Another Day Of Saying Things I Don't Necessarily Even Agree With

Omg stopppp,,,,

I just remembered this fic I read, though I can’t remember if it was here or on AO3 so please help !!

Basically, one of the top gun Maverick members had like a friend who I think was a single mom???? I think it was Bradley??? And basically they were in an abusive relationship with their ex, who found them again and started stalking I think???

I do remember a part where he— as in the ex—tried to take the kid from the daycare the mom reader dropped the kid off too and Rhett Abbot was in it for some reason? And I think maybe Bob died??? Jesus this sounds like a fever dream but trust it happened in a FIC GUYS 😭 I JUST NEED HELP FINDING IT

The ghost I left behind- III

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Note: I kinda wanted to make this more of a filler chapter, because I didn't want to write the whole movie when it doesn't really make sense for this idea, I promise you a more fullfilling chapter next, and the emotions and action will be there!

Word count: 6.3k

Chapter II

--

O.X.E Research Lab. - Malaysia

The hum of fluorescent lights was constant — like static pressed against Bob’s skull. The air was cold, colder than it should’ve been for a place buried under the jungle. Concrete walls closed in around him like a tomb.

He sat alone on the cot in the corner of his cell — no, not a cell, they called it a room. White-walled, sterile, like something out of a hospital, only there was no comfort here. Just observation windows and cameras that never blinked. On the wall across from him, a single metal shelf held the only thing they’d let him keep — a small, worn photograph of Y/N, curled slightly at the corners. She was smiling in the picture, standing barefoot in their kitchen, holding a mug of coffee. Her hair was messy, her eyes tired but warm.

Bob stared at that picture like it was oxygen.

He hadn’t seen her in months. He hadn’t heard her voice, hadn’t felt her hand on his back when the nightmares got bad. But he remembered everything — the sound of her laugh when she teased him about the chicken suit, the way she’d breathe when she fell asleep next to him. The feel of her lips against his shoulder. The way she’d told him she was pregnant — shaking, terrified, and hopeful all at once.

He remembered what he’d said to her that night.

“I’ll get clean. I’ll be better. I want to be the kind of man our kid looks up to.”

And then he left.

He hadn’t told her. Hadn’t said goodbye. He boarded a plane with a one-way ticket and a pocket full of cash he’d scraped together, believing that leaving would present her with a greater good. They promised change. Power. Control. All the things he’d never had. All the things he thought he needed to deserve her.

And now?

Now the power was eating him alive.

The door to the room opened with a hiss. Two armed guards stepped aside as Dr. Lenhart entered, clipboard in hand, eyes cold behind her glasses.

“Subject 44. The team is ready.”

Bob didn’t look at her. His fingers grazed the edge of the photograph once more before standing. He didn’t resist as the guards strapped a control collar around his neck and led him down the corridor.

The room he entered was massive. Sterile. Circular. Glass walls separated the observation deck from the inner chamber. Bob stood in the center, machines humming to life around him, sensors pulsing against his skin.

“Begin neurological synchronization,” a voice echoed overhead.

Bob closed his eyes.

At first, there was silence.

Then came the whispering.

Not in words — not exactly — but in feelings. Rage. Hunger. Emptiness.

He clenched his fists, his breath growing erratic. The air around him shimmered, warped. Lights above flickered, then dimmed to nothing. A black mist seeped from beneath his feet like smoke rising in reverse.

“Restrain output—he’s losing control!” came a panicked voice behind the glass.

But it was too late.

The shadow lashed out like lightning — instinctive, desperate, alive. It slammed against the walls, shrieking with a sound that wasn’t made by any throat. Two technicians in hazmat suits tried to flee, but the black tendrils struck faster than thought. One hit the floor, his body shriveling in seconds. The other screamed — then there was only silence.

And in the middle of it all stood Bob, hovering inches above the ground, his eyes pitch-black, veins glowing faint blue beneath his skin.

Then — darkness.

Bob woke up on the floor, shivering.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours?

He pulled himself to his knees, the collar around his neck heavy like guilt. His head pounded, his limbs ached, but worse was the silence in his mind — not peace, but absence. Like something had used him, then left.

He looked up and saw the bloodstains. The security footage, replaying silently through the tinted glass window. Two lives lost. His hands.

“No,” he whispered, scrambling back, pressing his back to the wall.

His breath hitched as he fumbled for the shelf — for the photo.

There she was.

Still smiling. Still beautiful.

Still waiting.

“I didn’t mean to…” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this, Y/N. I just wanted to be enough.”

He buried his face in his hands, shaking.

“I miss you,” he whispered into the silence.

A sob broke loose. He clutched the photo against his chest like it could stitch his soul back together.

“I’m trying to fix this. I swear I’m trying. I just… I thought that I would be dead by now.”

No answer. Only the sound of the distant hum of machines and the slow drip of water somewhere in the corner of the room.

He leaned his head back against the cold wall, eyes glassy, voice no louder than a prayer.

“Please… wait for me.”

--

2 months after

The corridor had no way out, and the new team was looking for an exit, Bob just stays put.

“Bob,” Yelena snaps over her shoulder, pausing. “You’re falling behind.”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are hollow, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and grief. The ground beneath them trembles—security drones are drawing near.

“I'll stay” he finally says, voice like crushed gravel. “I’ll just slow you down. It's better for everyone if a just...stay put.”

Yelena walks back toward him. “No, Bob, if you stay you will die.”

“Well it's...whatever” he breathes out. His jaw is tight, his fists clenched. “I don't deserve people saving me, I'm just being a burden to you guys, it's ok, go.”

Yelena’s expression softens, barely perceptible beneath her hardened demeanor. She steps closer.

“Hey, hey, wow, ok, I get it, we all have a void inside of us, we all feel like shit, and alone, but don't let that consume you, you are someone. You just have to control it.”

Bob doesn’t answer. His jaw trembles.

“What do you do to control it?”

Yelena gives him a small smile. "You push it down, like down, you push it."

Walker turns, a huge hole he punched in the wall. “Hey! If the therapy session is over, we have to go.”

She walks ahead without waiting for a response.

He starts walking behind her.

--

Back in New York

Across from her, Mr. Cooper grunted as he settled onto the floor with a sigh of relief, one leg stretched out, the other bent to cradle his back.

Sunlight poured through the open windows, warming the small apartment with its soft, golden glow. The living room was a mess of wooden planks, screws, and folded instructions spread across the floor like a chaotic puzzle. In the center of it all, Y/N sat cross-legged, squinting at the manual with a furrowed brow and a pencil tucked behind her ear, like that somehow made her more capable of interpreting the impossible hieroglyphs IKEA had decided passed for “assembly instructions.”

“I think I pulled something just by looking at that Allen wrench,” he muttered, rubbing his hip.

