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saltsicklover · 9 months

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Part Eleven

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2800+

Rating: R

Warnings: Swearing, Tobacco, Mentions and descriptions of eating, generalizations about people in CA, Bob tells a lie.

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

When the sun finally crests over the horizon, it brings white, fluffy clouds with it. The light smell of cherry tobacco lingers in the air inside of the house, like fingerprints left behind a the scene of a crime.

When Natasha rose that morning, she crinkled her nose at the unfamiliar smell. It travelled with her from the hall and down the stairs. There is something unsettling about it and the way it ghosts over the inside of her lungs- like unshared secrets and old coffee rings.

Sunny finds Natasha flipping pancakes, her back to the rest of the room as she works. The scent of the pancakes takes over the room, but Natasha still finds it difficult for her shoulders to relax, to pull her senses from the foreign smell in the air.

"Good morning, Nash," Sunny hums, trying to cover up a yawn. Natasha replies with her own greeting, stacking a fresh tower of flapjacks onto a plate. She offers it to Sunny, who takes it with a gentle smile.

The sun is streaming in through the large bay window at the back of the house, leaving spots of pure sunshine warming the hardwood floor. The curtains wave in the gentle morning breeze, the ever present smell of saltwater rolling in with it. The scene the two women find themselves in is beautifully domestic. Though the thought never crosses Natasha's mind, it makes Sunny think of home.

It's the breeze she misses the most- crisp and fresh, blurring cold over her skin. She misses the feeling of pulling her large jacket closer to her body on chilly mornings, hiding in the warmth hidden between the stitches of the fabric. She misses wearing jeans in the summertime and the need to wear boots.

Most of all, Sunny misses sneaking into the high school's pool to watch the swim team practice before school. From the way the humidity in the room would ease the gooseflesh that broke out over her skin from the walk in, to walking to class with Bob those first few months of freshman year- before everything went wrong between them.

She still snuck into swim practice every morning, even after Bob decided to throw away their friendship. She used to claim it was because it was routine, something that she was used to doing everyday. She would say that she hated breaking routine, that she thrived off of it, when in reality, she was there to see Bobby.

Of course she was- because she never gave up on him, even if he gave up on her.

"How'd you sleep?" Natasha questions, drizzling her own stack of pancakes with syrup. Sunny sits down at the bar top, pulling herself up in to one of the stools. The syrup is passed along with the tray of butter, the quiet of the morning more present than not.

"You know exactly how my night went," Sunny chuckles, wagging her fork in her best friend's direction. Natasha shoots her a questioning look complete with furrowed brows and a tilt of her head.

"Who else would've brought me back to bed this morning, you goober?" Sunny shoves a forkful of food into her mouth, a bit of butter smudging itself to the corner of her mouth.

"Sunny, I don't know what you're talking about," The giggles leaving Natasha's lips are soon covered up by a fork full of pancake. Sunny is not convinced.

"You know exactly what I mean," Sunny chides with a roll of her eyes, "I got locked out of my room sometime in the middle of the night and I guess I must have fallen asleep in the hallway. You unlocked my door and brought me back to bed,"

Sunny speaks like it's the most obvious thing, with a shrug of her shoulders. She continues to cut into her breakfast, not thinking too much about it.

Natasha thinks over her night, positive she wasn't the one who put Sunny back to bed. Then, a small smirk creeps over her lips. She leans over the bar top, bringing her hand up to Sunny's face. The other woman stops mid fork lift, making eye contact with her friend. Natasha swipes the smudge of butter from the corner of Sunny's lips.

"What's the last thing you remember about last night?" The grin on her lips is growing by the second. She pours two cups of coffee into mugs. They are plain in decoration, just dark blue in color. She noticed this morning when she pulled the mugs from the cupboard that Bob's mug was gone from it's usual place.

"You mean besides falling asleep in the hallway?" Sunny's words are met with a nod. She takes another bite, chewing slowly as she gets her thoughts together.

"I crawled into the back of Bradley's car and fully passed out. Between the long drive in yesterday with Jake and the flight with..." Sunny's voice trails off at the end as the pancakes in front of her become the most interesting thing in the room.

Natasha leans her body against the counter top, a knowing smile adorning her face. "I didn't bring you back to bed last night," Her voice is quiet but easily heard in the quiet of the morning. Sunny pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling the fullness of it gently before letting is slip back out. She continues this action as she tries to piece together her next thought.

"Bobby," Phoenix almost misses the word between the clinking of Sunny's fork on her plate and the quiet creak of the steps. Sunny stares down at her plate, her forehead resting against her knuckles, completely lost in thought.

She doesn't notice the creek of the stairs or the way Phoenix pushes herself from the counter and busies herself with her own plate of food. She doesn't notice the way Natasha tries to hide her smile behind her mug of coffee as she brings it to her lips or the way she sighs over the top of it after a moment of holding her breath.

---

When Bob wakes, his thoughts are still tangled up with images of Sunny. From the way his shirt fit over the frame of her body, slightly clinging to the curvature of her hips, to the way she looked with her head pressed to his shoulder. The look of peace had been sculpted into her features and Bob couldn't seem to get it out of his mind.

The craving for tobacco eats at his chest, his palms a bit itchy when he focuses too hard on it. He wants to reach for the silver case, to smoke another cigarillo and feel the way the tendrils of smoke caress his lungs, but he doesn't. Bob knows he shouldn't smoke inside, even if it's in his own room, in his own home. He knows that if Phoenix ever found out she would kill him.

