and all the things you missed most, a handful of compliments about how far you’ve come— How good you look and how proud she is of the life you’ve created for yourself. How you smelled pretty and how she ‘used to have a dress that cute and tiny when she was young.’
But—same as always—she didn’t miss the opportunity to (lovingly) point out that you should have someone with you or someone to spend the weekend with.
And that meant a couple teasing comments along the lines of ‘it would be nice to make you an official daughter,’ or ‘you know, Bobby’s always adored you.’
You couldn’t fault her—couldn’t really do anything other than offer a soft smile and flustered dismissal—because she chalked up your history to normal adolescent adrenaline edged with attraction and quiet competition you, of course, age out of.
She didn’t know it ran deeper. She didn’t need to.
So, you changed the subject— Talked about how nice the venue was and how lovely she looked. Asked how her book club was going and—after you both had another glass of champagne—if she actually likes her future son-in-law.
She does.
You mingle your way through the rest of the family: distant relatives you met once or twice at a barbecue growing up, Mrs. Floyd’s best friend who owns the pharmacy in town and gave you your first job, some other familiar faces from home.
You also got to meet two other members of Rooster’s squadron, Fanboy and Payback, all loudly polite and equally over-confident as the other two from the lobby.
It was all good and fun until you were referred to as ‘Robby’s pretty high school sweetheart’ a few times by Abby and Bob’s extremely elderly great grandfather to the pilots.
You adored him, knew it didn’t mean anything and was completely harmless—he was nearing 97 for God’s sake—but your brain was starting to melt at constantly hearing yourself referred to in some type of affectionate context in relation to Bob.
Especially when the guys' expressions went wide with amusement, accompanied by raised brows and smooth, teasing echoes of ‘oh really?’ among other boyish laughs.
So, yeah— You needed a break.
You find your window shortly after clarifying just how very untrue that was to the guys and make a break for it to the little antique bar in the corner.
A guy with a handlebar mustache greets you, all warm smiles and crinkly eyes.
“A glass of Chardonnay, Miss?”
You blink, take a look over your shoulder at Bob’s solid frame becoming a landing spot for one of his mother’s friends laughing like he was suddenly Montana’s most charming bachelor, and sigh.
“Whiskey,” you mutter. “Rocks, please.”
“Make that two,” an unfamiliar voice adds.
It was a woman— Lean, tan, ridiculously sleek, black hair and a friendly smile, elbow casually propped against the bar top.
“Nice to finally put a face to the name,” she says, slipping into the open seat next to you. “I’m Natasha— Or Phoenix.”
Realization washes over you, accepting your matching drinks from the bartender with a smile and sliding hers in her direction.
“Ohhh— The Natasha who Abby keeps threatening to replace me with if I don’t come visit,” you tease. “Got it. Nice to meet you.”
She laughs softly. “I’m surprised you went with that description over ‘Bob’s front-seater’ but, yeah— The one and only.”
You hum, swirling your drink around the large ice cube. “You must have fun putting him in his place all day.”
If you were being honest, you weren’t entirely sure what you meant by that— If it was just a subtle dig at him because you can’t help yourself, if it was inquiring—wondering if he was just as much of a pain in the ass as he was back then—or if it was… sexual?
You shouldn’t care—you don’t care—but of course you were curious. Natasha was gorgeous, strong-willed, ridiculously accomplished, and confident… He would be kinda stupid not to try to make a move.
Her brows lift. “Bob? No, he doesn’t need any place-putting. If anything, he’s the only sane one around besides me.”
“Of course, always so perfect.” You roll your eyes loosely like a reflex, succumbing to the gentle buzz in your bloodstream from a few casual drinks. “God, he was born for the Navy.”
She shakes her head, giving you a sideways glance. “Bob’s not perfect— Trust me.”
Your cheeks flush at how ridiculous you sound. Back in his presence for all of two hours and he already had you acting like a child again. You needed to get a grip.
“Sorry,” you sigh, staring at the thin line of amber at the bottom of your glass. “I probably sound like such an asshole right now.”
She nudges your shoulder with hers like you’ve been friends for years, giving you a look that says stop it without saying it.
“Don’t be. He can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”
“That I believe,” you laugh, resting your chin on your hand and swiveling to face her. “It’s just… You didn't grow up with him. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
She studies you for a moment, expression open and patient. All calm and collected— A typical fighter pilot.
She was cool. Really cool. A bite of something unnamed swims in your stomach at the thought of it— Of him.
“I wouldn’t sweat it,” she says with a shrug. “His biggest competition as a kid was an academic genius a grade below him who also happened to look like a prom queen? The chip on his shoulder shouldn’t get to you, that’s for damn sure.”
Your skin flushes at the compliment, shifting your cheek into your palm to hide the smile you can’t seem to bite back.
“I think we need to reassess your definition of both those things.”
She eyes you— All genuine and knowing, like she had you completely figured out. Like she’s known you forever.
“I know the stories. And I’ve seen some pictures,” she counters, leaning closer, voice all quiet teasing but still steady. “I don’t lie.”
Before you could respond, her gaze shifts past you, landing somewhere behind.
“Besides, he’s still a boy,” she offers, smirk tugging. “Of course you drove him crazy.”
You turn to look where she is, finding the man in question with his eyes already locked on you across the room.
His posture was tense, shoulders squared and jaw set, eyes cutting through the dots of people, clearly not paying a shred of attention to whoever was talking to him.
And when you return the favor, his stare rips free— Busied down at his fingers twisting around his glass, at the spot on the old wood floors the toe of his dress shoes scrubbed at, scratching the back of his neck all innocent and oblivious like you didn’t already catch him looking.
In some weird, twisted, petty way, your feelings bordered on something reminiscent of relief knowing you weren’t alone in being hung up on adolescent drama tonight.
Things like this always seemed to stir up old memories, especially when it comes to you and Bob.
Something about him was impossible to flush out of your system— No matter how many years passed, no matter how much you’d grown. No matter how trivial or insignificant, it didn’t matter. A pathetic sense of pride settles in your chest knowing it was the same for him.
You shake your head, turning back to Natasha who wore a proud smile and coy tilt of her head.
“See,” she says, voice low. “I don’t lie.”
You clear your throat, throwing back the rest of your drink and letting the hollow glass hit the bar top unceremoniously.
“How do you know so much about me already?”
She blinks, expression saying isn’t it obvious as she silently flags down the bartender for a second round.
“Well, for one, I’m intuitive— So don’t go feeling like you’re too special,” she teases. “And I’ve just… heard a lot about you.”
Your heart rate rattles a bit in your chest, anxiety flooding your veins at the thought trying to claw free. A repeat of what his other friends heard about you, surely.
The only difference was her expression didn’t flip to panic mode around you. It was intrigued, interested— Like you were someone worth getting to know.
Still, your nerves spark all the same.
“Oh, boy,” you groan, throwing your head back with a lazy smile. “All bad, I’m sure.”
Her eyes flick between yours— Just once, expression blank, cards close to her chest.
“No… Why do you say that?”
You blink. “Are you serious?”
She shrugs, stuffing a five in the tip jar when the second round is delivered promptly. “Are you?”
You go quiet, silently weighing how to respond.
Phoenix seemed like the type of person who would always be straight up with you, but at the same time, you couldn’t shake the feeling you were failing to read the subtext of whatever was lying beneath the heart of your conversation and lined her gaze.
But, yeah— Bob hated you. Of course you were serious.
So you nod, not so much as an answer but rather a soft acknowledgement.
“Yeah, I am.”
She studies you for a moment, smile slowly returning— Effortless, like she wasn’t suddenly speaking in riddles.
“Good. Me too.”
Eventually, the night draws to a close. The candles burn low, the laughter falls softer. Small groups of guests trickle out, slowly heading back up to their rooms until morning.
You help Abby and Rooster pack up some of the little decorations they set out—collect bouquets, blow out flickering flames, clean up the little signs and pictures they had displayed—before you’re finally ushered up to your room to turn in for the night.
Despite putting up a fight—insisting it was your job to make sure the bride was the one getting rest—you were truly no match for Abby Floyd once she made up her mind about something.
You never were.
So, begrudgingly, you grab a water bottle from the bar and say your goodbyes to the handful of people still left behind. You needed a shower and some good sleep after your flight, so you weren’t too mad about it.
Your room was quaint and charming, yet spacious for an old, vintage Inn. It was decorated with elaborate pictures and hushed wallpapers, freshly carpeted and topped off with a set of old mahogany armchairs adjacent to a lavish, king-sized bed.
The bathroom was stocked to the nines with artisan bath salts and imported body washes. They were the kind you’d want to take home with you just from the soft scents of lavender and cedar alone.
You’re halfway through drying your hair, eyes heavy with the whisper of sleep starting to flood your bones, when your phone buzzes on the vanity and a name you haven’t seen light up your screen in years settles at the top of your text threads.
You pause, flicking the switch on the hair dryer off and rolling your eyes as you click the thread open.
Bob Floyd
Do you really have to be so loud at quarter to midnight?
You bite your lip, trying to piece together how he even knows that was you.
You
Are you listening to me?
Some might call that creepy, Robert
Three dots dance across your screen instantly.
Bob Floyd
Kinda hard not to
Because you’re loud
You
I don’t feel like getting breakage or folliculitis just because you’re a baby about your sleep
The cool granite touches your back as you turn and lean against the counter, smiling as you add,
You
Omg is that why your call sign is Baby on Board?
You were kidding—clearly—but you’d been waiting for an opportunity to tease him about it all night after Hangman’s comment. Of course you didn’t forget— And of course you weren’t going to let it go.
Bob Floyd
Very funny
That’s not my call sign
You
Doubt it
What is it then?
The dots flicker again—thinking—then disappear.
You
By the time you finally type it out my hair’s gonna air dry and we won’t need to worry anymore
That does it. His reply lights up your phone almost immediately.
Bob Floyd
It’s just Bob
And no, it’s no need to worry because you’re not gonna get folliculitis
You’re so dramatic
You unplug the dryer—not because you’re giving into him, but because your hair is basically dry—and plop down onto your bed, lip caught between your teeth as your fingers go to work.
You
I don’t believe you
And that’s why you only got a 92 in sophomore year microbio, btw. It’s a common infection
Do you really want to be responsible for the maid of honor having horrible hair for the wedding?
Bob Floyd
I got a 93, actually
You
And you could’ve had a 95 like me if you spent more time studying and less time staring at the back of my head
You click off the screen and sink into the cool, compressed weight of fresh hotel linens, snuggling into your pillow as warm lamp light spills across your tired features.
A veil of hazy steam from the bathroom floats through the air, mingling with the soothing scents of bath salts and lotion.
It buzzes again moments later.
Bob Floyd
I was too busy checking for folliculitis ;)
You roll your eyes—loosely, lazily—smiling into your pillowcase. What a pain.
You
Good
Someone’s got to
You reach over and click off the lamp, shifting onto your back as you add,
You
Wait is that what your call sign stands for then? Bad At Bio?
You could practically feel him roll his eyes through the drywall. It only makes your smile widen.
Bob Floyd
That spells Bab not Bob, you idiot
Heat rushes to your cheeks instantly as your tired eyes blink at the screen.
Damn it.
Maybe you should just block his number and pretend that never happened.
You
I’m tired leave me alone
It sounded really funny in my head
Bob Floyd
Seems like I’m not the only baby who needs sleep after all, huh?
You
Shut up
Let’s go back to talking about your call sign being Baby On Board
Bob Floyd
You’re so annoying
You
And you’re a creep
Bob Floyd
I’d also remind you that you’re dramatic but then we’d be here all night
And Baby needs his full 10 hours
A muffled snort escapes before you could stop it. You cover your mouth loosely even though you were completely alone.
As much as you hated to admit it, sometimes Bob was funny. He always knew how to make you laugh. That was something that would never change.
You
How could I forget
Sleep well, Baby
You freeze, blinking back at the message.
Shit, you really need to stop and think before you send things because what?
You didn’t mean it like that. Not at all. Maybe he’ll ignore it… But that wouldn’t be Bob, now would it?
The typing dots appear immediately.
They flicker, stall, but nothing comes through.
Fuck.
Your stomach drops.
Then—
Bob Floyd
Oo did you just call me baby?
You squinch your eyes shut and groan.
You could correct him. Shut him down like always. Or, you could double down, throw him for a loop— Something you’re really good at doing.
Jesus Christ— Was Abby right? Was this foreplay?
No. You were tired. You weren’t thinking straight. Your thoughts were starting to sound delirious.
You
In your dreams, Floyd
A sharp exhale leaves your lungs when you hit send, expression twisting as you toss your phone on the other side of the bed and stare up at the ceiling.
It buzzes quickly— Too quickly.
Bob Floyd
Maybe
It could be the lack of sleep, could be the familiarity or the environment—this weird, delicate, snow globe-like atmosphere you were suddenly trapped in despite your best efforts to put distance between you and him—but something in you softens.
The tension in your forehead, the adrenaline running out. The rhythm of your heart as you sit up suddenly, pausing when your knuckles hover over the wall behind you— The only wall that touched another room.
Slowly, you knock three times.
And you wait.
You wonder if he’s the one you’re bothering. Wonder if he’ll even remember that little secret language you came up with that summer you spent at the lake house together and shared a wall, just like now.
All these years later.
It didn’t mean much, not then, not now. It was just a quiet acknowledgement you shared when both of you were still awake in the middle of the night.
A simple thing.
A brush of knuckles that lingered— That recognized.
Does he still?
Two brisk knocks echo back against your headboard from the other side, just like always.
He does.
You slip back under the covers, smiling with something different now— Something unnamed where he’s concerned.
Before your eyes lull shut, you pick up your phone again, fingers hovering before you type,
You
Night creep
It buzzes against your pillow.
Bob Floyd
Goodnight, annoying neighbor
And for the first time in years—in lifetimes—you fall asleep feeling something other than irritation simmering under your skin from Bob Floyd.
By the time morning comes, it’s not really morning anymore.
Maybe it was the bleak, blistering chill of the outside world washed in wistful whites and gentle greys. Maybe it was the plush cocoon of covers wrapped around you, or the fact that you were up later than you damn well should’ve been texting someone you can’t stand, but yeah— You slept in.