Y/N giggled softly, setting down the manual. Her belly, now visibly showing as she reached five months, shifted with the movement, and she instinctively rested her hand on it. “We’re not even halfway done. Are you telling me you’re tapping out already?”

“I’m old, sweetheart,” he said with a gruff smile. “I tap out every time the weather drops below seventy.”

She shook her head with a grin and leaned over to pick up a wooden side panel of the crib. It was pale honey-colored oak, sanded smooth, gentle with age. It had once belonged to Cooper’s granddaughter, and now it would belong to her baby.

“You really didn’t have to give me this,” she said, her voice softening.

“Yes, I did,” he replied without missing a beat. “No child deserves to sleep in one of those plastic nightmares. And no mother should go through this alone.”

That word — mother — still settled strangely on her shoulders. Like a coat she was trying on, not quite fitted yet.

She glanced at him, her smile more subdued now, thoughtful. “Thank you.”

He waved it off, leaning back against the wall. “Enough of that. Tell me how the new job’s going. Still wrangling tiny lunatics all day?”

Y/N laughed, genuinely this time, the sound echoing off the walls of the small room. “Yeah. It’s chaos, but kind of... perfect chaos. I mostly work with toddlers. I feed them, change them, read stories. Try to keep them from painting on the walls or eating glue. It’s exhausting sometimes, but... I really love it.”

Cooper watched her closely as she spoke, the weariness on her face dulled slightly by something new—something lighter. Peace, maybe. Or the distant shape of it.

She picked up a small wooden bar and held it like a sword. “Today one of them tried to put mashed peas in my shoes. Another fell asleep on my lap mid-story and started snoring like a little old man. And during snack time, this one girl kept hugging my belly like she knew. Like she knew, you know?”

Her voice softened. “And every day I’m there, I realize more and more... I want this. I want to do all those things with my baby. The feeding, the stories, the naps. I want to see them take their first steps. Hear their first words. I don’t want to miss that.”

She paused, tears stinging lightly at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall. “I stopped looking for couples. I think I knew deep down I couldn’t go through with it. I was just scared... not of the baby. Of doing it alone.”

Mr. Cooper didn’t speak right away. He reached over and gently patted her hand. His weathered fingers were rough but warm.

“You’ve been through hell and back, Y/N. And you’re still here. That baby’s lucky already.”

She gave a teary smile. “Sometimes I still hope he’ll come back. That Bobby will just... walk through the door one day, stupid grin on his face like nothing happened.”

“That kind of love,” Cooper said, after a long moment, “is the kind people go their whole lives never finding. But love’s only half the battle. Raising a child, choosing to stay... that’s the rest. That’s the hard part.”

Y/N nodded, looking down at the crib pieces. Her fingers grazed over the smooth wood, the future taking shape beneath her hands. She felt a soft flutter inside her, the baby moving, stretching gently like they knew she was talking about them.

“I just want to give them a better start,” she whispered. “Better than what I had.”

“You already are,” Cooper said.

They sat in quiet for a while, sunlight casting long shadows on the floor. The crib still unfinished, the future still uncertain—but for the first time in a long while, the air felt different.

A thought crossed her mind. "You think he's okay Mr. Cooper?"

He looked at her, a sad smile in his face, "I hope so sweetheart, I really do."

--

Bob was indeed not okay

The room was colder than he remembered.

There were no windows. No clocks. No reflections. Only the hum of warm orange lights above. He was laying on a bed, rather confortable if he's allowed to say.

The door creaked open, slow and theatrical, and in walked Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, a ghost in high heels and silk. She didn't sit immediately. She liked to hover, to stalk, her movements measured and deliberate.

“Hi Bob! How are you? <Are you confortable?” she said casually, as if they were old friends catching up over coffee.

Bob didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on the floor. The room felt like a trap, but he was too tired to pretend he wasn’t already caught.

“I imagine you’re wondering why you’re still alive,” she continued, circling him. “I thought you were another failure, turns out here you are.”

His breath hitched. “Where am I?”

“Home, for now” she said sweetly.

She finally took the seat across from him, folding her arms on the table like a therapist in disguise.

“You’re a miracle, Bob. My miracle. A walking success story. Do you know how many billions were poured into the O.X.E. Project before we got it right? You’re the first. You’re what we’ve been trying to make for years. You’re the product of patience. Genius. Sacrifice.”

“Don’t,” he muttered.

Valentina’s voice sharpened. “I’m not here to coddle you. I’m here to offer you purpose.”

“You signed up for a medical study, which was, as advertised, at the cutting edge of human improvement. But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness that we had in mind—”

His gaze flickered up to her, hazy and wet. “You used me.”

“We made you,” she snapped, then caught herself, letting the corners of her mouth twitch back into a smile. “And you’re more than even you realize. You just need someone who believes in you. Someone who knows what you’re capable of.”

Bob swallowed, teeth gritted. “Where's Yelena ?..., they’re good people. They don’t deserve whatever you’re planning.”

Valentina tilted her head. “They’re weapons, Bob. Trained killers. Criminals really. You think they’ll stop if I tell them to go after someone? You think they won’t? That’s the kind of world you’re in. And that’s the kind of world she’s in, too.”

She slid a photograph across the table.

His heart stopped.

It was her.

The same photo he almost forgot he had on his room in the facility he went to for the experiment.

Bob reached for the photo like it might disappear if he blinked. His fingers trembled as they hovered over it, then finally closed around the edge.

“She’s okay,” Valentina said, almost kindly. “Five months now. Still looking for you. Still crying over you. Still believing in you. Kinda of a bummer that she's alone isn't it?”

A tear slipped down Bob’s cheek as he stared at the image. “I never wanted to leave her. I—I thought if I got better, if I could just fix myself, I could come back. I wanted to come back.”

Valentina leaned in, voice low. “You can.”

He looked up at her. "Where is she? How did you find her?"

“I know a lot about you. I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction,your fathe. But does that matter? You can come back stronger. Better. As someone who can protect her. Provide for her. Be a real father. A real partner. But you have to work for me, Bob. You have to give me loyalty. Just a little time. Just a few assignments. And then, I promise—on my name—she’s yours again.”

Bob shook his head slowly, horror creeping in. “You’re threatening her.”

“I’m protecting her,” Valentina said calmly. “From you. From the others. From this world that doesn’t care who she is or what she’s been through. You want to keep her safe? You work with me. You do what I say. Because if you don’t... there are people out there who won’t hesitate to use her against you.”

Bob’s hand clenched around the photo, crumpling the edge.

“You don’t understand my love,” he said, voice cracking.

“I don’t have to,” she replied. “But I can use it.”

He looked at her then, really looked. The truth was a blade in his chest. He was powerful, but powerless. Strong enough to rip holes in the sky, but too broken to say no.

“She’ll hate me.” he whispered.

Valentina stood, brushing invisible dust from her lapel. “Maybe. But hate is a lot like love, Bob. It sticks. It burns. It means you still matter.”