First of all, she doesn't know that Bob is a smoker- hell, he became good at covering his tracks the moment he stepped foot in California.

In the eyes of the average Californian, Bob is the enemy. From his accent that sticks out from those of the coast, to the way his clothes fit. They hate his uniform and what it stands for. They hate his boots almost as much as they hate his flight suit. They hate the truck he drives and the plane he flies in- both too consuming of fossil fuels. And, maybe most of all, they hate the fact that he smokes. So, he started hiding it. It wasn't like he was living a lie or denying the fact that he may or may not enjoy tobacco a little too much, he just wasn't exactly forward about it.

So Phoenix never found out about Bob's little habit.

It became a small moment for Bob to steal away from himself. Usually in the dark veil of the California night, under the blankets of smog and darkness, Bob could take a walk and smoke until his the thick, overwhelming feelings from the training day fade into nothing more than the past behind him.

But since Sunny walked back into his life, he wanted to smoke as often as he wanted to breathe. It isn't for the nicotine that would buzz under his skin or the way the smell of cherry would cling to his clothes. It isn't even the fact that she's there with him now, right across the hall. Instead, it's the desire to go backwards in time- to the part of his life where he would smoke a cigarillo before swim practice and watch as she would pull into the parking lot of the school. He would wait there just to catch a glimpse of her, to see the friend he threw away- to see the girl he loved.

He wants to smoke now. The tingle of the nicotine would mingle with the butterflies in his stomach that came from the sight of her and everything would feel just as it used to; he would feel sixteen again.

Bob pulls himself from the prison of his bedsheets. They are coated in sweat, sticking to his already clammy skin. He didn't sleep well, the evidence of his tossing and turning laying in darkness under his eyes.

Today, Bob pulls his clothes from the back of his closet, the forgotten garments of his past. Jeans that are worn in, in just the right places and faded to match. He pulls his belt through the loops, taking notice of how his thighs fill out the legs of his jeans more thoroughly than they used to. When he pulls his Carhart t-shirt on, he notices how the sleeves strain a bit around the fullness of his biceps, much like his uniform top does.

Once Bob is dressed, boots and all, he brushes his teeth as quietly as he can in the bathroom, afraid of waking Sunny up with the sound of running water. He can feel the itchiness of need in his palms again; he pushes the his toothbrush so hard against his teeth that his gums bleed.

He doesn't bother to style his hair, instead, he plops his hat atop his head as he heads for the stairs. He takes the stairs quietly, but a gasp from the kitchen stops him in his tracks, the stair creaking under his weight.

"What is it?" Sunny looks up at Natasha, over her hands. Phoenix's own hands have come up to cover her now gaping mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. Then, her lips quirk up a bit, and her hands lower just a smidge, enough for Sunny to see the smile blooming in real time.

Natasha's eyes trace over the shirt that is hanging over Sunny's frame, her gaze lingering over the US NAVY crest that is center on her chest. Her mind is brought back to what Bradley said yesterday, "I also threw some of your clothes from the dryer at the end of the bed for her." Suddenly, Natasha doesn't feel guilty about drying her clothes with the load Bob had left in the dryer.

"Nash? What is it?" Sunny asks again, her hands dropping to her lap.

"That's not my shirt," The words leave Natasha's lips like they are the most obvious thing in the world. Like Sunny would have known that the shirt she had pulled on in the middle of the night, that Bradley had left at the end of the bed for the other woman, wasn't hers.

Natasha walks around the counter to look at the back. Sure enough, the words "NAS LEMOORE" are printed large across her shoulders. Natasha's smile only grows in size, like the Grinch's heart on Christmas.

"What?"

"That's not my shirt," Natasha says again, with more confidence and knowing this time. She shrugs her shoulders as she rounds back around the counter. She takes another bite of her pancakes.

"Who's shirt is it then?" Sunny asks, her voice a bit defeated. She already knows the answer.

"Bobby's" The smirk is evident in her voice, Sunny doesn't even have to look at her face.

"Of course it is," Sunny rakes her hand down her face, letting the weight of it pull at her cheeks.

"It looks good on you," Natasha compliments, again like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Thanks," Sunny's voice falls flat, "For it being Bobby's it sure doesn't smell like him."

This time it's Sunny's turn to say something so out of pocket like it's not. Natasha quirks an eyebrow at her before leaning across the table. Sunny leans forward and pulls at the excess fabric of the shoulder, bringing it towards her friend. Nat takes in a deep breath, trying to pick up on anything different about the garment. There are traces of leftover perfume on it, no doubt from Sunny's skin, but other than that, it smells exactly like Phoenix was expecting it to.

"Oh shit," Sunny mumbles, rolling her eyes, "I guess he never told you either, huh?"

"Told me what?"

"That he smokes! God, for being his friends, you guys really don't know Bobby. I was just talking about this exact thing to Bradley yesterday! He didn't know about the smoking either!" Sunny is laughing now. "God, even your house smells like the tobacco he smokes, and you didn't know!"

Sunny can't stop the laughter from bubbling out of her and the sound does little to quell the frustration that is rising in Phoenix.