It was evident. Your body was heavy as you lazily pushed the door open to Abby and Rooster’s suite, immediately hit with a wall of pure wedding chaos and commotion.
Your eyes were glazed over, warm sweats still on, hair— Definitely suffering from the lack of styling last night, though, your half-assed efforts to try to kill the bedhead helped a little.
You skip the pleasantries and flop face first onto the bed with a muffled groan.
Maybe Bob was right. He wasn’t the only one who got moody without sufficient sleep, apparently
You sense a presence intercepting the window, fighting to fill the room with pale winter light, a small shadow eclipsing you.
“Well good morning to you, too,” Abby teases, playful lilt in her voice, definitely grinning at your misfortunes.
You sigh into the comforter, face still buried. “Hi.”
“Long night?”
You nod, reluctantly lifting to rest your chin on your hands and peer up at her.
“I had this really annoying neighbor. Wouldn’t shut up the whole night. Liked to talk.”
You sneak a brief glance over at Bob sitting in a lounge chair in the corner. There’s the tiniest flicker of an impish smile at the corner of his mouth as he listens, eyes still trained on whatever it was he was folding.
It was a good thing Abby didn’t have access to the room assignments in the hotel block because she just hums, all careless and oblivious— Clearly not aware her older brother was the neighbor in question.
“Sorry, babes,” she mumbles, fingers gently tracing wisps of hair from your eyes. “Hopefully it doesn’t happen again so you can get some sleep.”
Slowly, you lift yourself off the mattress and take in the scene unfolding around you.
Everyone was in full-blown work mode— Concentrated on random tasks like their lives depended on it, arguing if the welcome sign was straight or not, inspecting a seemingly-broken box of giant glow sticks for the reception… Everything and anything you can imagine.
You’d basically walked into a subpar assembly line.
Most of Rooster’s squadron was there, screwing around when Abby wasn’t looking and playing with decorations instead of actually working, but it was still help to a degree.
Mrs. Floyd and some of Abby’s extended family was there alongside you, Rooster, Abby, and Bob, who sat by himself— All quiet and responsible, per usual.
If he needed the sleep, it didn’t show. He looked completely put together—too put together—all perfectly combed hair and wide-awake eyes as he diligently concentrated on his task.
You rub your hands over your face and sigh. “Where do you want me?”
Before she could answer, Rooster tosses a stack of something at you, papers all fluttering and fanning out across the bed. “Wanna fold? There’s, like, a million of these damn things.”
Abby shoots him a look for his comment, collecting the papers and placing them neatly.
“Bob’s already working on those. I’ll find something else for you.”
“You sure?” you ask, eyes flicking down to what seemed like a stack of at least 200 sheets. “I don’t mind folding if that’s what you need.”
She nods, passing the stack over to Bob who barely lifts his gaze to grab it. “I think he has a particular system going, anyways. He’s flying through ‘em.”
“Yeah,” Hangman adds from across the room with a grin. “Bobby’s real good with his fingers.”
Your eyes widen slightly, glancing over at Bob who stiffens—imperceptibly so—and keeps his head down.
But you don’t miss the way the tips of his ears turn red under the curve of his glasses and his jaw works.
Fanboy snorts, earning a shove and pointed look from Phoenix.
“Meanwhile you can’t even put batteries in the right way,” she mutters to Hangman, taking a glow stick, turning the batteries around, and closing the cover with a snap.
She shoves the glow stick back to the pouting pilot and returns to her area of the room with Abby’s aunt.
“Maybe someone smart should go help the guys,” Abby suggests, brow raised in amusement.
“You mean babysit,” Nat adds over a rumble of groans and protests.
You give Abby a tight smile, obliging. “On it.”
The afternoon was spent doing whatever was needed: fluffing flower arrangements, helping Abby and Mrs. Floyd finalize their jewelry options, double-checking seating charts or name spellings.
After helping the guys make sure the glow sticks and bubble wands were all ready to go, you spend your time typing out the thin strips of sticker paper to put over the little welcome pamphlets Abby made and forgot to edit a section of.
Luckily, the wedding was no longer on a Friday in June in Tulsa.
When you were done, you brought them over to their final station, quietly slumping into the chair across from Bob as he finished meticulously laying thin spreads of Wite-Out across the incorrect text on the papers, now all neatly folded.
Neither of you had said a word to each other since last night—not in person, not over text—and if you were being honest, that felt… confusing.
Sure, it’s been years since you’ve been around him like this, in this way— For a weekend and change rather than a brief encounter at home for the holidays or something. No matter where it was, you always found each other— Found this weird, familiar rhythm easily.
And yet, even still, it never sat right with you.
Maybe it didn’t with him either.
But the longer you were around him, the harder it was for you to remember exactly why you hated him so much. You had to remind yourself he’s not the lanky, dorky, annoyingly-polite boy you grew up with.
The one who pushed buttons you didn’t even know you had and then left you the last pink Starburst instead of taking it for himself.
The one who spent every waking hour he had to spare learning the ins and outs of every class, every chapter, every test—not because he wanted to excel, but because he wanted to be better than you—then would slip over his cue card when you blanked during a debate or pushed his homework to the edge of his desk when you forgot to do it, all without even looking.
The one you hated— Who you teased and pushed and dug into until you started feeling something else. Something that apparently meant nothing.
That was what you had to remind yourself.
He wasn’t that boy—maybe never was—and he certainly wasn’t someone you could categorize your relationship with anymore.
Because even now—even after all those years of sparring back and forth, and the soft, confusing moments in between—you still don’t know how to be around him. How to pivot, adjust, every time you both threw caution to the wind and let something other than disdain settle between you.
And yet, it always found its way back to what it was.
“Are you sure I’m the one who’s responsible for the maid of honor having a bad hair day?”
He breaks the silence enveloping you two, running a cautious thread of fingers through a strand of your hair that was slightly out of place.
You stop your scissors along a strip of text and glance up at him, already looking at you with that smooth, satisfied smile.
You study him, eyes flicking between his once, then go back to work. “Maybe I would’ve had time to style it if I wasn’t up all night arguing 10th grade science topics with a grown man.”
He shrugs, continuing to drag the corrector across the text. “And whose choice was that?”
You open your mouth to shoot back a response—or insult—but he beats you to it, adding,
“I always knew I was in for it those days.”
Your brows knit. “What do you mean?”
“You’d come onto the bus in the morning the same way,” he starts, flicker of a softer smile forming. “Hair all ruffled, eyes extra sleepy, more attitude than usual.”
You roll your eyes, trying to shake off the way your nerves gently rattled at the memory.
“I always knew it was because you were up late studying or something,” he continues, capping the Wite-Out and tossing it on the table between you with a thud. “Always knew you were up working extra hard to kick my ass.”
You raise your eyebrows, setting some cut strips down for him to take. “Not everything is about you, you know.”
“And yet that hair is always evidence of me.”
You pause, watching him through narrowed eyes, lip caught between your teeth as you try to gauge where he’s going with this.
“That too,” he adds, nudging your foot with his and tilting his chin up at you. “Always chewin’ that damn lip when I make you think too hard.”
The rhythm of your heart does some quiet, perfidious, little thing— Fluttering under the iron armour of your ribs, a steady thread loosening, peeling a vulnerable part of you open against your will. Exposing something tender you weren’t entirely ready to face.
You exhale, lip slipping free from your teeth immediately. “How do you always manage to assume so much responsibility yet none at all?”
He smiles, half-laughing under his breath as you both begin carefully applying the strips of sticker paper.
“Same way you always managed to be up so late studying and still got lower grades than me.”
“You’re extra irritating today.”
“Believe it or not, you’re not the only tired one,” he teases, fingers brushing yours as he reaches over to fix the strip you were about to place. “Some of us are just good at actually hiding it.”
You snatch the strip away and eye him, only making his expression sparkle with satisfaction.
“Are you, though? Because you seem extra fussy.” You press the strip down and toss the finished product onto the completed stack, piling high quickly. “Sure you don’t want me to get you a pacifier?”
That was, admittedly, extra snarky, but it slips out regardless. Was he right? Were you moody?
He raises an eyebrow, glancing up at you from under his glasses, eyes darkening just slightly.
“Depends— Are you gonna call me baby again?”
“Only if you keep acting like one.”
He purses his lips, pretending to consider it. “Noted. Whatever you say, Boss.”
You freeze, expression twisting in confusion as you watch him grin like he has a secret you don’t know.
“I’m sorry… Did Hell freeze over or did you really just call me boss?”
“It’s your new callsign,” he says offhandedly, organizing the stack and sitting back with an effortless look. “Bad At Spelling— You know, since apparently A’s and O’s are the same thing now.”
Great— Another stupid thing he wasn’t going to let go of. Maybe you needed to stop texting when you were feeling bold and overtired.
Or, maybe you should just stop texting him.
As dumb as it was—admittedly embarrassing, too—you were failing to suppress a small smile at just how stupid and weirdly… endearing he made it sound— Even when he was driving you absolutely crazy.
“Bad at spelling sometimes,” you clarify.
“Sure,” he hums. “Sometimes.”
“I hate you.”
He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, suddenly a lot closer than before. “Quick— Spell hate. Hint: there’s no O.”
You roll your eyes, throwing a ball of crumpled sticker backings at him as he chuckles, swatting them away.
“Yeah— I’m definitely getting that pacifier to shut you up.”
His stare holds yours, gaze suddenly heavy and persistent, somehow stealing your breath. His heat whispers along your skin as he lowers his voice, smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“And if that doesn’t work, then what? You got other plans to keep me quiet?”
“If you two are done eye-fucking, can you please go help Bradley bring the favors up from the car?”
Abby hovers above you: hands on her hips, eyebrows raised, eyes darting between you and her brother suspiciously— But certainly not annoyed.
No, that was just for show.
A flustered heat crawls up your neck. Bob clears his throat, quickly leaning back and weakly brushing the spare strips off his clothes, avoiding eye contact completely.
You move first, quickly getting up and scurrying after her, trying to dismiss what she walked in on.
Or, rather, what she thought she walked in on.
“If that was eye-fucking to you, I’m incredibly worried about your sex life,” you mumble.
She looks at you flatly, then glances behind her at Bob, still red-hot in the corner.
“At least I’m having sex, unlike some people.”
Your pulse hammers in your ear, blood thick with heat and some sort of nervous, restless energy you can’t seem to shake. The cold rush of winter air doesn’t stop your face from flushing as you silently carry boxes up from the car, not daring to say a word.
You don’t challenge her after that.
After a long day of draining, meticulous last-minute tasks, the self-indulgent solitary confinement of chlorine and bubble jets was just what you needed to detox.
Your fingers were sore from tying the world’s tiniest twine bows for the favors with Phoenix. Your bones ached from the cold— Bitter and persistent while your body stayed hunched over paper strips. Your vision was starting to blur the longer you stared at anything that wasn’t a heavy pour of wine and a good book.
You were more than happy to help—more than happy to lend your hands until they bled—but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good to finally take a break.
Mostly from Bob.
It didn’t help that he lingered— Around every corner, involved, embedded in spaces you’d consider too close even if you were separated by walls. And it certainly didn’t help that you couldn’t read whatever was sitting between you after last night.
It’s been like this for years— This subtle, infuriating ache to dig into each other, every exchange edged with something sharper than irritation. Something that felt too much like want if you let yourself linger on it.
Something that stirred your heartstrings until they squeezed the inside of your chest and made you dizzy.
It was starting to wear on you, chipping away at your sanity with every glance and word spoken. It was like his voice was trapped between your ears, like his heartbeat was woven with yours without permission.
Like you hated each other so much that you didn’t.
You couldn’t stand it.
And as fun as it was to push his buttons, you needed a generous stretch of time without his presence— Without his guileful, abrasive attitude he dressed up as courteous, charming chivalry.
So you stepped into the elevator around half-past nine, a plush bath towel wrapped around your body, shivering from the chill that managed to creep into the Inn.
The lobby hums with quiet life— New families checking in, warm laughter spilling from the bar, children snoring softly against their parents’ shoulders after long drives. Couples whisper as they disappear into their rooms for the night.
You patter down the hall unnoticed, quickly swiping your key card and slipping into the rec room.
The doors swing shut behind you with a hollow thud, trapping you inside the humid, heavy bloom of steam and chemicals. Chlorine and heat wrap around your lungs as you breathe deep, the weight of the day finally starting to loosen its grip.
It was just you, the roar of hot tub jets, music pouring from your headphones, a glass of wine, and a book begging to have its spine cracked.
And, most importantly, no—
“Bob?”
Your eyebrows shoot up, voice cracking over the gentle hush of the natatorium as you watch him finish a lap— Slicing through the water so silently you wouldn’t think a soul had stepped foot in there in years.
Clearly, you were wrong.
He spurts water from his mouth, running his hands down his face and bracing his elbows against the scratchy cement to catch his breath.
“Jesus,” you mutter, shifting to clutch your towel tighter as you stare down at him. “You really are everywhere, aren’t you?”
He blinks through steady beads of pool water tracing the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the muscle in his arms and his chest and holy shit— When did he start looking like this?
“I could say the same for you,” he says, eyes skimming down your bare legs almost imperceptibly before snapping back into place like it didn’t happen. “I think you might be stalking me.”
A weighted silence pulses through the air, both of you staring at the other like it would make you disappear.
Or make you say something that hasn’t revealed itself yet.
Night glow spills through the glass ceiling, stars fighting to pierce their way through careless strokes of fog and clouds. A delicate whisper of pool lights flicker, shapes of pale blue and cool teal dancing across the tile. They wash over the stretch of toned, tanned muscle as he pushes off again, resuming mechanical laps.
It’s the kind of movement—kind of skin and body—that suddenly has you entranced against your will.
You sigh, letting yourself collapse onto the edge of a sticky plastic lounger. The towel slips from your body, pooling uselessly at your feet. And you watch, half-heartedly making sure he doesn’t stop dead in the water like he might suddenly want to watch you too.
Vulnerable, and not just because of the sleek trim of black bikini stretched sparingly across your skin.
You both try to move on— Ignore the other, fall out of orbit and back into your own center of gravity before you get pulled under again. A losing battle neither of you seems to be able to ignore.