She walked to the door, heels clicking.

“I'll be back when you're feeling better, it's your best interest to control yourself and all your powers.”

The door closed behind her with a final click.

And Bob sat there in silence, holding the photo of the only person who ever saw him as more than his darkness.

His fingers trembled as he whispered her name.

“How did I ended up here baby...”

--

Y/N's pov

The lights were dimmed in the small examination room, a soft hum of fluorescent bulbs vibrating overhead. Y/N lay back on the cold, paper-covered chair, the crinkling noise far too loud in the silence. Her shirt was rolled up, exposing the gentle curve of her belly. She was twenty weeks now, and this was her first real appointment.

She hadn't meant to wait this long, but money and despair had a cruel way of making even basic things feel unreachable. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Cooper, gently reminding her, pushing through her deflection, she might’ve kept pushing it off until she gave birth alone.

The doctor entered with a warm smile, her presence calm and kind, a middle-aged woman with soft eyes and a practiced touch.

"Hi, sweetheart. I’m Dr. Hale. Let’s have a look at this little one, okay?"

Y/N nodded, her throat too tight for words. She tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to relax. She hated that her hands trembled.

Dr. Hale squirted the cold gel onto her stomach, and Y/N winced. "Sorry about the chill. It’ll warm up in just a second," the doctor said, already moving the wand across her skin.

The screen flickered to life beside her. Grainy black-and-white shapes slowly came into focus — shifting, fluttering motion, something alive. Her baby.

Y/N stared. She forgot to breathe.

"There we are," Dr. Hale whispered, smiling at the screen. "Look at that heartbeat. Strong little one, isn’t he?"

Y/N blinked. “He?”

"It’s a boy," Dr. Hale said gently. “Congratulations, mama.”

Y/N’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Her eyes welled up fast, tears rising before she had time to prepare for them. Her lips trembled and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, the other resting gently over her belly.

A boy. She was having a son.

“He’s measuring well, right on time,” the doctor continued, her voice soft, respectful of the emotion clouding the room. “You’ve done a good job, keeping him strong.”

But Y/N was crying now — quiet, broken sobs — as she stared at the screen. Her baby. Bobby’s baby. And she was seeing him for the first time. A little fluttering shape that would one day have Bobby’s eyes. Maybe even his shy smile.

Dr. Hale handed her a tissue. “It’s okay. First appointments can be overwhelming.”

Y/N laughed softly through the tears, nodding. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

“Your partner must be so happy too,” the doctor added casually, glancing at the monitor. “First-time dads are always in awe during these appointments.”

Y/N’s face froze. She didn’t correct her. She just offered a small, practiced smile. “He is. He… just couldn’t be here today. But he..he's really happy.”

Dr. Hale nodded, not pressing. “Well, this little boy is lucky. You clearly love him very much.”

Y/N looked back to the screen, to the blurry shape moving softly on it, and swallowed hard. Her fingers tightened around the paper sheet beneath her.

“He’s everything.” she whispered.

--

2 years ago

The scent of warm fries lingered in the car, mingling with the soft hum of the engine and the quiet tune playing from the radio—something 90s, something nostalgic. Rain tapped gently on the windshield, coating the windows in glistening beads that shimmered under the glow of the streetlight outside the McDonald’s parking lot. The inside of her old sedan was cozy and dim, fogging slightly from their breath and the comfort of shared laughter.

Bob was in the passenger seat, slightly turned toward her, his long legs awkwardly folded into the too-small space. A crumpled paper bag sat between them, half-spilled fries poking out. He held a burger in both hands, but he hadn’t taken a bite in at least a minute—too caught up in the way she was telling her story, animated and full of wild hand gestures, her eyes lit with mischief.

“No, no, wait,” Y/N laughed, nearly choking on her own drink as she swatted his arm. “You have to picture it—this man, right? Full suit. Hair greased back like he’s somebody’s boss. He’s barking at me because his order had pickles when he said no pickles—like it was a personal betrayal. So I’m standing there, biting my tongue, trying not to say ‘Sir, I don’t make the sandwiches, I’m just handing them to you.’”

Bob chuckled, already smiling because he could hear how this story ended. “And then?”

She grinned, pausing for dramatic effect, fries in hand like a microphone.

“He turns too fast, slips on his own spilled soda, and I swear to God, it was like a slow-motion movie scene. Both arms flail, legs go out, and bam—on his ass. The sandwich goes flying. The drink lands on his lap. And everyone just… stares.”

Bob was wheezing, struggling not to spit his drink out. “You’re lying.”

“I swear,” she said, holding up two fingers in mock oath. “The ketchup packet even exploded. Right on his white shirt. Like something out of a damn Tarantino film.”

They both laughed so hard it hurt, leaning toward each other in the cramped space of the car. Bob wiped a tear from his eye and looked at her, still giggling with her hand pressed to her chest, eyes watery from the laughter.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

He’d never met anyone like her before—someone so unapologetically alive. She wasn’t like the people from his past, people who only spoke in hushed tones and looked at him like he might break. She was loud and kind and brilliant and chaotic in the most mesmerizing way. And somehow, for reasons he still didn’t understand, she liked him.

Y/N caught him staring, mid-fry. She tilted her head. “What?”

Bob blinked, startled. “Nothing. You’re just…”

“What?”

He gave a shy shrug, reaching down for the last fry in the bag. “You’re just…funny.”

“Funny?” she repeated with a smirk. “That’s it?”

“And cool,” he added quickly. “And smart. And, uh—” he hesitated. “Your storytelling is…top-tier.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully and leaned back in her seat. “You’re weird, Bob.”

He smiled at the dashboard, face warming. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

She nudged his arm with hers, shoulder to shoulder. The warmth of her touch buzzed through him. “Wanna come back to my place?”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“I mean,” she added, lifting an eyebrow. “We could watch something. A movie or whatever.”

Bob turned red instantly, so red it almost glowed through his hoodie. “Uh…”

“Oh my God,” she laughed, leaning toward him with her lips curled in amusement. “What were you thinking I meant?”

“N-Nothing!” he stammered, though his voice cracked. “Just—just a movie. Yep.”

She tilted her head and smiled wider, teasing. “You totally thought I was seducing you.”

“No, I didn’t!” he said, his voice too high, too defensive.

“You absolutely did.” She laughed again, softer this time. “I could see it in your eyes. You went all deer-in-headlights, Bobby.”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean… It’s our third date…”

“And we haven’t even kissed,” she said, more gently this time. She was looking at him, really looking. “That’s okay, you know.”

Bob nodded slowly, still not meeting her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

The car grew quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward—just full of unspoken things. The rain was heavier now, soft and steady, a lullaby on the roof.

Then Y/N leaned over slightly, not enough to make it too serious, just enough that her shoulder brushed his again. “So… you wanna come over or not?”