"Hell, at this rate I could probably tell you exactly what he is going to wear today with more accuracy than a carnival psychic, and you'd be taking a shot in the dark!" Sunny is cradling her stomach, now cramping form laughter, as she chokes the words out between heaving breathes.

"You wanna bet?" Natasha asks, her pride getting the better of her.

"Absolutely,"

"I'll go first," Natasha leans across the table, making a show of tapping her finger to her chin like she is thinking. "Well, he's off work today, and he always wears the same thing when he is off work, so I am going with Khakis and a nice button up shirt."

"Khakis?!" Sunny busts out in another fit of uncontrollable giggles, "Khakis, fuck, Nash, you are going to kill me if you keep that shit up," Sunny runs a knuckle under her eye, wiping away a tear that is threatening to fall down her face.

"Jeans, probably faded around the thighs, and a t-shirt since it's warm out. Boots, and a hat, for sure. Can't forget the cowboy hat,"

"Cowboy hat?!" It's Phoenix's turn to burst into laughs now. "Robert Floyd, in a cowboy hat? That's a fucking picture,"

"It's what he wore everyday in school, except when it got cold. I remember he had this awful green sweater that had all of these holes in the knit near the collar. God, he wore that thing all the time, but one thing for sure is he always had his hat!" Sunny drags a finger over her heart, crossing it.

Bob looks down at his clothes, smiling to himself. Maybe it was his subconscious, dressing like he did while they were growing up, or maybe it was fate, but Sunny was right.

"I guess we will have to wait for him to come down and see," Phoenix says, the end of her sentence more forward than the rest.

"Yeah, I guess," Sunny shrugs, turning her attention back to her now room temperature plate.

"Yeah, he always gets a cup of coffee around this time," Natasha draws her words out a bit, trying to make it clear that she knows that he has been listening in. The creak of the stairs gave him away.

So, Bob takes a deep breath, adjusting his hat on his head before walking down the rest of the stairs.

"Hey, Phoenix, I am going to head to base, I got'ta pick up a couple things, do you need anything?" He asks, rounding the corner and entering the room. The cool air blowing through the kitchen meets Bob's already red cheeks, the feeling welcome against his warm skin.

Phoenix all but drops her coffee cup at the sight of him. She eyes him from hat to boots and then back up again. Her mouth hangs open for a second before she catches herself, a whisper of 'oh my god' leaving her lips. Bob just stands there like he is on full display for the women, his large hands buried in his pockets.

That is a reaction Bob was ready for.

Sunny looks over her shoulder, a small, knowing smile dancing on her lips. It's gone with a hitch of her breath, almost as soon as he sees it. It's replaced with a sadness swimming through her glassy eyes. He swears he can see the expanse of their entire relationship flickering just behind her irises, gray toned and faded like old film. It is short and bitter, just like the bile creeping up the back of his throat.

That is a reaction Bob could have never prepared for.

TAG LIST @harperdoodle

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #robert floyd x y/n #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd angst #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fanfiction #best friend natasha trace #best friend phoenix #once an asshole #top gun maverick imagines

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fierysafrina · 7 months

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It'll be okay | Nash Gold Jr. part 3 of Afterglow

Fandom: Kuroko no Basket Rating: General Word Count: 2.300 Genre: Slice of Life | Hurt/Comfort | Angst | Romance Summary: When your past catches up to you, Nash is there to hold you. Notes: I know it's been hella long time since I last posted anything and for that I apologise. Everything has been piling up so much that I really needed to write something out.

Stretching your legs, you turn in your bed when the first breeze of wind startles you. A chill runs down your spine, goosebumps on your arms before you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself. Something is missing, but you don’t know exactly what.

Opening one eye, you narrow your eyebrows, expecting the sun only to be met with nothing. A whine escapes your lips as you turn, hating the fact you woke up much earlier than intended. You’re expecting something, a warmth on the other side of the bed, but there’s nothing. It’s cold and empty and it makes you open your eyes to look around.

There’s no sign of anyone but you being here. There’s silence and neither your dog is found anywhere. You whistle for Spot, expecting him to come running into the bedroom and jump on your bed, but you’re waiting for nothing.

You wait a minute, two, before you decide to look for your dog. Standing up, you unconsciously stretch your arms as you slip into the slippers and leave the bedroom.

“Spot?” you call quietly, looking around the living room.

You expect him to be lying on the couch, like he usually does, but he's not there. Narrowing your eyebrows, you walk towards the kitchen, expecting Nash, but he's not there either. Closing your eyes, you take in a shaky breath, leaning on the doorway of the living room when you hear a whistle. It's followed by a bark and you realise it's coming from the outside.

Walking towards the door that leads onto the terrace, you open and the first thing you see coming from the forest is Spot. He's looking behind, but like he's sensing you, he turns his head in front and paces up until he almost sends you to the floor. You laugh and rub his head and torso when he leans deeper into your touch.

“Did we wake you up?” Nash's voice makes you look at him.

You shake your head, smiling. “Just woke up, actually.”

Nash approaches you and he leans down, kissing you directly on the lips. You're still not used to the affection he's suddenly showering you with, but it feels nice. Spot decides it's a brilliant idea to run past you inside, which makes you stumble.

“Spot.” Nash calls in a warning tone, sending him a rather playful glare.