His arms work steadily, slicing through the soft lull of undisturbed water, chest rising and falling as he glides onto his back with ease. Shadows catch dips and curves that certainly weren’t there when you were 17.
You swallow tightly, ripping your eyes away, trying to ignore the gentle puffs of air slipping through his lips and spray of water— Trying to settle into what you came here to do.
Relax. You’re here to relax. You’re here to let go of him— Of this. To clear your head of God knows what, enjoy a glass of rosé, and read a goddamn book, for once.
Even if it’s just for an hour. For a minute. For two.
But it’s too loud: your head, your conflicting thoughts and simmering rage at his presence— His heat and his exhale, the way the water only seems to splash louder the longer you lie there pretending not to care.
You click the volume up on your headphones. You pick a louder song. You down half your glass and hope the burn in your throat might scorch the incessant, ambiguous novelty of his presence from your system.
Then he stops, limbs gingerly wading in the deep end closest to you as he keeps himself afloat. You can feel him watching you through your book, your eyes blankly fixed on the same paragraph for the last five minutes, hoping the words might finally learn to read themselves to you instead.
“I can hear you complaining from here.”
You blink, slowly pulling the small partition of pages down and eyeing him over the top. “I haven’t said a word. You’re the one being loud over there.”
“You didn’t have to,” he says, voice echoing softly through the empty space as he treads water. “I can still tell. And if you’ve found a quieter way to swim— Please, be my guest.”
You shift, crossing your ankles and lifting your book again.
“I’m not complaining.” That’s a lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He huffs a laugh, arms flexing as he swims himself to the edge, peering up at you over the concrete.
“I do. You get that crinkle in your forehead, you pick at your nails.” His mouth tilts playfully. “And I’m pretty sure I could feel you glaring at me through those pages.”
You sigh, meeting his smirk across the space, all cocky and pleased like he actually knows you— Like he remembers.
“It’s not my fault that pretty little smile of yours doesn’t fix everything,” you snap.
He rests his chin on his forearm, wet hair clinging to his forehead, stained a deeper, darker brown. Familiar— Too familiar.
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Not what I said.”
He shrugs easily, smile in question stretching. “Sounded like it to me.”
You exhale sharply, letting your book fall closed against your thighs as you sit up straighter in the chair.
“What are we doing?”
He goes quiet, gears visibly spinning. “Well, I’m doing this thing where I move my legs so I don’t drown. You’re… trying to sunbathe at an indoor pool in the middle of the night?” He pauses, eyes warm and derisive. “Abbs was right— We need to get you to North Island so you remember how real sun works.”
“Bob,” you interrupt quietly, something heavier threading through your voice. “You know what I mean.”
It wasn’t accusatory, wasn’t irritated, just empty. Sad. Distant.
You don’t know why you broke out of the safety of your banter— This thing you both cling to so you don’t have to touch what’s actually there. You don’t even know why you’re here: sitting in front of him instead of soaking in the hot tub, ditching your plans like your body didn’t consult your mind at all.
It didn’t matter. You still orbited him, and him, you.
And suddenly, something else lingers in the silence connecting two lost, lonely souls who don’t know how to exist around each other anymore. Who can’t resist, and don’t know why.
You hate him. He hates you. Wasn’t that supposed to be easy?
He goes quiet, pushing wet hair from his eyes and lifting from the water with ease, sitting on the edge— Closer, but so much further away.
And it was suddenly like looking at you was the hardest thing in the world.
But when he finally does—when he finally looks back again, finally stops avoiding whatever’s chewing him up inside—you miss the vacancy of his eyes.
You miss the distance, miss the numb buzz of ignorance. Miss the chill of him, and the moment before you finally realize his coldness might always be warmer than anyone else’s heat.
His lips part, brows knitting softly, beads of water tracing the slope of his mouth, the shape of words, empty and foreboding.
And then the doors slam open.
Laughter crashes through the natatorium, sharp and careless as a handful of rowdy aviators slip in alongside a few of Abby and Bob’s little cousins, shoes slapping through lukewarm puddles, wrapped in their own world, unaware they were shattering yours.
Mickey cannonballs—too close to the edge, too close to Bob—and paints the room in sprays of water, filling the empty echoes that learned how to scream before they settled.
Bradley follows, tossing in two of the kids—five and nine—giddy and unrestrained, diving haphazardly just to splash them more. Their shrieks ricochet, wild and delighted.
Ruben, Javy, and Jake trail in behind, talking over each other, tossing their stuff aside, all easy smiles and loud greetings once they notice you before stripping down and barreling in themselves.
Natasha quietly steps into the shallow end, eyes flicking between you and Bob once—careful, perceptive—before looking away.
Bob simply stares down at the water lapping around his ankles, wading aimlessly, hands flexing at his sides like he’s grounding himself back into his body.
You sit rigidly, a little shocked at your rush of courage to try to name this doomed, hopeless thing you dance around. The book stays closed in your lap, wine long forgotten, heartbeat still stuttering with something that never got the chance to finish speaking.
And just like that, whatever this was—whatever fragile, almost-bridged bandaid starting to stretch over this festering, aching fracture between you two—was gone.
The morning was quiet in every sense of the word.
Too quiet.
You saw him at the breakfast buffet in the lobby. His fingers brushed yours when you reached for the same scone. He took it, put it on your plate, and walked back to his table without saying a word.
You saw him while waiting for the elevator back to your room. He paused in the entryway, eyes meeting yours tentatively. His lips twitched into a fleeting, distant smile, but it never reached his eyes. Not even a bit.
He left just as quickly, ducking his head and opting for the stairs instead.
You knew he was next to you—just one thin, cold wall sitting between two warm bodies—both back in your rooms, getting ready for the day.
And you don’t know what takes over you—this strange, distant clawing at the pit of your stomach, urging you to face an unnamed thing clearly lost—but you hover close to the wall before you leave.
You inhale deeply, pinching your eyes shut as you decide, and take the leap. Tense knuckles graze against the sheetrock— A hesitant little noise cracking through the silence three times.
A minute passes.
Then two.
No knock is returned.
You exhale, trying to brush it off, trying to pretend it didn’t bother you that it was starting to feel like you were in completely new territory— That he suddenly really didn’t care at all, not even for the sake of annoying you.
Maybe you scared him off, slipping into honesty that felt too dangerous in the heat of a cold December night. Finally alone— Something you rarely were.
Maybe he didn’t want to push you back when you finally acknowledged it and questioned why you were still teasing each other like kids. When you asked yourselves what that even means anymore.
Something past a point of no return— Until now.
And suddenly, if even possible, this weekend just got a hell of a lot harder when you closed your door behind you, glancing at the light still on under his, and slipped down the hallway in silence, carrying a hollow echo in each empty step.
Later in the day, you took a quick break to grab some coffees while you, Bradley, Nat, and Mrs. Floyd assembled the welcome bags.
The wedding was in two days so it was officially crunch time, but coffee breaks were still mandatory in your book.
Especially considering you didn’t sleep much, yet again.
No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop replaying everything over in your head. The heat of that room, the new kind of tension that lined the shallow blue of his eyes when he looked up at you, the way his expression broke open when you confronted him— When you wanted to name whatever this game of yours really was.
All of it lived behind your eyes, trapped between the whirl of your mind and buzz of the heat pulsing through your barren, bleak room in the middle of the night.
So, coffee it was.
You ran into Hangman and Fanboy down at the hotel café. They had curbed their extremely obvious advances since initially meeting you, but apparently whatever it was Bob told them about you wasn’t enough to keep them from trailing after you like lost puppies, insisting you needed help carrying the coffees back.
You didn’t mind. It was nice to feel wanted. Not that Bob wanted you, not that you wanted him—definitely not that—but you still felt the loss of his presence anyway.
And it hit harder than you ever really thought it would, even after all this time.
Regardless, it was extra hands to help out with the remaining wedding chores as it got dangerously close to the big day, so you let them tag along.
“Oh my God,” Natasha mutters to Rooster as you walk back into the conference room. “If you undo my bow one more time, I’m gonna turn your neck into one.”
Hangman whistles low, clearly amused. “Congrats, Bradshaw— You’ve managed to make another woman besides your fiancé wanna kill you.”
“You sure that’s not your true calling?” Fanboy adds with a snort, sliding the cups in his hands to the pair at the end of the table.
Rooster shoots them both a look, muttering something under his breath, and very, very carefully sealing a welcome bag shut— Avoiding Nat’s perfectly crafted bow like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
“Y’know, ma’am,” Hangman says, stretching into a chair next to Mrs. Floyd, hard at work. “There’s still time for you to get a better son-in-law.”
He points over his shoulder to a pouting Rooster, grinning. “This one’s not all that great.”
Mrs. Floyd just hums, carefully setting down a mini Snickers bar, and raises an eyebrow at an overly-confident Hangman.
“Who’s the upgrade? You?”
He shrugs, thinking. “Could be.”
Her eyes flick over his presence quickly, making his winning smile falter and chair squeak as he shifts his weight.
“No it couldn’t.”
The room falls into soft snickers and laughter, enjoying the way Jake’s bubble bursts immediately.
“Oh my god,” Natasha mumbles in incredulous wonder. “I love her.”
The older woman smiles gently, giving a supportive pat to a deflated Hangman sulking next to her, and gets back to work like nothing.
That is until Abby bursts through the doors, Bob silently following and dropping into a chair on the opposite side of the room that suddenly felt too small now that he was in it.
“Oh my God,” she squeals, energy dialed to 100, earning everyone’s attention— Except Bob, who silently steals a pack of smarties from his mom’s stack of candy and stares at the floor, completely disinterested.
Rooster watches Abby, raised brow with a little smitten smile. “Care to explain?”
She flops into the other chair next to him, practically vibrating with excitement. “The cake is finally done!”
He blinks, glancing at her as he continues to seal bags. “I thought it already was done.”
“This is why you’re not in charge of wedding stuff,” she dismisses, rolling her eyes and stealing a sip of his drink. “It’s from that one baker I was on a waitlist for, but the order was finally processed.”
“That’s great, honey,” he affirms, eyes widening in fear as he almost undoes a bow and earns a pointed look from Phoenix for not paying attention again.
Abby hums in agreement, slouching dramatically against the table, face smushed in her hand and sighing. “Only thing is it’s up in Sierra City.”
“Sierra City?” Phoenix echoes. “Isn’t that, like, an hour from here?”
“Yeah,” Abby mumbles, swirling the burning black coffee in Rooster’s cup. “And I can’t go get it, I have a lot to do today.”
You don’t bother letting anyone else offer before you pipe up, posture straightening immediately. “Give me your keys. I’ll go.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Abby counters, giving you a soft frown.
“You aren’t. I’m offering— I wanna do this for you.”
In all honesty, you did—it was killing you that you weren’t able to be as hands-on with wedding stuff as you would’ve liked—but it was also the perfect excuse to get a damn break.
It couldn’t get any better: you’d get to explore California a bit more—even if you were just in the mountains—Abby would get her dream cake, and you would escape the unease between you and Bob.
You’d seen more of him in the last two days than you have in years and it was starting to wear on you— The bickering, the teasing, the weird, unshakable feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach when you both inadvertently danced around something more serious, more weighted.
You were in dire need of an out from the silence— From the way he sat rigidly in the furthest corner of the room from you, from the way he wouldn’t even look at you, didn’t bother opening his mouth to tease you over something dumb… Nothing.
This was a blessing in disguise.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Floyd adds lightly. “You can’t go out there by yourself— Bobby will go with you.”
Fuck. You spoke too soon.
Honestly, you should’ve seen this one coming. Mrs. Floyd always made sure you never did things alone, would always make Bob go with you and Abby if she felt you needed it. It was a little suffocating—especially when you were younger—but now that you were older, you could appreciate the sentiment.
Except for right now.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Bob’s attention shoot to you— Suddenly very aware of the conversation unfolding around him, expression blank, but still alert.
“It’s okay,” you say, waving your hand. “Really. I can handle it.”
Abby gives you a look, one you hated. “I think Ma is right. Those roads are super narrow and, like, in the middle of nowhere. I can’t send you out there by yourself.”
You look across the table at Natasha—eyes already on you—and you widen yours slightly, trying to silently communicate something that begged Please offer to go with me instead.
She gives you a sympathetic frown and glances at her hands busy in a pile of different wedding crafts— Clearly signaling she’s busy.
Goddamnit.
“Fanboy can go with me,” you quickly say, volunteering Mickey who mindlessly poked at a pack of cookies on the table, perking up immediately with an almost too-enthusiastic grin. “Right, Mick?”
He opens his mouth to agree, but Mrs. Floyd beats him to it. “Oh, honey, they don’t even trust that boy to drive a plane, nonetheless a car.”
Nat snickers. “She’s not wrong. He’s a terrible driver.”
Fanboy shoots her a wounded look, crossing his arms and muttering, “Damn, thanks, Nat.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Floyd affirms sweetly, like she didn’t just shatter a grown man’s confidence. “Bobby will take you.”
“Is that really necessary?” Bob pipes up, the first words you’ve heard him speak all day— Bitter and cold in a way you’re sure everyone could pick up on. “I think she can handle it on her own. It’s just 89 North.”
His eyes snap to yours briefly, quickly—calculated in a way only you could feel—and retreat, watching his boot scrub into the hotel carpet like it needed special attention.
“Robert Floyd, who raised you?” his mother scolds. “Because it certainly wasn’t me if that’s the kind of man you turned into.”
His face flushes a little, crossing his arms while a quiet, playful chorus of noises pour out from his friends.
“It’s not, I just meant—”
“No. I don’t care what you meant.” She cuts him short with a pointed look over her reading glasses. “You’ll drive her and you’ll do it safely, you hear me?”
He grows quiet, a little huff under his breath slipping through the thin stitch of his lips and shake of his head.
Of course he’d fold. He was still the perfectly respectful, chivalrous, obedient guy he loved to pretend to be.
“Yeah, Ma, okay.” He looks at you—barely—and slips out of his seat, already heading for the door.
“Get your stuff. We’ll leave in 20.”
Bob was already waiting for you by the time you got downstairs to the turnaround in front of the hotel— Body lazily leaned against his car, arms and ankles crossed, expression blank, his breath harsh in the cold, bleak air.