He turned toward her again, finally smiling that crooked, shy smile of his. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She winked and started the car.

--

Y/N unlocked the door with one hand and flicked on the hallway light with the other, her apartment filling with a warm, amber glow. It was a small space—cozy more than cramped, cluttered with personal touches: a stack of books that lived on the coffee table, mismatched throw pillows that had clearly been collected over time, a framed Polaroid of her and some friends stuck to the fridge with a glittery magnet shaped like a donut. It smelled faintly like vanilla and old incense.

“Home sweet home,” she said, kicking off her sneakers and tossing her keys into a little ceramic bowl by the door.

Bob stepped in behind her, moving like he didn’t want to disturb the air. His eyes flicked around the space, taking in everything, silently noting how her this place felt. It was lived in. Warm. Safe.

“Nice,” he said with a shy smile. “It’s… you.”

She grinned. “That better not be your way of calling it messy.”

“Messy’s charming,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh… where’s the TV?”

She pointed to the living room. “Couch is yours. I’ll get the snacks. No movie night without popcorn, it’s illegal.”

Bob shuffled into the living room and plopped onto the couch, sinking slightly into the cushions. A large fuzzy blanket was already thrown over one armrest, and the TV remote rested on the other, just waiting for someone to grab it. He picked it up and started scrolling through her cable channels—no Netflix login anywhere in sight.

From the kitchen, she called out, “Don’t bother looking for Netflix, by the way. I refuse to pay for it on principle.”

Bob blinked. “Wait, what principle?”

“The principle that I already pay for internet, rent, utilities, and my crippling caffeine addiction. Something’s gotta give.”

He laughed, glancing toward the kitchen where she was pouring kernels into an old stovetop popper like a professional. “So, no Netflix. What are our options then?”

She popped her head out from behind the doorframe, holding up a giant metal bowl with flair. “Cable roulette, baby. Let the gods decide.”

Bob chuckled as he continued to flip through. A couple of random sitcoms, a rerun of a baking competition, something that looked like a low-budget horror movie.

Then he paused.

“Oh—this one,” he said, perking up. “It’s just starting.”

It was one of those timeless adventure films—part comedy, part heart, with a little magic thrown in. The kind of movie people quote years later like it shaped their childhoods.

She returned a minute later, carrying the giant bowl of buttery, still-warm popcorn, and proudly presented it to him.

“Tada.”

Bob looked up at her, eyes soft. “Is it bad that all your surprises are food-related?”

She gave him an offended gasp. “Food is a great love language.”

He took a handful of popcorn and grinned. “I’m just saying—at this rate, our next date’s gonna have to be a jog.”

“You calling me out on my snack habits, Reynolds?”

“Just looking out for future me,” he joked. “Don’t want to get fat and slow while trying to impress you.”

They both laughed as she curled up beside him on the couch, pulling the blanket over their legs without even asking. She sat close, the bowl between them, legs pressed lightly against his. He tried not to think about how good that felt—how even the slightest brush of her thigh against his sent a heat curling into his chest.

The movie played on, and they made the occasional sarcastic comment under their breath, snickering over cheesy dialogue or pointing out ridiculous plot holes. Bob tried to focus on the screen, but every so often, his eyes drifted to her. The flicker of the TV cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the way her mouth twitched when she was trying not to smile. She didn’t know she did that. He found it endlessly fascinating.

And then, their knees bumped again—just slightly—and she turned her head, catching him.

He froze, mid-popcorn bite, like a raccoon in a trash can caught with a flashlight.

She raised an eyebrow. “Something you like ?”

He flushed instantly, face going pink. “Wasn’t— I wasn’t—”

“I’m gorgeous, I know,” she said with a grin, bumping his leg. “You’re so lucky.”

He let out a small, bashful laugh, looking down at his lap, embarrassed beyond belief.

But then, she shifted.

Her teasing smile softened into something quieter. She reached out, gently brushing her hand against his arm, and leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, then slowly, against his chest. She tucked herself under his arm like she belonged there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I really do like you, Bobby,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Like, a lot.”

Bob didn’t breathe for a second. He just stared down at the top of her head, her hair catching the light. He felt her heartbeat, steady and close, against his ribs.

And he knew.

He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, letting himself melt into the moment he didn’t think he’d ever deserve.

“Guess I was the one who got the lottery ticket in the end,” he whispered.

--

The soft flicker of the television still lit the room, casting warm shadows over the now half-empty popcorn bowl that had long gone cold on the coffee table. The movie had played on quietly in the background, its third act slowly winding into an emotional crescendo neither of them saw coming—because somewhere between one of her whispered jokes and his quiet chuckles, they had both drifted off to sleep.

Y/N stirred first.

A sudden loud crash from the film’s climax jolted her upright, eyes wide and heart pounding. She blinked a few times, trying to process where she was. The room was dim now, just the blue glow from the credits rolling across the screen. Bob, still curled up beside her with his head resting slightly back against the couch cushion, blinked awake seconds later, startled.

“Wha—what happened?” he mumbled groggily, sitting up, his voice rough with sleep. “Did something explode?”

Y/N grabbed her phone from the armrest and squinted at the screen, the harsh light making her wince. “Shit—it’s past 1 a.m.”

Bob straightened up quickly, suddenly aware of the late hour. “1 a.m.?” he echoed, rubbing at his face with both hands before reaching for his jacket on the couch arm. “I should get going then. Damn, I didn’t mean to pass out.”

She sat up beside him, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Wait—are you seriously going to walk home right now?”

He was already halfway standing, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I mean... yeah? I live like forty minutes away, but it’s not that bad—”

“Bob,” she said, more firmly now, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “It’s freezing outside, it’s stupid late, and you’re literally half-asleep. I’m not letting you walk home like that. Stay.”

He looked at her, hesitating, his hand resting awkwardly on the back of his neck.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice softer now, uncertain. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she said without missing a beat. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, but she was already grabbing the blanket from the couch.

“You can take the bed,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s comfier. I’ll grab some blankets and crash here.”

Bob's eyebrows shot up. “Wait—what? No, no way. You’re not giving up your bed for me.”

“Bob—”

“I’ll take the couch. Seriously. You already cooked the popcorn and laughed at all my dumb jokes. I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed.”

Y/N stopped mid-step, holding a pillow against her chest.

She looked at him, a little sheepish now, something almost shy in the way she bit her lip.

“Well…” she started slowly, “the couch isn’t exactly five-star hotel material. Springs kinda poke you if you sit the wrong way.”

Bob blinked.

She hesitated, clearly fighting her own nervousness, and then said it:

“We could just… share the bed?”

Bob froze.

It wasn’t a suggestive offer—it was soft, hesitant, spoken with a touch of nervous laughter that told him she wasn’t trying to rush anything or make it weird. Her cheeks were pink, and she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I mean,” she continued quickly, “we could do the whole back-to-back thing, or throw a pillow wall in the middle. Just sleep. It’s really not that big of a deal, right?”