Looking at your dog, you see his ears deflate and head low as he stares at you both. You're shaking your head, more amused at how close they've already become. Despite knowing Spot has always been fond of people he knows, he definitely wasn’t kind to strangers and it took him time to warm up to someone.

"Wanna grab a bite at the diner?" Nash wraps an arm around you before he kisses you on the lips.

A smile spreads across your lips as you nod. "Sounds perfect…" you murmur.

You hear Spot barking from inside, but you don't mind. You let Nash lead you inside. He sits you down in the kitchen and you watch him walk towards the stove when the smell of coffee hits you. Your heart skips a beat when you realise that he made some for you before he left with Spot.

You’re sitting outside the diner, with Spot by your feet. Looking around, you notice a couple of people you got to know in the time you live here. They smile at you, greeting that you return without hesitation before their eyes fall on Nash. You can see the recognition in their gaze that only proves your assumption when they begin to talk to each other.

Turning to Nash, you’re about to tell him, but he’s already looking at you. He raises an eyebrow, like he wonders what you’ll say, only for you to remain quiet instead. You feel your cheeks burn at the intensity that makes you avoid his gaze, feeling your voice being caught in your throat.

Reaching for your cup, you take a sip, finding more interest in anything else but the man sitting in front of you.

Nash chuckles as he says; “What’s gotten you so silent now?” in a teasing manner. “Cat got your tongue?”

You send him a glare, but remain quiet. You play with your fingers, glancing at Spot, who remains lying. He turns his head occasionally, but remains by your side. And then you spot it. A child, no older than five years, is running towards your table, or more precisely, to Nash with a wide smile that could rival anyone’s.

“Hi!” he greets, his eyes shining brightly as he stares up at Nash.

A smile on his lips and Nash is greeting the boy back, who asks him for an autograph while his small hands hold onto a notebook and a pen. You watch in slight amusement at how smitten he looks for the boy and suddenly you wonder how your children would look.

Shaking your head, Nash catches your gaze like he knows what you’re thinking about. You feel your cheeks heat up and turn to look at the boy, who’s running back to his mother, jumping from joy as he shows what Nash signed. You smile softly, knowing the boy will cherish it for a long time.

And as much as you wish to have a child, you're reminded of all those days and times you spent awake late at night, wondering why men keep on ghosting you. When you went on a hike and a few teens made fun of you for not being a size 4 just because you weren’t in form. How you were never even a chance when you were out with friends and men were hitting on them, making you feel like an outcast instead.

You startle when Nash reaches for your hand. His gaze is filled with worry and it makes you wonder when he’ll get sick of you. When will he stop coming? When will he stop texting you?

“You okay?” he asks.

You’re not sure what expression you’re making, but it’s obvious Nash doesn’t buy your excuse: “I’m fine,” for a second.

But he doesn’t pry.

And it makes you wonder just how much he truly likes you.

The drive back to the cabin is rather quiet. Nash tries to talk to you, but your short replies soon make him give up. He holds your hand while driving, yet it doesn’t seem like it bothers him too much. The silence, that is.

You nibble on your lower lip, your thoughts loud.

You’re not sure when you arrive back to the cabin; not until Nash is looking at you. He might have said something, you’re not sure, so you wait for him to repeat it. Except that he doesn’t. He remains quiet, his eyes looking straight into yours until you’re the first to avoid his gaze.

“Don’t avoid me.” He’s the first to break the silence.

Turning his way once again, Nash narrows his eyebrows. He knows something is wrong.

He reaches out for your hand that rests on your thighs, giving it a small squeeze. “Don’t push me away.” His voice is quieter and filled with … sadness.

“You should go home.”

It’s not what you wanted to say. You don’t want him to leave, not even for a minute, and the words you’ve just spoken surprised him as well–not just you–, because his eyes are wide. You want to take those words back, but your body isn’t listening to you.

“Are you crazy?” he snorts, his hand reaching up to cup your face. “No way am I leaving you. Not now.”

Releasing you, he steps out of the car and you feel tears brim in your eyes. You watch him go around the car until he’s pulling you out of your seat. He cups your face and wipes away the tears with his thumbs before he kisses your forehead. Feeling powerless, you let him walk you back into the cabin, Spot already a few steps ahead, until he sits you down on the terrace.

At this point, you try to hide your sadness even more, but Nash has none of it, because the minute he is gone, he’s already back with your favourite blanket, despite the warm and sunny weather, and chocolate milk you have stored in the refrigerator. Your chest tightens at how easily he can read you.

You feel your eyes tear up and for a split second he panics. He’s unsure what to do and a part of you expects him to turn and leave, yet just like a moment before, he proves you wrong. He sits beside you and wraps his arms around you.

“I don’t know what got into this pretty head of yours, but the last thing I’ll do is to leave you alone.”

“You will eventually…” you murmur more to yourself.

It’s like time has frozen. Nash stills completely as you bite your lower lip. You refuse to look at him, but he holds your chin and forces you to turn your head. Your eyes meet his and there’s something in his gaze, you haven’t seen yet; sadness.

“Princess,” he whisper-calls and you melt at his nickname; “I promise you, I’m not leaving. You’re stuck with me, so please … talk to me…” he pleads.

Closing your eyes, you take in a deep breath before you slowly let it out.

“I never got along with my family…” You start quietly and Nash reaches for your hands instead, squeezing them in his. “There was also this boy,” a small smile spreads across your lips at his memory; “that I loved. Perhaps there are still some feelings lingering deep down in my heart, aching for his touch and his brightness that I adored.”