He looked ridiculous, all bundled up in layers: an undershirt peeking through a thick, moss green henley topped with a warm coat. His boots are on, hat pulled down over his ears, gloved fingers twirling his keys, completely oblivious to your amused presence.
“I’m sorry— Are we going to Sierra City or Antarctica?”
He catches his keys mid-swing in his palm and glances up at you—dressed in a regular long sleeve top, light jacket, and sneakers—then down at himself.
“It’s freezing out,” he says flatly. “You’re the stupid one for not dressing warmer.”
You laugh under your breath, warm air that slips from your lips curling in the bitter air.
“It’s…” your voice trails, pulling out your phone. “31 degrees out, Floyd. Not ten.”
His lips press flat and chapped. “Don’t go asking for my jacket later when you’re inevitably cold.”
Your eyebrows lift in mischief. “Wow, California changed you.”
His eyes narrow, challenging, before he slips the passenger door open and clomps over to the driver’s side.
Of course he still got the door for you.
“Hurry up and get in so we get there before it’s dark out.”
You roll your eyes and climb up into the truck, already starting to thaw as the engine grumbles in the empty Inn turnaround.
Bob shifts the truck into reverse, his arm stretching across the back of your seat as he cranes his neck to check behind him. His fingers free of their gloves now stuffed into the spare cup holder linger near your shoulders.
Your muscles stiffen as his heat sits close to you. It’s like you could feel him touching you through empty space, even a thin sliver of it.
“I really didn’t need you to come with me, you know.”
The rigid cadence of your voice cuts through the soft blow of heat pouring from the dashboard vents, the only disruption as you both settle into the truck dragging its tires across the cobblestone and out of the lot.
He huffs a laugh through his nose, brief and quiet. “Well your own best friend didn’t seem to think so.”
You glance over at him, watching the way the straight stitch of his mouth curves up in the corner, all proud and smug. It makes you sit up straighter in your seat, voice light with faux ponderance.
“Who was able to drive first despite being younger, again?”
“That was ridiculous and you know it!” His voice raises, all flustered and defensive in a way that makes you grin. “What 14 year old expects there to be a question about a suspension system on their permit test?”
“People who studied,” you counter with a shrug.
He glares, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead of him. “Remind me— What color pump is the gas?”
“Oh my god, that was one time.”
“Still happened. At least I never put diesel in my car,” he teases, lifting his fingers from the wheel in surrender.
“I realized before I started pumping,” you grit. “And that’s because you had allll that extra time waiting around to get your license to figure it out.”
“I’m a great driver,” he mutters under his breath, glaring down the road drenched in hazy greys and wisps of thick clouds.
“Is that why you’re a backseater for Nat?”
He goes quiet and for a split second, you feel your heart twist. Maybe that was too far. You and Bob might like to push each other, but that didn’t mean you forgot how talented he really was.
Even if it killed you to admit it.
“The most offensive part of that sentence was you calling her Nat, actually.”
He glances over at you, smallest smile evident on his lips before it fades away back with his attention on the road.
If you hurt him, he wasn’t showing it— And yet you still felt a lot more guilt than you’d like to admit.
You try to shrug it off, voice light as you ask,
“What— Don’t like to share?”
His fingers drum along the steering wheel, tangling over each other, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
“Not particularly.”
You glance out the window, cheek in palm, elbow bent against the armrest. Suddenly this car felt a little too small.
You don’t care. Why do you care?
“She’s great,” you offer quietly. “I wouldn’t wanna share her either.”
Slowly, the few small buildings around the Inn disappear and more bare trees take their place, shifting by in blurs. A thin vignette of fog clings around the corners of the windows, just a frail shield from the frost.
The silence settles, but your mind doesn’t. What the hell were you even saying? You were the one pushing Bob right now, so why was it starting to feel like you were the one getting hurt? It feels like hours pass even though it’s only seconds, silence your only company.
Then,
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
Your pulse stutters, eyes fixed to the dashed yellow between two strips of asphalt slipping under the car.
“What?”
“Phoenix,” he clarifies. “It’s not her I’m worried about sharing.”
His voice comes out small, weighted words suddenly too present, too scared. But it’s honest— A brief glimpse of sentiment you so rarely saw.
All of it makes your head spin from more than just the winding uphill roads and bleak weather. All of it makes you freeze from more than just the cold. You don’t know what to say.
Fuck, what do you say? What does that even mean?
It’s best not to read into it. You learned the hard way that nothing ever meant anything when it came to him, so why should you?
Words don’t come. You just nod, slow and receptive, though it still feels like you’re detached from your body— From your brain and processing system that’s trying and failing to make sense of whatever intent lies behind his words.
“Stop chewing,” he mumbles suddenly. “You’re gonna make it bleed.”
You glance at him, completely caught off-guard, not realizing you were even doing it. Your bottom lip slips out from between your pinched teeth unceremoniously.
He didn’t even bother looking at you when he said it. He said it so plainly, so offhand. So unspecial— Like it was a normal comment cushioned in a regular conversation. Like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t making your head spin.
You stop biting. He stops talking.
Neither of you say much after that.
Eventually, you turn the heat down after it starts to feel like you could melt without the sun. He turns the radio up and slumps against the window, one hand lazily resting along the top of the wheel.
Occasionally his eyes glance over to you. You notice—of course you do—but you don’t bother looking back. Straight ahead felt safer for reasons you didn’t really understand.
Slowly, you slip farther and farther away from everything. Your eyes glaze over. Your mind goes numb. Every turn starts to look the same— Though that would’ve been the case regardless of your indifference. It’s like you're the only car on the road for miles, climbing deep into the mountains of Sierra City draped in a thick winter sky.
When you finally hit civilization again, you might as well’ve been transported to the Swiss Alps or Vail.
The town is small, virtually non-existent, even at the heart of everything. It’s all old, antique wood buildings and weathered streetlamps draped in dainty winter garland. Every window display is dressed to the nines and the cobblestone streets are home to a thin dusting of fresh snow.
The bakery is on the corner, tucked down a little alley across a boutique’s side entrance. Both doors twinkle under string lights piercing through the stretch of grey clouds staining the sky.
It smelled of freshly baked pastries and warm sugar, small and quaint and comforting. Everything was pristine— From each carefully laid sugar flower to the little Christmas town decorating the front window display. There wasn’t a single thing out of place.
All the desserts looked magazine ready— So perfect and intricate they didn’t even seem real. Of course Abby’s dream cake was from here. And you would’ve driven several hours—days, even—if it meant she was happy.
Even with her brother.
The cake was sitting ready to go and boxed up on the back counter when you arrived. A small notecard labeled Floyd was perched on top in handwriting so ornate it looked printed.
In hindsight, it was a mistake to present yourself that way when asking for it because the shop worker couldn’t seem to catch the hint that you weren’t the Floyd in question after she saw Bob’s credit card with the same last name on it.
After a few trying days of being described by Abby’s elderly relatives as someone romantically involved with her brother, the last thing you were in the mood for was more soft smiles and half-laughs of just going along with it.
But there were worse outcomes, considering Bob took the opportunity to talk up how his beloved “wife-to-be” just adored this place and you drove hours just to secure your dream cake— Among other ass-kissing sentiments that resulted in the owner sending you off with a free dessert.
It didn’t help that Bob picked exactly what you would’ve for yourself and silently handed it off to you, hand warm and steady around the dip of your waist as he guided you out to the car and waved all friendly and polite over his shoulder.
It didn’t help that he still knew you. Not at all.
You move out of his grip first, making quick work to get to the passenger side and slip in. Bob slows once he gets to the door, leaving it open as he stares out into the distance.
“Could you at least close the door if you’re gonna stand around and gaze all day?” you grumble, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s like a wind tunnel up here.”
His frown deepens, attention still ahead of him, fingers drumming against the car.
“Do you think maybe we should just, like, take a pause and evaluate if we should be driving back right now?”
You blink. “Uh… No, not really. What is there to evaluate? Abby’s wedding is in two days. Her cake is here with us, she isn’t. Why would we wait around?”
You already knew the answer, ducking down to glance out the frosted windshield at the sky that’s managed to somehow grow even dimmer since you went into the bakery ten minutes ago.
A few stray flakes of snow float down, clinging to the car before melting away, not sticking long enough for the windshield wipers to be needed. It was hardly anything.
Bob had a point— But the faster you got back, the better. It wasn’t going to solve anything pondering the weather, especially not when your sanity was quickly dwindling.
Not to mention you were in the mountains during the middle of winter. Of course it looked dismal.
“No shit,” he huffs, checking his watch. “It’s just… we have the time and that sky doesn’t look very promising. Did Abbs ever mention anything about a storm?”
“No, so I’m sure it’s fine,” you dismiss, starting to undo the lining of your cupcake. If you waited any longer to eat it with that door open, it’d be frozen. “She’s been tracking the Doppler like crazy.”
“Yeah, but—”
“This looks like the kind of place that always has a flurry. I think it’s fine to go— Really.”
He pauses, considering. He glances at you and back again, squinting up at the overcast sky. Then he caves, sliding into the driver's seat and turning the key with an exaggerated sigh.
“Alright. Fine. Whatever you say.”
You watch as the engine revs and he puts the address for the Inn back into his GPS.
It wasn’t like Bob to give in so easily, at least when it came to something you were arguing about with him. Other people, maybe, but you…? Definitely not.
You don’t have the energy to question it, and he doesn’t have the care to explain.
The drive is the same as before— Quiet. Stiff around the edges. Something sharp forcing its way between you two. Only this time when you look at him, he’s the one who won’t look back.
You busy yourself on your phone and that stupid book you got all of ten pages into the night before. It was only an hour drive, give or take, but the more reasons you had to avoid talking to him, the better.
The cake sits tightly tucked against your chest, serving as the perfect arm rest for your book you hold up like a shield.
You let yourself get lost in it.
It was better than getting lost out here with him.
“In one mile, turn left onto Main Street.”
The GPS cracks the silence with new instructions, despite you being on a straight road for 20 miles or so.
It already said that as the first instruction a few miles back… There must be poor service.
You don’t bother looking up. It’ll adjust itself.
“In 900 feet, turn left onto Main Street.”
A few seconds pass.
“Turn left onto Main Street.”
Out of the corner of your eye Bob fiddles with his phone on the vent grate, grumbling inaudibles under his breath.
You raise a brow, not bothering to look while you pinch a page between your fingers. “I think it might want you to turn left, Bobby.”
“If I turn left, we’ll drive off the cliff into a frozen lake,” he snaps. “If I can remember from earlier,” he adds under his breath.
Remember? Earlier? Can’t he just see it now?
You glance over your book out at the windshield and your eyes immediately blow wide in shock.
The tall pines that dotted the edge of a once clear, thin forest road hang heavy with branches already covered in a solid inch of fresh snow. There’s no contrast in your surroundings for miles, no sign of any visible depth perception— Just bristlingly cold billows of wind-blown winter snow coming down hard, all without remorse.
Everything is washed in white— The sky, the foliage, the depths and caverns below the sharp twists and turns of the barren woodland road now completely indistinguishable and swallowed into affinity.
The snow falls heavy and fast, the windshield wipers squeaking, desperately trying to rid the frozen glass from a blanket of white. You can’t see the road in front of you— Not the trees, not the curve of the cracked asphalt, not the lines on it.
Hell, you can barely even see the nose of the truck trying to cut through the frantic snowfall.
“Oh my god,” you mumble in disbelief, mouth a little slack as you peer out.
It’s been all of 15 minutes since you pulled left out of the actual Main Street in Sierra City, but your location was quickly indistinguishable. This was not good.
“If you wanna go left, go right ahead, but get out of the car before you do it because I’d personally like to live to see my sister get married.”
“No, it’s not that, it’s—”
“I know it keeps rerouting, but that’s because—”
“Bob!” you snap. “You can’t even see the road!”
He finally goes quiet. His expression is blank. His knuckles grip around the wheel. He looks over at you.
Once. Then twice.
The car swerves slightly, just enough to shake your attention free and back on the less than ideal conditions starting to trap you out in the cold.
“I don’t even know where the hood of the car is,” you continue, gesturing incredulously out in front of you as the tires struggle to crunch over the quick accumulation.
“Yeah, and you wanted to go! So we’re going.”
“Okay, but—”
“God, can you ever make up your mind about anything?” he huffs, voice raising a tick. “You either want something or you don’t. You can’t have it both ways.”
“Well, I didn’t realize we were gonna be driving into a goddamn blizzard when I said go!”
He shrugs his shoulders, expression bristling. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s fine, whatever. We’ll just take it slow.”
You exhale sharply with a roll of your eyes. This was really not the time for him to have a complex— To play high and mighty just to prove a point. You already knew you were wrong. A reminder wasn’t going to help anyone right now.
“This is stupid, Bob. Just pull over.”
“Where?” he says, exasperated. “Last time I checked we’re now in the middle of nowhere.”
“I don’t know— Somewhere! We can’t drive like this.”
He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in aggravation under his glasses. “You’re actually ridiculous. I can’t with you.”
“I’m sorry! When I suggested we go, I thought there might be a small flurry or something, not all this! How was I supposed to know?”
He shakes his head in silence, lips pressed thin, eyes heavy. His jaw works, tongue running over his teeth tight with tension under his skin.
“Call Abby.” He caves reluctantly. “Knowing her, she probably drove out here to look at the cakes in person.”
You shrink, lump of anger crawling to your throat as you pull out your phone and try her once.
It immediately goes to voicemail.
When you pull it away from your ear, you only have one bar. Fantastic. You try again and it rings, hollow and long through your skull.
Honestly, you couldn’t be mad at anyone but yourself. Your own stupid self-pity and wallowing was exactly what got you here.
You knew better— Of course you knew better. You could’ve given it an hour, stopped in a bar considering the service was spotty up north and checked the local radar for a passing storm before getting on the road.
The cake would’ve survived a small detour. You, however, were a different story.
But, no. God forbid you put your own shit aside for a minute and thought logically around Bob Floyd, for once.
Why were you so fucking stupid around him? So irrational and impulsive? It was insane how he had this effect on you, even years later.
The call finally connects, Abby’s voice light and completely oblivious coming through on the other end.
“Oh my God, please tell me Bob remembered his wallet.”
You smile, running your fingers over the sticker sealing the box that sits securely on your lap. “He did, we got it— Don’t worry.”