He could feel the heat rising in his face, all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I—uh…” He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Okay. That makes sense.”

She looked up at him now, really looked at him, and smiled—gentle, reassuring.

“We’re comfortable with each other, right?”

Bob nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

A few minutes later, they were both in her bedroom.

It was small and soft, the kind of room that smelled like lavender detergent and something warm and feminine. There were string lights hanging above the bed, giving off a golden glow, and the sheets were already turned down from earlier.

Y/N had quickly slipped into a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt in her bathroom, her hair tied up messily. Bob stood at the edge of the bed looking impossibly awkward, holding a folded blanket in his arms like it was a shield.

“I promise not to snore,” she teased lightly, climbing into her side of the bed and fluffing her pillow.

“I make no promises,” he mumbled, still blushing, as he awkwardly lowered himself onto the other side of the bed, fully clothed, stiff as a board.

They lay there for a moment in silence.

Then she turned to him slightly. “You okay?”

He exhaled. “Yeah. Just, you know… never done this before. Like this. Not with someone who—” he paused, “—who makes it feel like something more.”

She smiled faintly, turning her face toward him in the dark.

“Good. Me neither.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other—barely visible under the soft fairy lights, but everything was clear in their expressions. They were still new, still learning, but something about it already felt like home.

Bob shifted slightly, adjusting to face her fully. His arm folded beneath his head, and hers rested lightly on her pillow, fingers curled near her chin.

“That movie sucked,” Y/N whispered with a grin.

Bob laughed under his breath. “You were the one who picked it.”

“Excuse you, you said it looked ‘promising.’ I distinctly remember that.”

“Only because the poster had, like, three explosions and a dramatic tagline,” he teased.

She snorted. “Yeah, and it delivered… exactly none of that.”

They giggled together quietly, their voices softened by the late hour and the closeness of the room.

Bob let the laughter fade into a quieter breath, and for a beat, he just watched her.

She noticed.

“What?” she asked softly, her lips curving gently.

He hesitated, visibly battling the nerves crawling under his skin. His fingers twitched slightly on the sheets between them.

“I…” he started, voice quiet but sincere, “Can I kiss you?”

Her breath caught slightly, a small smile forming — but not a teasing one this time. It was soft, touched with warmth and surprise.

“Yes,” she said, her voice just as quiet. “Yeah. Please.”

He moved closer, slow like he was approaching something sacred. Their noses brushed, and he hesitated one last second—then kissed her.

It was gentle. Soft. The kind of first kiss that made the world feel like it shifted ever so slightly beneath you.

She responded immediately, her fingers lifting to gently brush his jaw, encouraging him, guiding him. The kiss deepened slowly, breath mingling, hands finding each other. It was warm, explorative, delicate — but full of something real.

Bob’s hand slid around her waist, his thumb stroking just under the hem of her shirt. Her own hand, featherlight, slipped under his t-shirt, her fingers skimming across his chest. The touch made him gasp softly against her mouth, his heart racing.

Then he froze.

Just for a second.

He pulled back slightly, breath shaky, eyes searching hers with something between awe and panic. “Sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to—was that too fast? I didn’t want to mess anything up, I—”

She only looked at him, calm and radiant in the glow of the lights, and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Hey,” she murmured, brushing her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

His eyes blinked up at her in awe, lost for words.

Then she shifted, slowly, confidently — straddling him with ease and grace, the quiet rustle of the sheets following her movement.

She pulled her shirt over her head and let it drop to the floor beside the bed, the strands of her hair falling loose around her shoulders. There was no nervousness in her gaze—only love. Trust. And a bit of playful spark.

Bob's breath hitched, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch something so precious.

She leaned down and kissed him softly, her lips brushing his cheek before she whispered close to his ear:

“Do you want me, Bobby?”

His voice came out in a breathless rush. “Yes. Yes.”

She smiled at his answer, biting her lip. “Then you’ve got too many clothes on, Bobby.”

He looked up at her, stunned and overwhelmed in the best way, his heart thudding so hard it echoed in his ears.

Thinking about this cod fanfic and I need help finding it 💀💀

I think it was either soap or ghost?? Maybe even Konig??? Or price??? And like, they have a wife reader who takes care of 1-2 kids. And like, the fathers at the school thinks she's a single mom and always flirt with her. Because they never see Soap/Ghost/Konig around. And mom/wife reader is friendly cause she's like,"it's the right thing to do right??"

And so once Soap/Ghost/Konig are home for a bit, the kids tell them and attends the kids/school event going on dressed in their military gear or smth. And like, the dads are shocked and the moms flirt over him n stuff.

Idk it's been on my mind 💀💀 por favor I need that fic found LMAO

Looking for FIC help! Trying to find a fic that’s a Jake Seresin x reader(?) one ! My friend read it and recommended it to me but they can’t find it anywhere so— 🧎🧎🧎

They said it was obvi a Jake x reader where the dagger squad made the reader feel a bit scared/insecure! And there’s a moment where they break down in the hospital cause Jake got in an accident ! Making the daggers feel bad!

Fellow Top Gun Bob Floyd Enjoyers,, I got something cooking up Fr🧎 and I really hope you enjoy it when I post it tonight 🫣

Very tempted to give a sneak peak—

Heavily recommended writer 🧎

Ereardon Masterlist

Masterlist

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

You Again [Miniseries]

It’s been five years since you last saw your childhood best friend and first love Jake Seresin. But fate, or coincidence, has you back in Jake’s life and he’s desperate not to lose you again.

Slow Burn [Full length series]

After a one night stand with Hangman disrupts the fresh start you were looking for when moving to San Diego, the unexpected pregnancy forces you and Jake learn how to live with each other and tolerate one another. As the months go by, you slowly get to know the real Jake beneath the facade he puts on, but when old flames and work obstacles threaten to topple everything, your new relationship is put to the test.

As It Was [Full length series]

When Jake Seresin calls to tell you he’s accepted a permanent position at Top Gun, you’re elated to finally be living in the same city as your best friend. But everything changes when Jake tells you his news — he has a new girlfriend, and he’s serious about her. And while you want to like her, for Jake’s sake, something about her feels wrong. Jake’s arrival in San Diego also puts you in the direct path of Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, who has set his sights on you despite being Jake’s sworn enemy. Every move Rooster makes, Jake intercepts. What game are these two playing, and why is Jake more concerned about you moving on with Rooster than he is about his own relationship?

He’d Let Her Go [One-shot]

Jake meets the love of his life in college, but after years together he realizes the best thing he can do if he really loves her is to let her go.

My Girl [Full length series]

Jake Seresin could be the answer to all of your dating woes. He’s the full package: steady job, mature, dependable, attractive to a fault. The polar opposite of every guy your age and he’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. But there’s one roadblock: he’s a single father to four-year-old Ellie. Jake is looking for a level of commitment you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give, and he’s not willing to bring someone into his daughter’s life who isn’t there for the long haul. And even if you are stepmom material, is Jake ready to let someone back in his life while still mourning the recent loss of his late wife?