Nash remains silent. You open your eyes and avert them towards Spot, who’s lying by your feet, sleeping.

“Maybe I should have seen all those ‘red flags’ everyone was speaking of, yet I remained blind to them, because I cared for him too much. I loved him to the point I was prepared to leave everything in that same moment if he called and said he needed me.” Letting out a shaky breath, you lower your gaze at your hands. He’s caressing them and you feel your chest tighten, because no one has ever done that before.

“We only ever talked when it was convenient for him and did the things he liked.”

You feel like a concrete wall around your heart is beginning to crack open the longer Nash remains silent, giving you nothing but to be there and hold you, even if only your hands.

“He never listened. Whenever I wanted to go to a cinema, to watch a certain movie, he didn’t like it. When I sent him a song I loved, he said there could never be a more stupid band instead.” you close your eyes, letting out a small breath you unknowingly held. “Yet at the same time, it wasn’t all that bad. He was there when I felt bad about myself. He made my days less bearable, surprised me so many times I couldn’t help but love him, forget all the bad things, because that’s normal in a relationship, no?”

Expecting no answer, you stare at your hands.

“Which is why I’m afraid of love. I’m afraid I’ll fall so deeply that the moment they leave, I won’t be able to breathe.” You feel your eyes tearing up the more you remember those days. How many hours you spent waiting on his message, reply, only to receive what you already expected; a simple “no”.

“I won’t say I’m like that, ‘cause that would be a lie.” Nash speaks after a moment. He’s still holding your hands and you can feel his eyes on you, but you’re too afraid to look at him. “I have games in other countries–”

“It’s not that.” you overtake him immediately. A tear slips down and you laugh. “I know all of that and I’m glad, happy you can do what you love, but after so many times of hearing “no”, “I don’t have time”, “I’m tired”, “I want something else than a drink” and all that constantly, over and over again, I don’t feel loved.” You look at him, unable to hold it back anymore as more tears stream down. “Every time I wanted to do something, just a goddamn drink, a simple drink, I was met with no. With two guys, two. I’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me and when I want to spend some time with you, I’d be met with the same word; “no” without giving a different time or date. I need reassurance that we’re okay, that you still like me, that I won’t have to go months without seeing you and expect...everything...”

Voice cracking towards the end, you bite your lower lip and look away.

“I-I thought I'll be fine after it happened once, but I guess I love to torment myself. A-and it's okay if it-it's not at that time, any-any other time is okay, as l-long as you agree to a simple drink...”

“[Name]...” Nash calls your name softly. “I'll stay.”

And just like that, an invisible dam that was holding back your emotions broke. In a second Nash holds you in his arms as you cry into his chest. You hold onto his shirt like you're holding onto your own life. He's caressing your back, rocking you back and forward softly. You feel embarrassed for being so vulnerable in front of him, but after telling him all of that, you knew it was only a matter of time before you broke down.

Nash presses a kiss on the side of your head. “I'm not leaving you.” His voice is soft, yet at the same time sounds final.

And you believe him.

#safrinawrites #Nash Gold Jr.#Nash Gold Jr #Kuroko no Basket #fanfic #oneshot #fanfiction #knb fanfic #knb fic

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chiefdirector · 8 months

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Sleep | Bobby Nash | 9-1-1

No. 2: Insomnia

Maybe it was all too much, or maybe he just wasn't enough. It could've been a manner of a hundred-million things, but every thought all came to one conclusion: it was all his fault. He had been through this before, but he didn't know how he could cope this time around.

He had lost his family before but he had a bottle of booze to indulge himself with as he forgot the world around him. He didn't have that anymore. Bobby never thought he would miss that part of his life but here he was, craving the amnesia only a bottle of Jameson could provide.

Moving to California had been hard, but his team at the 118 had made it easy. The regret of his actions had plagued him, and continued to do so, but loving these people, and subsequently being loved by them has made it easier. But despite all of his objections to the suggestion, Bobby had found a soft spot for Buck; he took the young man in and helped him mold himself to be the man he had grown up to be. Buck was the closest thing Bobby would ever get to a father-son relationship again, but God did he wish the treasured it more.

Bobby had seen Buck in a hospital bed a countless amoutn of times, but this time was different. This time Buck has a series of wires and tubes running in and out of his body. Some were providing pain relief, other blood, or nutritions. The one Bobby hated the most was the one that breathed for him. He hated that Buck couldnt breathe himself and needed some machine to do it for him, and he hated it that it was under his watch did this happen.

Deep down, Bobby knew that he couldn't control the weather, and he was sure as Hell that he couldn't have predicted that lightning would strike buck down from that ladder. But still, it was under his watch, command, and guidance that he went up that ladder. It was still his fault that he went up. It was his fault that Buck had to be rescued, and resuscitated, and revived.

It was all his fault and he didn't know if he could live with himself if he lost Buck also.

Days passed, the sun rose, and set, and rose once again. Nurses and doctors changed shifts, people came to see Buck and they left once again. The only constants were the pulsing of the heart rate monitor and Bobby himself. It all blended and blurred with each other, so much so that the sound of his phone pinging jolted him to attention.

Clicking the phone to life, he saw a singular message on his home screen from Athena.

Are you okay? Have you slept, it's late.