“Good,” she sighs in relief. “Thank God.”
“Did, uh…” your voice trails, glancing at what used to be the edge of the road next to you, completely erased now. It’s like another inch fell in the minute you tried to get the call to go through. “Did you know it was supposed to snow, by any chance?”
The silence is thick on the other end. Bob glances your way, trying to read her answer off of your expression.
“No…” she answers eventually. “Why? Is it snowing up there or something?”
“You could say that.”
“Bob took the truck, right?”
You nod slowly even though she can’t see you. “Yeah… but it’s not much help, actually. It’s coming down fast and we’re on a road that isn’t really good for any kind of car right now.”
“Are you serious?” she pouts, voice cracking in and out from the weak connection. “Drive carefully, okay! I need you guys here in one piece.”
“Trying to,” you affirm, glancing at the speedometer. It felt like you were gonna slide off the edge or drive headfirst into a tree at any given moment despite only going 15.
“If it’s that bad maybe you guys should rethink this.”
“Yeah…” You sigh, lips tightening around the words before they come. “Do you know of anywhere around here we might be able to stop until it slows up a bit? Like a gas station or restaurant or something?”
She hums on the other line. “Lemme look.”
“I’d tell you where we are but the GPS is going crazy. Service is kinda spotty up here.”
“No worries, I’ll just check Bobby’s Find My Friends.”
You snort. “You have him on Find My Friends?”
“For emergencies only, Abby!” Bob shouts over, flush creeping up his neck as she giggles in your ear.
You swat him away with a look. “Relax, that’s adorable.”
Bob pouts in his seat, going back to trying to steer through a storm that was only getting worse.
“Oh!” Abby’s voice perks up through the phone. “Bradley said his uncle has a cabin not that far from you guys. Stop there until it blows over.”
Seriously?
A cabin, alone, in the snowy woods, lost in the middle of a flurry that flirted with the idea of being a blizzard.
With Bob.
You truly couldn’t think of anything worse if you tried.
Maybe you should cut your losses and gamble with your life on this treacherous drive to avoid that.
Maybe this is what you get for choosing to travel in this just to avoid more time with him in the first place.
Shit.
“What did she say?” Bob asks, flicking the headlights in different ways like that might make some miracle of a difference.
You pause, grimacing, not wanting to speak it into existence even though you really had no other choice.
“Rooster’s uncle has a place we can crash, apparently.”
His hopeful body language deflates, the same realization you just went through washing over him as well.
Great.
“The app is getting kinda glitchy now— It thinks you guys are in a river,” Abby interrupts, completely immune to the peril both of you were suddenly sorting through. “But when I first looked you were, like, a half mile away from it. Just look for a Willow Street and follow that to the end.”
She gives you a few more details about the house—ensures it’s not a problem and no one ever uses it, as told by the uncle himself who arrived for the wedding that morning—and sends you on your way.
You don’t know how you find it, but you do— Barely.
The piercing, reflective green of the street sign is intercepted by a raging swirl of flakes in the wind, but fortunately you’re able to find the turn and see just enough of the letters to know it’s indeed Willow Street.
It feels like you drive over a mile down that frozen road until you slowly crawl to the end, finally finding a decent-sized cabin on top of a slight incline. You’re in the dead of winter, in the middle of nowhere— Only the woods, nature, and wildlife all taking shelter surrounding you for miles.
When the storm settles between gusts of wind, you can almost make sense of a tiny pond in the distance surrounded by big, spindly branches of bare trees and the hearty green of tall pines surrounding the property.
The house is cute—picturesque, even—tucked at the top of a tiered cobblestone staircase, lined with bushes and shrubs, all completely covered in fresh, lush snow.
It has a massive chimney, a wrap-around porch, a little balcony, and large, welcoming windows. It’s all charming wood and soft stone, decorated with two small Christmas trees on the porch—now knocked over and half-buried in snow—and a couple dozen wreaths on windows and doors, weakly twinkling with a warm glow in the blustering storm.
If Abby didn’t tell you no one ever came here, you’d never believe it. She mentioned they hire a housekeeper to keep it tidy, do a bit of decorating, and get it vacation-ready for each holiday season, but they never actually make it here and ship out to Florida instead.
Even in these circumstances, who the hell would want palm trees over this?
Bob pulls the truck into the driveway and kills the engine with an echoing roar, suddenly loud with the weight you both sat in. Neither of you speak—a familiar state—and just watch in silence as the truck quickly starts to become part of the surroundings buried in glistening white.
You smush your face into your hands, exhaustedly rubbing over your eyes as reality sets in.
How the fuck did you let yourself end up here?
All because you couldn’t listen. All because you didn’t think you were strong enough to tough it out for a few hours around someone you’ve known your whole life.
Now look where it got you.
Bob clears his throat. “Listen, I don’t wanna be here either if it makes you feel any better, but we don’t really have a choice.”
His voice is strained, tone desaturated. You could hear the irritation he so desperately tried to hide simmering under his skin. A facade that was definitely wearing thin.
You pull your hands from your face, blinking out in front of you, still unable to look at him.
The last thing either of you needed was more animosity.
“No. That’s not—it’s not that, it’s—”
“Just stay here,” he grumbles, abruptly pushing the door open and pulling his hat back on over his head. “I’ll go check it out first.”
You try to stop him, to explain that it’s not him—even if a part of it damn well is—but it’s the fact that you stupidly put yourself in this situation because you can’t handle him anymore. Because you can’t handle this.
And more than that, just as always, you can’t handle being wrong— Especially because of him.
How fucking pathetic were you?
He doesn’t give you the chance to explain, just slips into the cold and leaves you in the hollow silence of the car already beginning to freeze.
You watch as he examines the property: checks the name on the mailbox to make sure it’s the right house, peers through some of the windows, and retrieves the spare key— Left exactly where Abby said it would be.
When the door swings open, you gather the stack of things in your arms and bolt, unable to sit still any longer.
You close the door behind you, hugging your arms to your chest to try and keep warm in the blistering cold. The wind was fierce— Biting and bone-chilling, whipping your hair without mercy, already staining your nose and lips a chapped pink.
“Let me come get you,” Bob shouts over from the porch, already making his way down the steps and trying to stomp some snow down. “You’re gonna slip.”
“I’m fine,” you grit back, determined to continue despite your sneakers starting to easily slide around.
The snow seeps into your shoes as you trudge through, wind biting at your exposed ankles, unforgiving and bitter as the accumulation grows. It didn’t matter— The last thing you wanted was more help from him.
“This kind of snow is slippery. Just wait for once in your life,” he grumbles back, his frame blurry in the storm and soft, pale twilight beginning to peek through the trees.
You push through, trying to slip past him when he reaches you. He catches your free wrist with frozen fingers, but you twist away in hot fury.
“Just let me go, Bob. I’m fine.”
He steps back an inch, scanning over you and your sudden ire. Snow clings to his lashes under his glasses, to his shoulders, to his fingers that reach out— Reach out to hold you.
He was being weird this morning, weird in the car, but now he was going to act like he cared about you and your wellbeing? After he made it quite clear he wanted nothing to do with you either?
The mood swings with him were exhausting and unpredictable. You couldn’t keep up— Couldn’t predict which version of him you’d see next. The lines between what was an act and what wasn’t felt like they were starting to blur beyond your liking.
But you know him too.
You know he takes pride in being needed, in being a hero. You also know he was probably just itching to take the opportunity to throw this back in your face and gloat about just how right he was— To get to take care of you just to prove a point.
Because you fucked up.
Badly.
“You’re clearly not fine,” he counters, taking the cake from your hands and trying to hold his arm out for you to hold on to.
“Not now, Bob. I’m serious.”
“What, not now?”
His question is calm, it’s curious. It’s not demanding or smug like you thought it would be. It only confuses you more.
He reaches out for you again and catches your elbow, steadying you as you clomp your way toward the stairs.
“This! The last thing I want right now is for you to do this when I already know how fucking wrong I was. I really don’t need the reminder, for once.”
His face contorts in immediate confusion. “Seriously? That’s what you’re upset over right now?”
“Yes!” You wiggle free of his grip and let your arms fall to your side with a snap. “Of course it is— How could it not be? I already know I screwed up, Bob. I already know that you were right and you’re pissed with me for it, okay?”
“I’m not—” He cuts himself off with a huff, squeezing his eyes shut and stomping after you heading for the door. “That’s not why I’m mad! Would you just slow down for a second?”
“Why would I?” you shout over the swirling wind, not bothering to turn around. “You don’t wanna be around me, I don’t wanna be around you. This is less than ideal and we’re both annoyed, so let’s just get through this and get back for Abby.”
His mouth opens, then closes as he stands in the cold and watches you slip farther and farther beyond a curtain of snow and into the door.
He follows eventually, but he doesn’t say a word.
The silence follows you both inside. It envelopes. It sits. It watches and waits and tries to find a fracture.
It doesn’t come.
You say the bare minimum, trying not to suffocate and drown in the unsettled energy expanding between you. Something was off— More so than usual.
You can’t place it, and it doesn’t really want to be found.
By some miracle, the power was still on, granting you both at least one piece of good news in a bleak situation. The heat was cranked to full blast, quickly trying to thaw out a house that clearly wasn’t used to being used.
To the naked eye, it looked homey and lived in. The main fireplace was decorated with twinkling garland and empty stockings. In the corner was a large, elaborate Christmas tree, standing at least 12 feet tall and brushing against the ceiling. It was the kind you had to go up to and twist the needles between your fingers to realize it’s fake.
The room was showered in windows and warm couches with soft, plush blankets, all freshly washed and folded neatly, waiting to be used. It was truly the perfect setting for a quiet winter night.
You don’t know anything about Rooster’s elusive uncle, but man would it be nice to have a vacation home like this— Rarely used, but always welcoming. Always warm.
The evidence of the lack of warm bodies comes from the details— Empty drawers, cleared-out cabinets, and a vacant fridge. There were a handful of canned goods, a few snack foods unopened and good into the new year. You glance in the cupboards for any drinks or something more substantial, but all that greeted you was a decently-stocked liquor cabinet and some tap water.
That would have to do.
You settled in while Bob slipped outside to track down some firewood in case you lost power before it got dark. You tried to argue against it—tried to tell him it’s too cold and harsh to go back out—but he didn’t listen.
You didn’t put up much of a fight. Why would you? You were wrong about virtually everything else lately.
While he got lost at the edge of the woods somewhere, you curled up between the bay windows in the living room, surrounded by the fine glitter of snow and whisper of wind, book in a feeble hand… again.
He didn’t even have to be in the same room as you anymore to take your attention with him. You still found yourself looking for him through the blistering storm— Heavy and dense with white until he completely vanished.
The pages fall shut against your fingers, still holding the spot like your mind would eventually turn back to it.
It doesn’t.
You just stare blankly out at the snow, watching as the pale grey sky grows darker and dimmer as night slowly falls into place.
You couldn’t help but wonder about him— Think about him, about everything. Something about this place stirs a quiet, delicate feeling you abandoned deep within you. The time, the space. The distance and the animosity that all flirted with some aching, dire need to shift your center of gravity around each other. It’s all rattled.
You rest your head against the cool glass, frozen to the touch. You don’t care, don’t even notice your temple is numb until the front door swings open, snapping you back to reality.
There, Bob stood, completely covered in snow, all bundled up and holding a hearty stack of wood against his chest. He kicks the door closed behind him with an unceremonious thud and carefully drops the wood on a welcome mat next to his feet, already dripping small puddles in the doorway.
His nose peeks out from under his coat zipped up high, features all red and borderline frostbitten. Snowflakes melt across his cheeks, across his eyelashes, across the top of his hat, quickly removed and tossed onto a coat rack.
Damp ends of brown hair curl at the nape of his neck where snow meets skin, cold and wet like the rest of him.
You don’t realize you’re staring until he looks back— Expression patient. Calm. Completely different than when you last saw him. Something you can’t really read.
He doesn’t look frustrated or angry or even indifferent. He just looks like… him.
Like a version you knew a lifetime ago.
Younger. Softer. Giving in to something tired.
You hug your knees curled to your chest a little tighter, pretending to be busy looking back out the window, book still lazily in hand.
“You look like one of those people in a magazine.”
You glance over at him, still watching you. The smallest smile unfolds at the corner of his lips— Something almost not even there. Something that tries and fails to meet his eyes.
You're tucked comfortably in your corner, blanket over your lap, winter’s exhale unfolding around you, eyes catching the faint glow of Christmas lights on the window wreaths and the tree. Your mouth slips open, a little at a loss at the sudden softness and the recognition of it.
Or maybe it wasn’t so sudden.
Your brows crinkle, an unwanted heat flooding the apples of your cheeks. Hopefully he couldn’t see in the low light.
“I feel like I’m in a damn Hallmark movie.” You try to tease, but it falls a little flat, a little… vulnerable.
His lips slip into a subtle pout, sliding off his clunky boots and peeling his soaked gloves from stiff, cold hands.
“I like Hallmark movies.”
“Of course you do.”
Even though you’re trying to slip back into old habits—to hold onto your safe, familiar rhythm like a lifeline—you still can’t seem to foster the same kind of bite behind your words.
Too hollow, and yet, not at all.
All of it falls softer, quieter. Hesitant, like something was fracturing without permission.
“What’s wrong with Hallmark Christmas movies?” He shifts his weight like it’s personal, fixing his glasses draped in melted snow.
You press your lips together with a shrug. “They’re unrealistic.”
“Are you, like, allergic to joy of all sorts…? Or just the holiday kind?”
Your eyes narrow. “No. Just the unrealistic kind.”
“Yeah,” he huffs incredulously, tossing his hands up to gesture at the wall of snow quickly building around the cabin and trapping you in. “So unrealistic.”
“Well, that’s why I said I feel like I’m in one.”
He gathers the wood he dropped at the door and heads for the fireplace, empty and waiting just to your right.
“You’d be one of those girls who’s forced to go back to her hometown that’s obsessed with Christmas but she’s not into it,” he says, smiling softly to himself as he slides the glass doors open and starts assembling the wood in the cradle. “Then she ends up stuck there instead of working the whole holiday and eventually learns to love it again.”
You hum, brow lifted as you watch him work.