Robert “Bob” Floyd

One Night [One-shot]

You have your eyes on Bob at the Hard Deck, but have to shoot down Jake Seresin first.

Gas Station Tears [One-shot]

After your boyfriend dumps you, your car stalls out in a gas station parking lot. Luckily, Bob Floyd happens to be there to fix your car. Can he fix your heart, too?

It Was Never Him [One-shot]

You catch your boyfriend Rooster making out with a girl at the Hard Deck and only one person can comfort you in the aftermath: Bob Floyd.

What Are You Thinking? [One-shot]

Bob Floyd is a quiet man. Sometimes you have to ask him what he’s thinking just to know what wheels are turning inside of his head. He always gives you a response, until one day, years into your marriage, he turns the question on you.

Friends Don’t [Full length series]

Bob has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly volunteered to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Come Back [Full length series]

Eight years ago, Bradley Bradshaw was just a college boyfriend who broke your heart. Now, he’s back in your life after a coincidental reunion, and he’s adamant about starting up a friendship. Will it be possible to be just friends with Bradley, or is he inevitably going to end up ruining everything you’ve spent the better part of a decade rebuilding?

Too Far Gone [One-shot]

Your life changed forever the moment you fell for Bradley Bradshaw. But his life wasn’t an easy one to fit into. He had more baggage than lost and found at JFK airport. You were always one for a fixer upper. Bradley could be your ultimate passion project. But was he too far gone for you to save him?

His Best Friend’s Wedding [Two-part series]

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right?

Rhett Abbott

A Place Like This [Full length series]

Rhett Abbott has never met a girl like you. You’re a corporate city girl in Wabang on borrowed company time — he thinks there’s no way you would waste it on him. So when you fall for the local bull rider, you’re both a little surprised. What will it take to get Rhett to realize he can give you everything you’re looking for? And will Rhett be able to reconcile the fact that your job is literally to dismantle Wabang and break apart the only place his family has ever known?

Other writing

I ask him for stories 

Heat

When you wanted angst, you got your angst but at what cost. I hurt my own feelings

Nothing Comes Close to the Golden Coast

Description: You're on the beach because it's what your little sister wanted for her bachelorette party. One day, you can manage, right? You're not expecting to stumble right into the woman who could can change your outlook on beaches that day. But with Natasha Trace, maybe you're starting to see nothing comes close to the golden coast.

Warnings: Female! Reader, Flirting, Beaches, Mild Cursing, Natasha is too flirty for words and possibly a little dangerous

A/N: Hiya lovelies! This is a fic I wrote for @bellaireland1981 's 1K Pool Party celebration. Congratulations on 1K followers Bella! It's my first time writing a long form Phoenix x Reader fic and I hope I did Nix justice. All my love to @horseshoegirl for beta-ing this fic for me and making sure I wasn't 1) using too many commas (yes I have a problem) and 2) that this fic was flirty and fun and summery enough!

Word Count: 3617

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

Cross-posted to Wattpad here!

You like going to the beach as much as any other girl. But unlike other girls, you tend to prefer quiet, calm, clear beaches to lie on. The kind of beach where you can hear the tide coming in and the seagulls wheeling in the clear summer sky. The kind of beach where the sand is clear, and you never have to fight to find a spot to lay down your towel and where you can read without a beach ball smashing into your face. Of course, finding the clear beaches you love is far from easy. It seems like the minute the calendar hits Memorial Day, everyone in the Greater San Diego area books it to the beach for the summer. You’ve even seen people taking meetings out on the beach. But to put it bluntly, you're not one of those people.

So why are you out on this congested, loud beach today? There's only one reason: your baby sister's Bachelorette party. It was an obligation you couldn’t get out of. You love your sister, but you’re less than happy to be spending time with her and her friends. When it’s just the two of you, it feels like you’re the closest pair of siblings on the planet. But when she’s with her friends, it feels like there is a colossal, ever-widening, yawning gulf between you. Everyone calls her the pretty one while you're the practical one. In the eyes of your entire extended family, it is one of the many reasons why she's getting married at 22 when you're still single at 28. To keep the peace, you’ve been pasting a smile on your face and literally grinning and bearing it for everything she’s asked of you. Because you love her and in only a week’s time you can get a bit of a break from her (or really, from her best friend).

To make matters worse, you’re the only girl in the group wearing a one-piece suit, something flattering yet mostly covered, without showing off your cleavage or too much of your ass.

“God, do you have to wear that old lady suit?” She'd scoffed when you walked out of your house that morning, a sunhat on your head and a sarong tied around your waist to complement the deep maroon one-piece you’d pulled out to wear. “Please tell me you have a bikini you can go wear instead. If you'd told me, I would have brought you one of mine!”

As if you'd have ever worn a bikini of hers. Your younger sister is thin, model thin, with a narrow waist and perfectly perky A-cups, which look fantastic in the hot pink bikini she's wearing today. She's got the physique that makes men look a little stupid. Already, there is a pack of unfairly pretty men who have gone a little cross-eyed when your sister and her friends walked by. In contrast, you're shorter and curvier, your hair dark where hers is blonde, and the ultimate introvert to her bubbly extrovert.

You aren't even her maid of honor at her wedding - that particular honor belongs to her best friend - yes, the aforementioned obnoxious Sally herself. It's not as if anyone has even noticed you're not having the time of your life in the water. After all, why would they? Who wants the babysitter hanging around you when you're trying to have fun? It's the role you've been playing since your sister was born, and you're sure you'll play it again once your sister has kids. For now, all you can do is stay secluded under your umbrella and try to read a little despite the noise. At least it is a little emptier on the beach now as the sun sinks slowly across the sky.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

The voice is male, filled with all the surety of a man who knows what he wants and has never failed to get it. Your eyes are rolling before your head rises from your book. Your sister and Sally are under the umbrella next to you, and unsurprisingly, that comment was targeted at the two of them. You're pretty sure they are two of the group who were tossing around not one but two footballs on the beach.

“Two pretty things like you look like you could use a drink.”

It's the blonde, tall with green eyes, and a shit-eating grin, who makes the offer. And to your disbelief, it looks like your sister is going to take these guys up on their offer.

“We'd love to!”

Is she thinking at all? Before you can stop yourself, you're speaking.

“Can I talk to you, Vicky?”

“The fuck do you need to talk to her for?”

Sally's growling at you, her arms crossed under her chest in a way that accentuates the cleavage already threatening to break free of her string bikini. Your cheeks flush as the two men glance between you and her, discerning gazes flip-flopping between you and her at heated words.