Bobby looked up and out the window, sure enough the sun had set once again. He then looked down to the date on his phone. Thursday. Time had passed a lot quicker than he had expected, but then again he wasn't very aware of much lately. As quickly as he could, he shot back a reply.

I haven’t slept in days, I don't think I can right now

At this, he switched his phone to silent and slid it into his pocket. he could argue about his self destructive tendencies with Athena another time. Right now he wanted to pour all of attention into Buck, just in case he woke up. Just in case.

Masterlist | Whumptober Masterlist

@ailesswhumptober

#bobby nash imagine #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #bathena #911 imagine #ailesswhumptober2023 #chiefdirector

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screaming-universe · 4 months

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just a random short list of buddie fics that are AUs based on books/movies, and that I like a lot 🧡

my sun, my moon, my guiding star by diazs (75k, rated general audiences), aka The Martian AU

Astronauts Diaz, Han, Panikkar, and Wilson were all safely able to reach the Mars Ascent Vehicle and perform an emergency launch at 7:28 a.m. central time thanks to Commander Nash's quick action. Unfortunately, during the evacuation, Astronaut Evan Buckley was killed when he was struck by debris. Commander Nash and the rest of his team are now heading home… but Evan Buckley is dead.

to the waters and the wild by june_nights (@beecauseevan) (64k, rated teen and up audiences), aka The Scorpio Races AU

The stranger turns. His eyes meet Eddie's and Eddie's breath catches in his lungs. The seagulls, the chattering tourists, the wind, it all fades away. Across the harbor, the man smiles. Eddie feels that smile in his toes. Someone bumps into him, breaking the spell. Eddie takes a deep breath. The salty harbor air fills his lungs. He doesn't allow himself to look back at the ferry. He doesn't allow himself to wonder about that man. He's a tourist and he's here in the middle of October. He wants to ride in the Races, and that means Eddie will stay far, far away. Or: The Scorpio Races are Thisby's oldest, most beloved and deadliest tradition. Three years ago, when tragedy forced him to give up riding for good, Eddie swore he would never look back. It turns out life may have other plans for him.

Hymn to the Sea by @sevensoulmates (52k, rated explicit), aka Titanic AU

It was the unsinkable ship of dreams to everyone else. To Eddie, it was a slave ship, taking him and his son back to America in chains.

even when you’re sleeping keep your eyes open by @spaceprincessem, aka The Hunger Games AU, a series:

you and i’ll be safe and sound (51k, rated teen and up audiences)

“Our second tribute from District Twelve is Evan Buckley.” Eddie’s eyes snap up and he’s pretty fucking sure his heart stops beating all together. If he lets his eyes flutter close he can feel the patter of rain, harsh and ice cold, against his skin. The way the air saturates with the smell of burnt bread. He can see the shape of a boy thrown out into the mud, hands cradling something precious in his hand. The way that bundle was placed in Eddie’s own, shaking palms as a voice whispered, I’m so sorry I can’t do more before he was gone. But Eddie doesn’t let his eyes close. He watches as Evan Buckley — Buck, please just call me Buck — ascends the stairs to take his place next to Eddie. Not you. Please. Anyone, but you. [or the buddie hunger games au]

but when it’s over i’m still awake (52k, rated teen and up audiences)

Eddie doesn’t have to guess which name will stand alone on Reaping Day. He’s going back into the arena. Eddie doesn’t hesitate as he takes off out of the house at full speed. If his family is calling after him then he can’t hear a single word. Not with the blood roaring in his ears and the desperate urge to run run run pumping thunderously in his veins. He needs to get out of here. Out of District Twelve. Out of Panem. Out of his skin and this body doomed to go back to the one place he was supposed to be safe from. He doesn’t want to go back into the arena. He survived. He got out. He’s a fucking victor. But, of course, who is ever really safe in a place like this? [or the buddie catching fire au]

#i have been so normal about all of these #they are just so good!!!#911 #weewoo #911 fanfic #fanfic #buddie #buddie <3 #titanic au #scorpio races au #buck buckley #eddie diaz #fanfic rec #hunger games au

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bigassbowlingballhead · 2 months

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for the TV show asks....Degrassi lol

SCREAM. man, I haven't thought about degrassi in a while

My rating (1-10): (i forgot to rate i got busy talking about the women) 6/10 it is still made for children and it showsh jkdfhkj

My favourite character: Fiona Coyne, Jane Vaughn, Bianca DeSousa, Manny Santos, Holly J Sinclair, Alex Nunez, Ellie Nash PAIGE MICHALCHUK. Bad bitches ONLY

My least favourite character: This is a safe space to say Emma Nelson. She's so high and mighty about everything. girl sit down you got gonorrhea of the throat you have no space to judge manny santos.

The character I think I'd be friends with: Fiona <3

The character I think I won't hit off with: See above, Emma.

My favourite episode/scene: also on the topic of Emma, you gave me a social disease reigns as an all time TV moment.

Whose clothing style I like best: Early and late spinner, before the bad swoopy hair (you know the one) and then when he got hot.

Times I watched it (and if I would again): it's a sick show for me. I turn it on when i'm sick in bed and doze in and out so i think i've only seen it alllllll the way through once because my god there's so many fucking episodes. but certain seasons, like 2-6 i've seen so many times.

send me a tv show

#how nostalgic ffhdjkfhksjfh #thank you sm #taste-thewaste #box talk

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jerzwriter · 1 year

Text

What Happened in Vegas: Chapter 5: ...and that's a promise.