The thick planes of his back muscles work under his layers, catching the flicker of daylight still fighting to burn and drape the room in soft shadows. His fingers are delicate around the sharp, jagged chunks of firewood he places with care. The harsh red of winter across his skin softens to a gentle pink— A pink you haven’t seen in years.
Something about this place was dangerous. It was like a vortex pulling you back into cold, dead, old habits you thought you buried a long time ago.
You don’t even realize he’s still talking until you scold yourself out of your trance. Why the hell were you looking at him like that?
“Which I guess would make me the ruggedly-charming guy who works at the family tree farm or something and shows her the true meaning of Christmas,” he continues, working diligently until the logs are layered just so, completely unaware of your sudden spiral.
You sit quietly, watching him from the side, trying to wrap your brain around why he was being so… different.
And why you were falling for it.
You shift, facing him a bit more. You inhale, trying to talk yourself out of what you say before you say it.
“I don’t know if that would be us.”
You say it.
It feels like you live outside your body saying something like that— The acknowledgement of an us. The semblance of reckoning with what used to be.
With what could’ve been.
“It could’ve been.”
Apparently he feels the same.
That’s what makes it hurt worse, makes your heart twist and your mind reel. How the fuck could he say something like that to you after everything? How were you ever really supposed to let this go if he kept you on the hook? Kept pretending like he cared?
Maybe everything was a game to him when it comes to you. Even years later, even as adults. Even grown up and moved on— You were still tethered to each other no matter how hard you tried to cut the tangled rope.
You hated how difficult it was to pretend, to act like you buried what craved to fester when you were alone with him. You hated how everything—the distance, the closeness, the heat and the cold and the familiar, precariously cautious quiet—makes you want to unravel what you’ve spent so long keeping tied down deep inside you.
It makes you question if you were wrong all those years ago— Even though you damn well know you weren’t. You know better.
You did then. You do now.
He wasn’t this person. He wasn’t someone who could love you in the ways you needed— In the ways you’ve tried to forget that you could love him. In the ways that you can.
And in some sick, twisted way… the way you still do.
Slowly, you look at him— Fully. He’s fiddling with his hands, calloused and worn, red knuckles thawing from the cold.
He used to do that when he was nervous. He would do that when he waited at the bus stop for you in the rain just to walk you home.
He would do that in the middle of the night when you’d get a glass of water from the kitchen and he was the only one still up.
He would do that when he’d see you from the porch when you’d come home for winter break or after he had to pull a drunk guy off of you at a party.
He did it before he touched your hair the other morning and when you both waited in a silent, snowfallen car this afternoon.
You hated that you knew all that, but even worse, you hated that you knew what it meant.
And you hated that something weighted usually followed.
“Do you still mean it?”
Something like that.
His head hangs down, matted hair slowly beginning to dry, bathed in shadows and silence. He looks younger in the dim, dawning of winter twilight, in this honest and raw echo of reckoning, or a feeble attempt at it. He looks softer, all vulnerable and defenseless.
Your breath catches, pulse a steady roar in your ears.
You know exactly what he means— Exactly the moment he’s referring to.
One you agreed to never talk about again.
How do you even answer that? How could you?
You sigh, facade fractured. “Bob…”
“So you do,” he says quietly, like he believes every word of it and is scared to.
Then he stands, wading in front of you, hanging on your reaction, on your breathing, on what you’ll do next.
Your mouth opens, then closes. You’re at a loss around him for once— Truly and utterly at a complete loss. Half-formed words wither and die in your throat, suddenly dry and tight.
You know the answer: you did. You do.
No matter how hard you’ve tried not to, no matter how long you’ve spent convincing yourself you don’t—you shouldn’t—you still fucking do.
It might’ve been your idea to leave it for dead—that night, those words, everything you shared—but it still felt like maybe neither of you ever fully moved on.
And you certainly hadn’t forgotten. Even if you wanted to. You never could.
There’s a pull, an urge— Let go. Give in. Fall. You want to—in this moment, in this light, in this heat and space that all suddenly felt too heavy and too close—you want to cave.
To bend with what’s been pulling you down for so long.
It’s destructive and reckless and will only leave you more hurt, but maybe this was something you’ll never really heal from.
Maybe it’s something you were never meant to.
Maybe this was always supposed to cling to you— This fractured, shattered part of yourself that was stitched together by him when he was the one who broke it.
Your lips part again. The words catch in the back of your throat, stick to what intentions you abandoned long ago.
They try. They fail.
He shakes his head, a short laugh laced with hurt cutting through the window of honesty he opened for you quickly closing.
“Of course,” he mutters. “Predictable. I can’t believe I thought maybe you would actually care.”
The room goes darker, the lights flicker off, and the heat dies with a whisper. You both glance around in suffocating silence as realization washes over you.
The power’s out. Perfect.
In the dark, his face shifts back to something you already know, yet something that feels so suddenly foreign— So rigid and distant. A flicker of something other than hatred dying a pitiful, worthless death.
The cut of his jaw and sharpness in his eyes darken under the faint blur of grey glow outside as daylight struggles to live through the death of day and the heavy blanket of storm clouds. The only sound is the wind, whistling and whirling behind the thin wall of glass and wood keeping you sheltered.
He stalks toward the door before you can do something—anything—like you should.
You can’t reach for him, can’t catch him, can’t stop him or talk to him, just watch pathetically as he storms out the door—no damp gloves or hat in hand—muttering not to follow him out.
It’s not said in anger, not in hate. Just sad. Frail.
And for once, you don’t argue.
continue reading here .ᐟ — block limit is evil & made me cut this right when things heat up. though this work was not intended to be broken up, the second “chapter” will pick up directly where this left off to make it easier to find. i hope you enjoyed so far, thanks for reading !
Pairing: Todd Stevens x Fem!Reader!
Summary: After the death of Gettys O’Brien, Todd is an absolute mess, pointing fingers and blaming himself for what happened the night he wasn’t there. The emotional distress of the situation has taken over every aspect of his life, and he’s tried to push it down to stay as stoic as possible, but one night when you confront him, he breaks down and seeks the comfort that he has beefed for the past two weeks.
Warning: Angst, Angst, and More Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Nudity (Todd showering), Todd’s going through it, Filling in the blanks for the movie basically (so some liberties are taken I guess?)
Author's Note: This is a short one, but the idea came to me and I wanted to write it because it wouldn't get out of my head. It's not too good, but I'm glad I was able to get something out before I start my crazy editing process for my William Fic and getting my Bucky fic finished. Enjoy <3
Word Count: 3,955
It was the night of Gettys O’Brien’s memorial service, and the KNA house had devolved into a heated argument that had dragged on for the past hour and a half. The day had been gruelling for everyone involved–some forcing composed facades to mask their guilt or grief, while other wore their sorrow openly like raw wounds–mourning the loss of one of their pledges, even with the consideration of the situation that was still ongoing.
Exhaustion hung heavy in the air, yet Todd had demanded this group meeting, insisting on dissecting the entire story again, confronting the gnawing reality that he seemed to be the only one truly ravaged by guilt. And in a way, it was true; the weight of it pressed on him more visibly than on the others who were present during the retreat.
Todd hadn’t managed a single night of unbroken sleep since that shattering phone call two weeks ago, it was as if his mind kept replaying the events in relentless loops, over and over again until he laid awake staring at the ceiling, leaving himself to think about everything without interruption. You could see the toll it was exacting from him–the dark shadows carving deep hollows beneath his eyes, the constant yawns he let out, the way his posture had a subtle slump like he was weighed down by something totally invisible.
But tonight, he seemed to have gathered up the energy to control a room.
Downstairs, his voice was cutting through the chaos of accusations like a blade, commanding his frat brothers to listen to him, drowning out the rising tide of denials and arguments. Fingers were being pointed, and blame was being ricocheted from one person to the other, names being hurled like weapons–every brother was implicated in Gettys’ inexplicable death, and they were all being dragged into the fray in these moments. Someone raised the lingering question of Tom’s whereabouts, but it was swiftly buried under another barrage of heated pleas and insults, the room turning into a pressure cooker on the verge of explosion.
You had wanted to intervene before the words turned into fists, sensing the tension coiling tighter with each passing minute, but Todd had been from with you regarding his instructions: stay in his room until it was over. He didn’t want you witnessing the unravelling, and he certainly didn’t want to risk pulling you into the mess he felt responsible for containing. You deserved better than that, especially after seeing the quiet erosion of his composure these past few weeks.
So you stayed put, curling in his bed with the soft sheets tangling around your legs, as you clutched your phone against your stomach, feeling notification after notification roll in from the various group chats you were in, keeping your gazed fixed on the ceilings faint cracks, counting them one by one to distract yourself.
Todd’s voice filtered up through the floor, a muffled thunder echoing through the chasm of the room, the words indistinct but the urgency unmistakable. Then, abruptly, silence descended–a hush that felt like a collective exhale, an unspoken truce settling over the group. Your ears pricked, straining for any lingering murmurs, until the sound of heavy footsteps broke the quiet, approaching your location with deliberate weight, the old floorboards groaning under each move, making an audible protest.
You pushed yourself up slowly, propping on your elbows, setting your phone face down on the nightstand. The door creaked open, framing Todd in the threshold, his appearance a stark portrait of disarray. His medium-length light brown hair, usually swept back with exact precision, now fell in unkempt strands across his forehead, framing a face drawn tight with fatigue–sharp cheekbones more pronounced from him not eating much throughout the past couple of weeks, with his narrow jaw set in a line that spoke of the suppressed strain that projected through his muscles.
He exhaled a long, weary sigh, stepping inside and easing the door shut behind him, muting the renewed murmur of voices drifting from the lounge, clicking the lock closed as if he was sealing himself off from the world for the night, desperately needing a break from everything that was happening.
You watched as he shuffled deeper into the room, his movements heavy and mechanical, like each step required a conscious effort to do. His fingers worked at the buttons of his burnt-red button up, shrugging it off his shoulders to reveal the tight t-shirt he wore beneath that hugged the lean lines of his torso, throwing the fabric over the back of his desk chair. He tugged his white t-shirt over his head in one fluid pull, and you watched as he muscles shifted and flinched with the movement, your eyes roaming over his pale skin that looked translucent in this dimmed lighting. He tossed the shirt across the room, watching it fall into the laundry basket with a careless flop, then paused, rooting himself into place, keeping his back to you.
He bowed his head, taking a break from his movements, his shoulders rising and falling with the deep trembling breaths he was taking, the muscles along his spine tensing visibly as he tried to ground himself and focus on the simple task of getting undressed. Things were becoming harder for him to do, and being exhausted didn’t help the situation at all, so he settled on taking his time with everything he did, even if it took him longer than he used to.
Reached down, he unfastened the button on his cream-coloured pants, the zipper’s rasp cutting through the quiet, before he shimmied out of them, and moved towards his dresser. Your gaze trailed his unsteady gait, the way his steps faltered just slightly, displaying the exhaustion seeping through every movement.
“Todd…Are you okay?” You voice came out soft and tentative, laced with concern as you watched him halt mid-stride.
He glanced over, his intense blue eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, before casting them down to the ground, nodding faintly, and clearing his throat against the thickening knot that threatened to silence him entirely.
“Yeah…Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna take a shower, I’ll be out soon.” The words were murmured, a clear signal that he sought solitude in this ritual and that he didn’t want company. You understood; the bathroom was his only true refuge, a space where the incessant demands couldn’t reach him. Beyond those walls, he was besieged–calls from the dean probing for plans or details of his next steps, alumni offering hollow condolences under the guise of getting more information about the situation, other fraternities testing the waters by asking if anything was changing regarding policies regarding the way they were running their houses.
Everyone was clamouring for pieces of him when all he craved was quiet reprieve, and he was sick and tired of putting on his strong face for people who didn’t care about what was truly happening here. You had given him that distance though, limiting your comfort to gentle brushes of your hand against his arm or back, nothing more intrusive, because you wanted to respect the invisible barriers he had erected.
He snatched his large bath towel from the hook in his closet, offering you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes–it was forced, practiced, a mask you had grown all too familiar with lately–before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. The door clicked shut, and moments later, the warm glow of the light seeped through the gap beneath it, accompanied by the hum of the exhaust fan.
The shower hissed to life, followed by water pattering against the tile in a steady rhythm that blended in with the fan’s low drone. You sank back into the bed, drawing the sheets around you, the fabric cocooning your body in the warmth that was trapped within it. Burying your face in Todd’s pillow, you inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp, oceanic notes of his cologne mingling with the earth warmth of his herbal aftershave, a scent that you had always been enamoured by, one that brought you comfort in moments like these. Exhaling slowly, you turned your cheek into the softness, nuzzling closer, letting it ground you amid the uncertainty of everything that was happening.
From the lounge, another conversation stirred, completely subdued now, voices pitched low as if they were being mindful of you eavesdropping–or perhaps they were simply drained of fight. And you found yourself wandering to the memories of the fateful night that had changed everything–one that neither of you saw coming.
Todd had been tied up with alumni meetings that weekend, they were obligatory gatherings meant to foster connections, to network and get guidance on leaving the fraternity in good standing once the presidency needs to be passed down. The two of you had attended one of the dinners, it was a formal affair that Todd refused to go to alone to, and you were willing to grin and bear it if it was for his comfort.
Neither of you felt entirely at ease in the polished crowd, but you had resolved to salvage the evening, turning it into a rare escape, a date of sorts even though you needed to carry yourselves to the standard of the alumni’s watchful eyes. Midway through the meal, Todd’s phone had buzzed with a call from Gettys, which he’d silenced and let roll to voicemail, reluctant to excuse himself and miss any crucial exchanges at the table, while also considering that it would possibly look fairly disrespectful to leave out of nowhere for something that could’ve been minor.
The call didn’t seem urgent at the time–he chalked it up to him reaching out to keep him updated on what was going on at Mitch’s house like he had asked–and he intended to return the call once you both slipped away for the night. But the dinner stretched on interminably, course after course coming out of the kitchen in waves while conversations meandered, until finally everyone decided to wrap things up.
You had volunteered to drive back to the hotel room he had booked, and he handed over the keys without protest, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek, eager to catch up on what he had missed. Then, about midway through the drive, another call shattered the calm that the two of you had found.