“You're her sister, not the fucking morality police. We're having drinks with them. Either you can join us, or you can glare disapprovingly. But don't you dare tell us what we can and cannot do.”

“You're such a fucking stick in the mud. I don’t get why the hell you came with us. Why are you always coming out with us, anyway? I mean, I’d have had a life by the time I was your age, but well, I guess you're even too boring for that.”

You're left gaping at Sally and your sister as they walk away. The words don't hurt, not really. You've been hearing a version of them for years, ever since Sally and Vicky decided they didn't like having you shadow them. Of course, they don't believe you when you say you'd rather do anything other than join them while they get up to all the bullshit they do. Once upon a time, Vicky used to defend you. Obviously, those days are long gone.

It doesn't mean you won't still watch out for your sister, though. Call it some sort of sickening nostalgia for the days when you and her were close once, chasing each other around playing unicorns in your backyard. Call it affection for the little girl who used to follow along behind you, repeating everything you said with a lisp. Call it love for your sister who you would once do anything for - would still do anything for.

Of course, you immediately realize the situation is far different than you thought it would be. Because there aren't just two incredibly hot men, but ten. Before you can blink, they're all over Vicky, Sally and their other friends. Somebody has sparked up a bonfire, and you gravitate to the hot flames despite yourself. You're a little chilled after being out in the hot sun all day. As the sun sets over the sea, one of them nestles a Bluetooth speaker into the sand and turns the music up. 

California Gurls, we're unforgettable,

Daisy Dukes, bikinis on top

Whoever made this playlist needs better taste in music. Or at least they need to pick something which you haven't heard on the radio every day of the summer in 2010. As it is, it will be stuck in your head for days.

“This song sucks, huh?”

You jump at the voice near your ear, stumbling and nearly face-planting in the sand. You have the kind of face which shows your emotions plainly, you've always been told so. Now someone has noticed, and you hope this person won’t throw you under the bus like all of Vicky’s friends. You pretend it’s just the song as you turn around with a smile pasted across your face.

“It's the worst!”

You're sure you have other things to say, but they disappear from your head like smoke when you see the woman who is talking to you. She's gorgeous, whiskey eyes flickering gold with the bonfire's flames. She's absolutely beautiful, and it feels a little like you're in an alternate universe. There's a cool breeze coming off the water, and in addition to the salt from the sea, you can smell hibiscus in the air. It has to be from her perfume, you note vacantly.

There's humor in her eyes as she stands beside you, surveying the others around the bonfire just like you are. You can see your sister in the distance, dancing with the blonde who asked if she wanted a drink. She looks like she’s well on her way to becoming completely drunk, but you don’t care. Vicky’s an adult. She made her own decisions, and she can stand by them. All of your attention is on the brunette in front of you. She holds out a bottle to you, condensation dripping over her fingers.

“I thought you could use a drink.”

“Thanks.”

The drink in question is a bottle of soda, ice cold.

“I, uhh…” She looks a little sheepish, some of her confidence draining away as you look inquiringly at her. “I wasn’t sure how else to get you to talk to me.”

“W-why wouldn’t I talk to you?” 

She grins ruefully, “Because you've been glaring at Bagman and your friends since you walked over here?”

“And, you don't look like you're having much fun.”

“Fun…” You sigh, "is a word for it. And we're not friends.”

“Younger sister?”

You laugh, “Is it that obvious?”

“You're a good sister, coming out with her and her friends like this.” 

Her innocent words touch your heart a little bit.

“I've got two just like her. They're so sure they're grown up, but they could still need somebody to watch out for them.”

You turn excitedly, “Yes! Yes. That’s it! She's getting married next week, but there's still so much she doesn’t know yet! And she and her best friend hate that I'm here. Call it her need to be seen and treated like an adult. I'm in her bridal party and she doesn’t even want to celebrate with me. Guess everybody would pick Bagman over there over me.”

“I don't hate that you're here, you know?”

You startle a little at the frank openness of this beautiful stranger's voice.

“Why not? You don't know a single thing about me.”

“I know you’re a big sister. I know you hate Katy Perry’s California Gurls, not because the song itself is horrible, but because you’ve probably heard it a million times.”

She tugs at your hand, and you follow her as she leads you away from the bonfire, the song still blaring away. You shouldn’t follow her, you know you shouldn’t. But despite yourself,you’re curious. There’s something about her you need to know more of. Away from the bonfire, the air is cool, and crisp. The beach feels swept clean the further you walk.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you planned this.” 

You crack open the soda and take a sip, pretending not to feel dark eyes on the side of your face.

“I didn’t plan it.” She chuckles a little, playing with your fingers. “All I wanted was to keep talking. I think I owe you a few more things I know about you, anyways.”

Your heart warms as she shrugs out of the hoodie and lays it over the sand. She sprawls down with a grace you couldn't emulate if you tried, all long, lean muscles exuding strength and power. You feel awkward in contrast, self-conscious as you try to sit on as much of the hoodie as you can without sprawling in her lap in a way that would have you mortified and her uncomfortable. But you can still feel her, warm and solid, as she retakes your hand. It’s comforting, the light touch, the calluses at her fingertips making goosebumps rise over your arms. Her perfume smells different this close, the light scent of summer hibiscus melting into roses and morning dew. It’s addicting.

“Y-you mentioned there were a couple more things you knew about me?” 

The words leave you in a whisper, tripping over each other as they drop off your tongue.

Her laugh is husky and warm, and for one moment, all you want is for her to make that wondrous sound again. But you quell that particular impulse. After all, no matter how weak you are for this woman, you barely know her. You won't be making a fool of yourself tonight.

“I think you're smart, smarter than anyone gives you credit for being. You're strong and single-minded.” She leans in conspiratorially, a smirk on her lips. “Some people would call you stubborn, but I think they're just afraid you'll leave them behind in your quest for world domination.”

“How do you know I'm gunning for world domination?” You're smiling from ear-to-ear as you ask the question.

“All the prettiest girls are. Especially the girls who bring a book to the beach for family when they'd probably rather be curled up on a window seat with a cup of tea handy.”

Your cheeks have to be crimson by now. Of all the days for an unfairly pretty woman to come up to you and flirt, she has to pick today. She’s so confident, so pretty and vivacious and all the things you never could be. In comparison, you just feel dull, like a piece of fabric bleached by the sun, until there are only the faintest hints of color left. It’s also been a really long time since anyone’s even looked twice at you.

“I-I do like reading at a window seat while it rains.” Your smile is halfway genuine now, you think. You can’t keep volunteering bits of information about yourself without getting some info from her in turn.

“What do you like doing in your spare time?”

Maybe you picked the wrong question to ask because her easy smile drops faster than you can blink. The small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes flatten out, and the dimples are so deep you’ve been wanting to kiss them since you saw them disappear as her smile does. The silence between you isn’t comfortable anymore. It’s awkward, a discordantly awkward tone spoiling the harmony of the moments before.