Book: Open Heart (Book 2)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Casey MacTavish)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Some suggestive content, not explicit; cursing; drinking.

Category: Series - AU

Words: Approx 4,900

Series Summary: Casey & her roommates are heading to Vegas, intent on taking down Declan Nash and Panacea, but this time, Dr. Ethan Ramsey is in tow.

Chapter 5: It wasn't planned... but they said I do. While Ethan finds he's OK with it, Casey's not so sure. Some time with her friends gives her perspective, but what does she decide. It seems everyone - including Ethan & Casey - is in for another surprise.

A/N: Hey, everyone; I hope you enjoy this installment. Some have asked how many chapters are left. I'm thinking 2 after this, but I've been known to be wrong before. lol I am participating in @choicesjanuarychallenge - Day 24 - all three fit in a way - Give, Take, Friends

Series Masterlist My Main Masterlist

There are moments in life when you can feel time come crashing to a halt. When everything seems to stand still, and you walk away a little different from the person you were just moments before. Casey had already experienced a couple of these moments since landing in Vegas. It’s not every day that you wake up to a marriage certificate with your name… that you don’t recall signing. Nor watch yourself recite the most loving, eloquent vows… but there is no recollection of saying them at all. That was plenty, she thought. She had enough of those moments to last her for a while. But fate, and Vegas, apparently had more in store.

She stood there, stupified. Her face unreadable, mouth agape, the only movement she could muster was looking between Ethan’s face and his hand gently wrapped around her wrist. Never in a million years did she expect him to react like this. She considered asking him to repeat himself, just to be sure… but she knew what she heard.

Ethan attempted to remain patient as he wordlessly watched her every move. Hoping for the slightest sign of how she’d eventually respond. He understood her shock, he was still shocked himself, to be honest, but he couldn’t deny nothing had ever felt so right. He didn’t have a single regret, but he knew her answer could change in an instant.

So he waited… allowing time to stay suspended… for so much longer than he thought possible. He was beginning to consider checking her for signs of shock when he felt her cold, clammy hand slap across his forehead without warning.

“Ow!” He grimaced. “What are you doing?”

“Checking you for a fever. It might be heat stroke.”

Pushing her hand away, he smiled. “Casey, I don’t have heat stroke.”

“Well… a stomach bug, perhaps? Norovirus! Everyone picks that up in places like this! I’m sure you must….”

“Casey,” he interrupted, taking both her hands in his, “I’m not sick. I just want an answer… will you stay married to me?”

Her nervous laughter filled the room, and her body quivered. She wondered if perhaps she was the one who was ill as the room began to sway. She pulled away from Ethan once more and began to engage in her new favorite hobby… pacing.

“If you’re not sick, then you must have lost control of all your senses!”

“Why?” Ethan demanded. “Why do you say that?”

“Stay married? Stay married?” She yelled. “You’ve gone mad!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, if you want to stay married, then in my professional opinion, you have!”

“Can you honestly tell me that you’ve never thought of us getting married?”

Still pacing, her hands began to flail. Flabbergasted, words couldn’t be found, but it didn’t stop her from trying. “Wha… huh… that’s…. I…”

“You OK?” he teased, proud of himself for keeping his cool while Casey unraveled.

“NO! I’m not remotely OK! And whether I’ve thought of it or not is irrelevant! If we did everything we thought about, I might be president of the United States! Or… maybe a stripper at a club here in Vegas!”

His face scrunched in disbelief. “You what?”

“Don’t change the topic, Ethan!” She blurted. “The point is, we all think things at times… but that doesn’t mean we should act on them all!”

“So on a scale of one to ten, with one being… you’re now a stripper… and ten being you’re seated in the Oval Office, where does staying married to me rank?”

Casey’s eyes narrowed as her pacing ceased. About to comment on the ridiculousness of his words, she stopped herself when she realized he had only repeated what she had said. With a shake of her head, she sat beside him on the bed.

“Ethan,” she replied lovingly. “You made it very clear that you were not a fan of marriage. You weren’t even a fan of commitment… look at how long it took for us to get where we are now.”

“When did I tell you I was opposed to marriage?”

“The first time was when we tested the fMRI machine!”

“That was a hypothetical situation!”

“Then there was the time when Dr. Borgas and the nurse from 4… what’s her name?”

“Julia.”

“Yes! When Dr. Borgas and Julia got engaged, what did you say then?”

“I don’t remember?” He shrugged. “Congratulations?”

“Not to their face Ethan! What did you say when they walked away? You said, ‘God help that fool!’”

“Yeah, because in their case, it’s true! Everyone knows Julia is rebounding, and if that hot surgeon she was dating from Kenmore popped back in the picture, she’d forget about Borgas in an instant!”

“Wait!” Casey startled. “How do you know all this gossip? Who are you, and what have you done with Ethan Ramsey?”

Ethan smiled warmly, placing a loving arm around her shoulder. “You seem to forget who I have lunch with most days. With Naveen in my life, I’m going to know garbage whether I want to or not.”

“Fine,” she surrendered. “But answer one thing… before this trip… did you ever seriously think of asking me to marry you?”

“No,” he hesitated, “But….”