“Hey Bayne, how’s everything going?” Todd asked, his tone casual at first, as you twisted the volume knob on the radio to lower the music you had on, catching the frantic babbling on the other end–words tumbling out in a panicked rush.
“Bayne, you’re going to have to slow down, man. You’re saying a bunch of things right now and they’re not making any sense…What do you mean Gettys fell off the boat?” His body language shifted instantly, his elbow bracing on his thigh, leaning forward as if the position change could clarify the chaos to him. You glanced over, noting the sudden rigidity in his Fram, the way his free hand gripped the edge of the seat. A cold knot formed in your stomach, a pit of dread opening up and draining all the blood from your body, as a chill echoed up your spine. Quickly, you eased the car onto the shoulder of the road, flipping on the hazards to steady the connection of the call, the engine’s idle hum the only sound besides the muffled voice on the other end of the line. Panic struck you in those moments, and deep down inside, you realized that the worry you had prior to this trip wasn’t something out of the ordinary, it was your body telling you something was off, that something was going to go wrong.
“I told you guys that there wasn’t supposed to be a fucking lineup tonight. I–Shut the fuck up! Don’t interrupt. Use your fucking ears and listen to me…I told you guys there wasn’t supposed to be any of this shit going on during this retreat. Now, tell me what the fuck happened.” Worry etched deeper lines around his eyes and across his forehead, as his gaze clicked around the car’s dim interior, avoiding your gaze. He knew you would press for details, and he knew if he met your eyes he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together, so he tried his best to focus on chasing the clarity that he needed to get a handle on what was going on. You could hear the voice echoing over the other end, growing in frustration, still rushing through the explanation nervously, like he was trying to make sure he was saying a proper story. Todd’s jaw clenched.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Bayne. You think I have ‘fucking idiot’ written on my forehead?! I knew I should’ve postponed this trip. Where the hell is everyone? Did you call the cops?” Your hand reached across the console, wrapping your fingers around his forearm, stroking lightly in an attempt to soothe the anger that was burning at the seams of what little composure he was keeping. His pulse thrummed erratically beneath your touch, a justified fury building, as the information continued to overload him in disjointed fragments.
“Get everyone back in the fucking house and put me on speaker. I’m staying on the phone till I hear an officer, you understand?” There was a beat of silence, then he added, “Good.” His fingers intertwined with yours, his grip firm, almost desperate, like he was waiting on the worst news of his life to be delivered.
In that instant, you had glimpsed a vulnerability in Todd that you had never seen before–raw panic flickering across his features, his narrow face paling under the dashboard glow, his eyes filling with unshed tears. At first, you couldn’t discern if this wave of emotion stemmed from genuine concern for Gettys or fear of repercussions, but as the following nights unfolded, the truth crystallized: it was the latter, a self-directed blame that hollowed him out from within.
The memory of that night churned in your gut, creating a nauseating twist that left you restless beneath the covers. You shifted, shaking your head as if the motion could dislodge the vivid recollections, desperate to draw your thoughts elsewhere.
Your focus sharpened on the rhythmic slash of water from the shower, the steady cascade meant to soothe, yet it only amplified your worry for Todd–the relentless swirl of his own torment, the avoidance of talking to you about what was going on inside his head. You longed for him to open up, to let you share the load, but he had been withdrawing, not outright rejecting your support, yet resisting the tenderness you offered. Deep down, he believed he didn’t merit such solace, convinced the tragedy could’ve been averted under his watch.
A faint sound pierced the haze of the spray–subdued sniffles, combining with fractured whimpers that grew unbearable to ignore. Your body reacted instinctively, your spine straightening as you bolted upright, the sheets pooling at your waist. No second thoughts halted you in your actions as you flung the covers aside, letting your bare feet meet the cool hardwood floor before padding towards the bathroom door. It pushed open without resistance, and you were surprised that it wasn’t locked–it was either he overlooked doing it, or he forgot about it entirely, either way you were grateful for the lapse in memory.
Stepping inside, you were enveloped by a dense fog of humidity, the air thick and sticky, carrying the faint, clean bite of pine soap that intertwined with his lingering presence.
Through the misted glass of the showers enclosure, you could see Todd’s silhouette, his head bowed under the relentless cascade of water that slid over his body. His skin glowed an angry crimson, flushed from the scalding heat that bordered on punishing, as if he sought to burn away the grief that was etched into his very pores. He remained oblivious to your entry, lost in the torrent of his thoughts, the emotional fracture within him consuming his entirety. You hesitated, not wanting to shatter his fragile solitude, but silence felt like complicity in his suffering.
“Todd..” Your voice emerged gentle, barely above a whisper, and you saw his frame jolt at the sound, his shoulders hunching inward as if your had thrown a grenade at him and he was bracing for the explosion. He took a moment to breathe, regaining his focus, before slowly raising his head and peering at you through the streaked pane, his features blurring due to the rivulets that traced erratic paths down the glass.
“I’m coming out now…” His words fractured mid-sentence, his voice raw and unsteady. He averted his gaze, twisting the faucet with a sharp turn, the water tapering to sporadic drips from the showered above. Squeezing the excess moisture from his sodden hair, he slid the door open with a muted scrape, extending an arm to snatch the towel he had hung for himself. He dabbed at his dripping form methodically, then secured the fabric around his narrow hips, stepping fully into the open expanse of the washroom.
Up close, his skin radiated the heat it had absorbed from the shower, mottled with patched of raw pink that hinted at discomfort he ignored, his expression stoic despite the worry creasing your brow. He brushed past you toward the sink, the residual warmth from his body grazing yours like a fleeting ember from an out of control fire, carrying the subtle, damp scent of your coconut shampoo.
You pivoted on your heels, keeping him in view, unwilling to let the moment slip away unaddressed.
“Todd…Please talk to me.” The plea escaped your lips, soft but insistent. He could hear the ache in the words, the way that it was pure torture for you to watch him unravel in total isolation, but he couldn’t allow you to take this on with him.
He shook his head, droplets scattering from the ends of his hair, staining the mirror in front of him and the countertop just below. Reaching for your leave in condition on the counter–a bottle he had claimed more frequently these weeks, like infusing his routine with traces of you provided a fragile tether amid the upheaval–he exhaled a heavy sigh.
“I told you I’m fine,” He muttered under his breath, his tone flat, evading the comment, as he dispensed a measure of creamy liquid into his palm. Setting the bottle aside with a soft clink, he rubbed the product between his hands, then threaded his fingers through the wet strands, combing them back with small strokes. His eyes remained fixed on the mirror, avoiding your reflection, but the harsh bathroom light revealed evidence of his tears–veins threading red across the whites, lids swollen and inflamed, accentuating the piercing clarity of his blue irises, like clean ocean water, shimmering and calling for you to take a dip into its depths.
You extended your hand out to him, letting your fingers graze his upper arm, feeling the involuntary twitch of his bicep beneath your touch as you closed the distance between you.
“Baby…You’re not fine. Please look at me…Talk to me. I’m here. I’ll listen to whatever is on your mind, you know I won’t judge how you’re feeling.” Your words flowed with quiet assurance, meeting his gaze in the mirror’s reflection, where his eyelids drifted shut at the sound, as if absorbing the promise. Your palm glided along his arm, dispersing the lingering beads of water into his feverish skin, until resolve steadied you enough to guide him to face you directly.
“What happened to Gettys wasn’t your fault. You had no control over the retreat, and you didn’t know what was going to happen…” Your voice dropped to a hush, as you reached up to cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing tender circles over the fragile skin below his eyes. He opened them slowly, locking his gaze to yours, the depths already welling with fresh moisture that caught the light. “I know you wish you could go back in time to prevent this, but that’s not possible…And you need to accept that.”
Todd’s lower lip trembled, betraying the fracture in his composure, and he shook his head vehemently, dislodging a pair of tears that dragged thick lines down his cheeks.
“I could’ve…I could’ve cancelled that stupid fu-fucking trip…I co–“ His voice splintered, cutting off abruptly as he squeezed his eyes shut once more, a choked whimper forcing its way past his lips. You released a soft breath, your hands slipping from his face to encircled his neck, drawing him downward into an embrace that enveloped him fully, his frame immediately folding against you, leaning into the contact with a quiet desperation.
“I know, Todd…But it’s still not your fault…You tried your best and they didn’t listen. You can’t burden yourself with the what-ifs.” Your reassurance settled over him, as his arms banded around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He nestled his face into the curve of your neck, his breath ragged and uneven, feeling his tears seeping into the collar of your shirt while the water on his torso soaked into the fabric against your belly.
“I…I can’t stop thinking ab-about it.” The concession tumbled out, muffling against your shoulder, his voice breaking with the vulnerability he had long suppressed.
“I know, baby…I know.” You murmured in response, your fingers weaving through the slick tendrils of his hair, stroking in rhythmic patterns to offer what comfort you could.
The admission seemed to unmoor him entirely; his body growing heavier, while his knees buckled as he sank to the floor, his face finding the soft give of your abdomen. His hold around you tightened, anchoring you to him as sobs wracked his Fram, completely losing himself in the fabric of your shirt. Tears pricked at your own eyes, witnessing his defences crumble, but you steeled yourself, determined to be his steadfast support in this raw unravelling you were witnessing.
“I’m…I’m sorry…” He whimpered, the words barely audible, smothered against you, his shoulders heaving with each guttural release.
“It’s okay, Todd…You’re allowed to let it out, you’re allowed to cry.” Your reply was gentle, affirming in all ways he needed, while your hand continued its soothing path through his hair, even as his cries intensified, his body trembling in waves that echoed the depth of his pent-up anguish.
Time blurred in that intimate space until the steam gradually died down around you both, leaving only the quiet aftermath of his breakdown. Yet you stood unwavering, holding him through everything he felt, knowing that when he finally rose, you would remain by his side as a constant presence in the healing that would have to be dealt with together.
Unmedicated Sunshine. Chapter One: Mission Granted: Don't Fuck It Up
Pairing: Bob Reynolds x gn!Reader
Summary: Val calls a team meeting to discuss a vigilante. You go to work where Bob and Bucky come in to adopt a cat, but is it really a cat?
Word Count: 3.9k
Warnings: none for this chapter unless you count chronic pain
A/N: Yippie I got chapter one rewritten
Last Part || Next Part
Drugs by Eden
“I can’t love when I can’t even love myself.
Things I would rather be, thoughts in the back of my head
But I’m addicted to hurting.”
If it wasn’t for Valentina’s voice cutting sharply through his phone, calling the team to assemble in the living room, Bob might have managed to call it a good day.
He had helped Yelena make pancakes that morning—but saying helped was generous. He’d stood at the counter stirring the batter long after it probably didn’t need stirring, just to make sure he didn’t mess anything up while she handled the stove. No one got burned. That felt like a win.
Walker and Ava had given him a new coloring book too. Intricate patterns, swear words woven into delicate fonts like it was some kind of joke. He’d laughed, maybe a little too hard. Coloring usually made him feel childish, but the more complicated designs quieted something in his head. The lines gave him boundaries.
Stay inside.
Focus.
Don’t drift.
He sat by the window in his bedroom, basking in the natural light filtering through the reinforced glass. Rain pattered against the panes, soothing the turmoil that often followed him around. The day prior offered the last of the sunlight that New York would offer for the next six months, and he was feeling it.
His fingers trembled slightly as he rifled through the clothes he’d dug out of his closet, busying himself with reorganizing his closet. He itched for something to do that didn’t require much brainpower.
Repetitive.
Rhythmic.
Soothing.
Three sharp knocks pulled him from his lack of thoughts, letting the wave of fatigue he’d been holding in wash over him. “Yeah?” he called out, folding the last of his pants onto the hanger before making his way to the door. Standing in the doorway of his suite is Yelena in all of her intimidating glory. Her eyebrows are drawn together and her lips are pressed into a firm line. “What’s wrong?
“It’s Valentina. Apparently she has a job for us,” she hissed, already dragging Bob halfway down the hall, not even giving him a chance to close his bedroom door. They crossed the living room he had yet to decorate except for the beanbag he kept near the window. She righted him as they reached the elevator and stepped inside.
“A job?” he asks, his voice climbing higher. “But I’m—I’m not supposed to be on missions yet, y’know, because of the whole—”
“Void thing? Yes, yes, I know. But Valentina wants everyone there for the briefing,” she interrupted with a dismissive wave of her hand. It wasn’t meant to be unkind or snippy, but Valentina always got under Yelena’s skin in a way that Bob understood all too well.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, leading them into the common area on the penthouse floor that served as the communal areas—the kitchen, the living room, an office area where Bob liked to play a few computer games when everyone else was off on missions. Alexei was behind the bar rooting around the bottles for something to drink despite it only being ten in the morning. Walker lounged on the long, gray couch in an old blue hoodie that only appeared to be oversized because it was worn out. His back is flush against the couch with his arms folded over his chest while Ava sits next to him with a small, metallic cube in her hand that she was taking apart. It flickered with faint electricity against her touch.
An audible sigh drew the group’s attention as Bob and Yelena took the empty spots on the couch. Bucky stepped out of the elevator with Valentina ranting behind him about appearances. Mel was behind them, clutching a clipboard as she made an excuse to stay out from between the two of them.
Smart choice, honestly.
Valentina hushed the group as Alexei rejoined the team by plopping down on the end of one of the cushions. “Alright, we’ve received your first actual missions,” she said, tossing a small round disk onto the coffee table where it flickers to life with a glowing green light. A holographic projection emits from it with a long informational file only labeled “Sunstrike” in big, bolded letters.
“What the hell is a Sunstrike?” Walker asked as he forced himself into a stiffer position for whatever this threat could be.
“Not a what,” Valentina replied, pressing a button before the holograph flickered to a new image. “A who.” The person depicted in the photos wore a black sparring suit wielding a baton. “They’re a vigilante. Your job is to either bring them in, or bring them down. Your choice, really. Don’t fuck this up, or it’ll be your asses on the line, not mine.” The screen changed again to a series of information that offered no help.