“I don’t have much spare time. Or hobbies.”

“I’m sorry.”

You’re babbling before the apology has left your lips, mind speeding at a hundred miles per hour at the thought you’ve somehow managed to insult the one person who’s wanted to talk to you all night. You’re standing and turning to head back to the bonfire before she hops up next to you.

“Whoa, whoa.” Her hands are hot as they make contact with your upper arms. “I’m not angry at you. I dunno if you heard what those meatheads were saying when they were posturing to your sister and her friends earlier, but I’m a Naval Aviator.”

“It doesn’t leave a lot of time for hobbies.”

“So, what do you do with your free time?” 

She’s so close you can feel the heat of her skin.

“Most of my free time is spent at the gym. It takes hard work to look this good.” 

You giggle a little as she tugs your hands until they’re flat against her toned stomach. The muscles twitch under your fingers a little, and you feel light-headed. Is she really flirting with you? You? 

“Not everyone can read books and look as good as you do.”

“What else do you do?” Your voice is weak, barely audible over the rushing waves, but she hears you anyway.

“Sleep. Try to read. Though it’s harder to concentrate when you’re surrounded by hundreds of lonely, horny men than when you’re sitting in a window seat.”

She smirks a little, leaning closer then. 

“And I definitely spend a lot of time daydreaming about a pretty bookworm in my bed to keep me warm at night.”

“O-oh.”

Your face has to be crimson by now. It feels so hot. The dark ocean seems way too alluring, if only for a cold reality check. There’s no way this gorgeous, smart, sexy woman is hitting on you. There’s no way. Maybe if you keep saying it over and over, it will be a reality instead of what your delusional mind is coming up with.

“Sadly, there hasn’t been a pretty bookworm in my bed in a while.” 

The smile on her face falls, the motes of color swirling in her hypnotic eyes, fracturing into crystals at the words. 

“None of them can take the long days away, no dates, little contact. Maybe one day I’ll find the right bookworm for me. Unless…”

Her arm has found its way around your shoulders, the warm lines of her body searing into you.

“Well, this is a silly question, but would you maybe like to grab a coffee sometime? Get to know each other better?”

You want to say yes. More than anything you want to. But you can’t bring yourself to accept her invitation, not when you have more questions than answers.

“W-why me?”

Her lips are warm even through the material of your half-damp swimsuit as she presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“You’re different from the other girls I talk to.” 

You’re unsure how to respond, half afraid she will go on and on about how boring and dull you are. All of the others you’ve dated certainly have. They expect one of the standard sexy-librarian types when they meet you and find out you like to read. They’re always disappointed when the truth they come to see couldn’t be any further from what they imagine. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she sighs. “I swear I nearly got hit on the head with one of the footballs when I saw you walk out onto the beach and sit under your umbrella.”

“You missed it, I'm sure, but those goofballs in my squadron were laughing at me for hours.” 

There's a slight pink tinge to her cheeks as she leans back. You miss her the minute you lose her warmth.

“I um…” She runs a hand, long-fingered and pretty (why the hell are even her hands so pretty), through her hair. “I'm pretty sure that's why those two walked up to your sister and her friend.”

“They wanted me to come to the bonfire tonight?”

You're pretty sure your mouth is wide open at this point. 

“Yeah. Though I should say, I wanted an excuse to talk to the prettiest woman I've ever seen. And maybe flirt with her a little. And maybe get her to agree to go out with me.”

“How is this clever plan of yours working for you?” 

Your voice is a whisper again as you peer over your shoulder at her. 

“You don’t know my name. You don't even know if you're my type.” 

It takes every bit of courage to banter lightly with her.

“I think it's going pretty well. After all, I've got you sitting here with me instead of out there with those idiots. And I'd very much like your name.”

You smile despite yourself as you tell her your name, getting hers in turn: Natasha Trace, callsign Phoenix. Her callsign fits her fierce and confident personality.

“So what do you say about getting coffee with me sometime?”

Just before you're about to respond, you hear your name called from the bonfire. It's one of Vicky's friends calling for you and pointing at your sister. She's drunk, and you can tell she's minutes away from courting an indecent exposure charge. She's sitting on Bagman's lap and doing her best to eat his face right off. He seems like a more than willing participant. Your concerns have more to do with how her bikini is moving, how she’s only moments away from an indecent exposure charge.

“Fuck.” 

You turn to Natasha and smile. “I'm really sorry, but I have to…”

You make a vague gesture in your sister's direction.

“I understand. She needs you right now.”

You nod and begin to walk away, pulling your coverup out of your bag. But your feet don't let you move very far. What kind of person would you be if you let the best thing that's ever happened to you slip through your fingers so easily? You can't let her slip away. So you rummage in your bag for one of the notebooks you always carry with you and scrawl your phone number down on it, ripping the page away.

She looks surprised to see you again when you catapult yourself into her arms and kiss her soft lips. She tastes like the beer she was drinking earlier, and as her arms wrap around your waist, you sink into the kiss a little bit more. You feel like you never want to leave. Yet you know the longer you stay here kissing Natasha, the more time your sister has to make situations worse. Her friends may be cheering her on, but her fiancé won't be quite so magnanimous.

When you pull away, her cheeks are the same pink as earlier. Her lips are kiss-swollen, and her eyes are bright. You're sure yours are the same.

“Let's get that coffee, Natasha.”

You press the paper into her hands and hurry back up to the beach to take care of your sister. In the hilarity of pulling her away from Bagman and wrestling her into your coverup, you can feel eyes on you. They track you until you drive away.

There's a text on your phone when you get home.

Let's get that coffee tomorrow morning. Do you know Madison's Cafe? I'd very much like to kiss you again.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @chaoticassidy @kmc1989

NAVIGATION

ABOUT ME

ETC

Hey hey first things first ! On here I would like to be referred to a Beau! I’m a fanfic writer for a few fandoms in which you can find on my masterlist as well!

Down Below the cut is my MasterList to the things I write! So far there’s only COD stuff cause majority of my friends enjoy that 😅

I do want to put a trigger warning on here! And I will also put trigger warnings on the writing themselves! I tend to write a lot of angst and smut because I’m very bad at coming up with full fledged out plots sometimes but aha! Oh well—

MasterList

Call of Duty

- John Price

LOVERS CREEK ; click here !

- Simon Ghost Riley

- Kyle Gaz Garrick

- Johnny Soap MacTavish

MORE TO COME..

Ask box is open!

Okay so— I’m writing this right?

And like I’m using “ you “ instead of “ I “ and it feels a bit awkward 😭

Are y’all okay that I use like— both I and You? Like POV switches in a way? Idk

Omg,,, that shit with graves ,,,

imagine you, a recently divorced person and Graves is working your case or whatever and feelings get caught in between 😩😩

I kinda wanna write this up now 🗣️🗣️

Edit ; it’s in the wips LMAO