Name: UnknownAlias: SunstrikeAge: UnknownSkills: Martial Arts Proficiency, Acrobatics Proficiency, Potential Regenerative Abilities, Weapons Design Proficiency, Computer Skills including Hacking, Programming, and EngineeringPotential Superpowered Abilities: Minor Regenerative Ability. No confirmed supernatural abilities.Weapons: Citizen-grade Baton, Standard Size Knives, Flashbang Granades
“Why exactly is the government interested in some no-name vigilante?” Walker piped up, skimming through what little information there was. “They’re probably some dumb kid doing dumb kid shit.” He leaned back into the couch and pursed his lips.
“Because they’re acting without direction from the head haunchos on the hill. The government doesn’t like that,” Ava quipped, not removing her focus from the small device in her hands. There was a small crack as she took another piece off without actually breaking it.
“I’m more interested in how this so-called-nobody-vigilante got their hands on flashbangs,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes at the hologram.
“Look, it doesn’t matter why this has been assigned to you. All that matters is that you do it because I told you to.” Valentina gestured to the team and then looked pointedly at them. “This is what it means to be an Avenger, so do it.” She left the group with the holographic file so that they could go through it as she stalked back to the elevator. She grumbled about how she doesn’t get paid enough for this with Mel muttering confirmations behind her.
Bucky swiped through the file, stopping on a video that he paused frame by frame to analyze every twitch of the vigilante’s body. The team fell silent as it played, each member watching with rapt attention. The video itself is nothing special—obviously filmed by a random bystander on the street based on the quality and the talking in the background. They were fighting with a tall street thug in oversized clothing. Their only weapon, per se, was a baton, keeping the enemy at arm’s length while the thug lashed out with a knife.
“They overcommit to the first move,” Ava piped up, watching them swing for the thug.
“They hit too hard and go in too fast,” Yelena said, backing up what Ava pointed out. “They fight like they think the first punch decides everything.”
“They don’t leave themselves an exit,” Ava added.
“Not to mention that they get hit and stay where they are. They take a hit and don’t reset after one.”
“Absorbing damage they don’t need to.”
Ava and Yelena bounce off of each other a few more times, babbling about power modulation and defensive recovery. It makes Bob’s head spin for a moment before he notices something. When they inevitably grab the thug by his shirt and throw him, their grip adjusts just the tiniest bit. He stops Bucky from going further, rewinding it and playing it again in slow motion.
“That wasn’t a reflex. That was a correction,” he said, leaning forward.
Bucky played it again, his eyes following the movement. “They were protecting his head, making sure it wouldn’t bounce off the concrete.”
The whole room went quiet as they turned to Bob. “How’d you notice that?” Ava asked after a long moment of silence between the team.
“Their hands. I saw them adjust their grip,” he said, his face flushing with the attention.
“So what is plan for takedown?” Alexei asked, his energy ramping up with every passing second. Standing from the couch and pacing, he leans over the back of the couch in the space between Ava and Walker. She hunches her shoulders as if preparing for a sudden onslaught of noise.
She’s not wrong either.
☀ ☀ ☀ ☀ ☀ ☀
The soft, pitter patter of the rain against your bedroom window was the only sound you listened to for hours until your alarm blared through the empty silence of your small apartment. You’d been awake for hours, but the thought of leaving the warmth of your blankets sounded like a torture similar to pulling teeth without Novacaine. The cold always aggravated everything, especially when it stormed. Bone deep aches and silly string for connective tissue, it made you feel more like a sentient marionette rather than a functional member of society. Burrowing deeper within the fabric of your comforter, you groaned theatrically.
The long overnight rooftop patrol the night prior had worn you out. Some nights, there’s almost nothing to do except listen to the droning voice of the news anchor screaming about delinquent wannabe superheroes on the giant street screens. Other nights, you barely got a moment to breathe between calls over the police scanner app. The night prior happened to be an unhappy medium of both. Perching on the roof of an apartment in the center of downtown, you ran into a minor wannabe gang that you overheard talking about the movement of some important cargo from a lab somewhere near the edge of the city.
Bingo; it’s exactly what you’re looking for.
So you thought anyway.
Those idiots were wrong about the day. You spent all night chasing leads only to see the slow march of the security guards around the perimeter of the facility. All Night. You grew impatient and decided to do what you do best: hack the facility’s system. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t as secure as it could have been. You learned that the cargo is some kind of collection of blood, and what they were using it for, you couldn’t find within the system. Bullshit.
You did find out that it was being moved the next day—or today—in the middle of the night.
That meant that you had to pretend that you weren’t actively suffering the consequences of overdoing things again to work your shift at the cafe.
You grab the sage green button-up with the cafe’s logo and slip it over your head; your fingers brush the logo, a cat curled up beneath a twisting tree with a few lanterns. Whiskerwood was written beneath it in slanted embroidered cursive in warm brown thread. Sliding the knee braces on, the small amount of relief from the compression made you huff a sigh.
Glancing at the smartwatch on your wrist, you swore and swiped the brown messenger bag from its spot on your couch that served as the only decoration in your living room besides the dozen or so plants you scattered about the room. You slipped out through your front door, quickly locking it behind you settled your nerves like a weighted blanket.
It was a short walk to the cafe and you were the first to arrive like always. Punctuality wasn’t actually a virtue of yours, but getting somewhere even two minutes late was enough to send your entire day through the shitter.
Whiskerwood Cafe is a tiny cat rescue cafe a handful of blocks from where the Voidfall took place—the supernatural event that sent all of Manhattan into an endless loop of interconnected rooms that forced you to relieve all of your worst regrets and memories. You weren’t spared from it, and you wake up screaming, covered in a thin sheet of sweat more often than not these days.
Digging the set of keys out of your bag, you unlocked the door with a satisfying clunk before bustling over to the keypad behind the front counter to disarm the alarm for the front door. You took a deep breath when the keypad blinked to signal that it’d been disarmed. Turning on the lights, you began your morning routine of flicking on all the machines, making sure everything was on for Terrance before he showed up.
Terrance was the owner of the cafe, along with his wife, Cherry. They opened the cafe a few years ago when they realized how high the list was at the shelter for cats that were inevitably put down due to lack of room or resources. They’d graciously given you a chance even though you had no idea what your prior work history was—if you had any at all. You honestly have very little memories before three years ago when you found yourself in an alley, soaked to the bone in the freezing rain.
You barely remembered anything except bits and pieces of whatever mental barrier you have with a metaphorical brick.
Weaving through the secondary glass doors that led to the rescue section of the cafe, you were immediately greeted by a handful of cats and kittens with a choir or loud burrups and mrows as they all vied for your attention. They weaved between your legs as if they were the beneficiary to your life insurance while the artificial grass crunches beneath your shoes. It took a little over an hour of taking care of the cats before Terrance showed up.
He shouldered the door open gently as he carried a few brown paper bags covered in grease and dribbled by the rain. The smell of the greasy, fried food from your favorite diner wafted through the lobby as he bustled by to make it behind the counter. He was a middle aged man with blonde hair peppered through with white, baby blue eyes that made everyone fall for him. They always seemed to be searching for something—something to do, someone to help. He immediately clocked the dark circles beneath your eyes and the tight, weary smile you offer through your process of accounting for every cat within the rescue.
“Another long night?” he asked, setting the food on the counter. He pulled out a huge, tin-foil wrapped burger and a large order of fries from the bag and gestures for you to pause long enough to eat.
“Kind of. Studying, yknow?” You didn’t mention how you’re not actually studying as you grabbed the blended coffee you’d made yourself and greedily sucked it down. It was bittersweet with the espresso shot biting though the caramel and sweet cream.
Then you move onto the food.
It’d been a few days since your last meal with actual nutrients and not just the metric fuckton of sodium from the instant ramen you buy in bulk. You inhale the greasy burger like a starving dog. Terrance kept his eyes on you, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.
“You know that if you took breaks like a normal person and actually gave a shit about your health, you’d be almost human instead of the zombie you seem to be now?” He retorted, attempting a joke that he didn’t know wasn’t funny.
Not given how you weren’t entirely human anymore.
“Can’t graduate without studying,” you shrugged as you finish off the burger and save the cup of fries for later. They were real potatoes and not just the processed shit that goes bad when it got cold. You busied yourself with starting the routine of feeding the cats their morning portions. Grabbing one of the massive mixing bowls from the dish rack, you made your way back to the rescue section to dole out the food.
You’d been banned from using the coffee equipment for customers after you forgot to lock the blender lid in place and coffee exploded everywhere. It’s not that you’re stupid, because you absolutely aren’t; you’re just forgetful…sometimes.
Sometimes, it was like trying to function through the haze of intoxication even when you didn’t partake in anything stronger than the occasional drink after a long day. Other days you felt fine and like you were getting better, only to backslide and want to disappear a few days later.
You went about mixing the wet and dry food and began the arduous process of filling the bowls scattered about the cat playroom. It was a mind-numbing process, or it would be if not for the little bastards running under your feet. You stopped to check in a few of the cat houses with a bowl of pate to find Sophie—the fifteen-year-old tortie with big green eyes and no teeth curled up against the wall of the cat house. She was the oldest resident and usually followed you around the rescue.
Terrance cleared his throat to grab your attention to ask you to cover the register for the small influx of customers in the lobby. Hanging up the apron, you quickly wash your hand and take over the register. You were efficient in your method of working with the customers with the same opening and a smile plastered on your face. Then finally, the last two customers step up to the register—two men roughly the same height with shaggy brown hair. One of them, the more intimidating of the two, wore a thick leather jacket covered in droplets from the rain and a pair of black gloves. The other was wearing an oversized zip-up hoodie and jeans. The one in the leather seemed overworked and overtired with dark circles under his pale eyes. The nervous one stood slightly behind him, worrying at his fingers.
“Welcome to Whiskerwood—where cats nap and every cup holds a little magic. What can I get started for you?” You recited the same line over and over with every customer as you were supposed to, even if it felt too long and overused.
“I’ll get a Milk of the Mooncat with an extra shot of espresso, and he’ll get a Fairy Tail Fizz,” the one in leather said, his voice was gruff. He gestured to the other man when he mentioned the Fizz.
“Would you like to try one of our new Whisker Toasties? We have tomato-basil or cinnamon apple,” you offered, tilting your head with a fake smile. You tried to remember that you were supposed to be upselling, even if you couldn’t care less.
The men seemed to have a silent conversation before the shy one nodded. “Sure, we’ll get two of the apple ones,” the older one replied, offering a weary smile.
“Can I get a name for the order?”
“James.”
“Alright, James. Your total is $12.57,” you said, turning the card reader towards them before turning around to start making the toasties—miniature toasted sandwiches in the shape of little cat faces while Terrance started on the drinks.
Once Cherry stepped up to the register, effectively kicking you off line, you returned to the cat playroom to continue your own duties. The two men from the line enter soon after with their items and sit near the big windows. Sophie was laying in the nervous one’s lap while he fluffed her fur. It was as if he knew exactly how she liked to be loved on.
You smiled to yourself as you flitted about the room to fill the rest of the food bowls for the cats. While doing so, you overheard some of the conversation, freezing in place when you heard your name. Not your legal name of course, but your other name: Sunstrike. The bowl of food dropped from your hands with a loud clatter that echoes through the room. Both men turn to you, breathing hard as you startled them.
“Sorry, sorry, slippery fingers,” you mutter as you kneel down to scoop the fallen food back into the bowl while a handful of the cats swarm.
The nervous man from before stood up from his spot, setting Sophie down carefully as he made his way over to help you with the food. “You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m alright. Just…tired and a little jittery from the coffee,” you lied, offering a polite smile. Your knuckles tighten around the edge of the bowl, but you did your best to relax, especially since the two men were talking about Sunstrike.
Before they can ask you anything else, you took the bowl and all but scampered from the room, busying yourself in the back of the cafe. You could hear Terrance talking to the two men at the front, and then he called for you to grab the adoption papers in the back. You grab them from the back office, making your way to the front and set them on the counter.
The nervous one pulled out an ID and the money to adopt one of the cats. Sophie was getting adopted.
☀ ☀ ☀ ☀ ☀ ☀
Sophie curled into the back corner of the carrier, small and unremarkable. That was important. Unremarkable things get ignored. Through the ventilation holes, she tracked movement in fragments: polished shoes, black denim, the sharp crease of a leather jacket sleeve. The one on the left smells like cold air and city streets. The other smells like paper and nerves.
They lower her into the car between them.
Doors shut. An engine hummed. Conversation began.
Good.
The one in the black jacket produced a device. The screen flashed with chaos—civilians scattering, impact points, angles of entry and exit. Sophie didn’t care about the violence. She cared about how the men reacted to it.
“No confirmed powers,” the jacketed one said. Gruff. Controlled irritation. He was used to being obeyed.
The nervous one, Bob she learned, leaned forward. His heartbeat shifted. Slight acceleration. Focused.
Sophie stilled completely. Even her tail went still.
“They don’t clear the area,” the gruff one said. “They fight through it.”
Bob’s gaze tracked the footage carefully. Not reactive. Analytical. “They adjust their angles.
Interesting.
Sophie blinked slowly, as if bored. She wasn’t bored.
The gruff one huffed. He did that when he was unsettled. Sophie noted that, filing it away. “They don’t disengage.”
Sophie’s ears twitched. Compulsion. The word rippled outward, not from the men, but from the back of her mind. A familiar presence stirred, watching through her eyes, listening through her ears. The connection hummed like a second pulse.
Ego, the gruff one suggested.
Bob disagreed. He defended the vigilante.
Another note.
When the care shifted lanes, Sophie let out a brief, annoyed yowl. Perfect timing. Bob immediately leaned closer, fingers slipping through the carrier vents.
Soft touch. Careful. He checked on her before returning to the conversation. Another note.
“I think people are dangerous when they think they don’t have an exit,” Bob said at last. That one landed differently. The presence in the back of Sophie’s mind sharpened. Focus narrowed. The instructions threaded through her thoughts: observe him. Measure him. He wasn’t like the other.
Sophie pressed her face into Bob’s fingers, purring just enough to keep him engaged. Harmless. Endearing. Gathering proximity. Her eyes stayed half-lidded, but her ears remained locked on every word.
Val wanted containment. Quietly.
Bob wanted something different. An opening. An exit.
Sophie curled back into herself, feigning sleep. She sent what she had collected—tone shifts, word choices, the way Bob defended the unknown vigilante without realizing he was doing it. Information traveled along the tether like warmth through a wire.