“But nothing! You had no intention of proposing to me, much less marrying me. That’s not the way to start something that’s supposed to be forever. I get it. Our emotions are all over the place right now, but when they settle down, you’ll realize this isn’t a good idea.”

“Well, I disagree.” He shifted so he could look her in the eyes. “You’re right. I never thought much of marriage. Was I planning on getting married now? No. But… when I heard us say our vows… without any preparation? Casey, the only way we could have said those words to each other, drunk as we were no less, is if they’re true.”

Casey’s eyes met his, and it appeared as if she was going to speak. But the emotions were too overwhelming, her mind too muddled. She lowered her eyes and turned away, but Ethan wasn’t about to let the moment pass. Reaching over, he stroked her cheek, turning her head back in his direction. Then, with a gentle buss on her forehead, his campaign began anew.

“Do you believe we spoke the truth?”

“Ethan,” she whispered, caressing his chin. “I know we did, but….”

“No buts! I never wanted to spend the rest of my life with anyone… but I want to do it with you. Besides, the idea of having annulment papers with our names on them, our names,” he swallowed, and Casey could see the pain in his azure eyes. “I never want to see that. Do you?”

She took a shuddering breath, her head and heart running in opposing directions. She couldn’t bring herself to confess how many times she had laid by his side, dreaming of this very future with him. It would be so easy to surrender to it. So easy to give in, but…

“It’s not like we’re breaking up. We’d just be going back to what we were yesterday, and what we were yesterday was great. We’re still in love, we’ll still be together… and if marriage is something you’re open to now, well, who knows what the future holds.”

“I can’t explain it, Casey. But now that we’re here… I don’t want to go back. I want you to be my wife. Today, tomorrow, always.”

Her face crumbled, and Ethan knew he had his answer. Still, he allowed hope to burn bright until he heard the words.

“Ethan,” she consoled. “I need… I … I just don’t see how this could work. We just had to stage an elaborate ruse to convince my friends we’re not dating… and now… we’re going to be married?”

Rising to her feet, she did her best not to meet his eyes.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Ethan, it’s just… we can’t.”

Deflated, his head fell, and his shoulders sank as he watched her walk to the door. He knew it was a long shot, and he knew she was making sense. Still, the bitter sting of rejection hurt as much as it ever did, which is why he never put himself in this place.

“Well…” he lamented. “I guess that’s it, then. I’ll make some calls to see how we can have this… undone.”

“I think it’s for the best. I… I should probably go and check in with my friends. I’m shocked Sienna hasn’t called out a search crew as it is already.”

“Yeah,” Ethan replied, his voice soft and broken. “I suppose you should.”

She turned back as she opened the door, and for a moment, he hoped that she had reconsidered.

“I’m sorry, Ethan. You know… nothing changes. I still love you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he said with a painted smile. “I know.”

Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, Casey turned and walked away. Her mind was more muddled than ever as she stepped into the elevator. This changed nothing, right? They’d be just fine. Everything would be OK. But as she pushed the button for her floor, one thing became evident… she no longer had to fake being sad when she saw her friends. Because, now, she truly was.

~~~~~

Casey gingerly opened the door to the suite. It was much quieter than expected, and evidence of why presented itself very quickly. Bottle upon empty bottle lined the floor, the tables, the counters, and the general disarray made it clear they all had a night to remember. She was about to begin cleaning when she saw Bryce sprawled across the couch; Jackie gently snored not far away on the floor.

Couldn’t even make it to their rooms, she thought to herself. Knowing the noise would wake them, she abandoned gathering bottles and headed to her room. The thought of a hot shower and collapsing on her bed was beginning to fill her with glee. But just as she pulled her shirt over her head, there was a gentle tap at the door. Sighing, she put her shirt back on, delighted to see a friendly smile on the other side of the door.

“Hey, you’re up!” Casey smiled at Sienna.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep well worrying about you.”

“I’m sorry, Si,” she faltered, filled with guilt. “I didn’t want to worry you. I hope you managed to have some fun.”

“Oh, we did!” Sienna assured. “But I decided to stay sober; I needed to keep an eye on everyone.”

“Yeah, I noticed an empty bottle or two out there,” Casey teased.

“It would have been much worse if I wasn't here!”

“Where do things stand regarding Panacea? Have you heard anything more?”

“All the information is in the right hands now. But they won’t keep us privy to the investigation. But all sources say this is not going to just go away.”

“I hope so,” Casey worried. “I just don’t trust these things until they’re over. I’ll feel better when I see Declan in a nice orange suit.”

“Yeah, orange is not his color,” Sienna giggled. “I understand being leery, but everyone says it will be a slam dunk. Honestly, the recording Ethan got from Charlotte just….” Sienna’s voice tapered when she realized what she had just said. “Oh, I’m… I’m so sorry, Casey… I didn’t mean to….”

“No, no!” Casey brushed it off with a wave of her hand. “You can say their names; it doesn’t change anything.”

“I know,” Sienna gently took her friend’s hand. “But if you’re hurting, the last thing I want to do is remind you.”

Casey hung her head. Lying to her best friend is something she would never get used to. Especially now when she could really use her advice. She considered letting it all out, telling her the whole truth, and letting the pieces fall where they may, but in the end, she didn’t say a word.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Ethan,” Sienna whispered. “But I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

“I know, Si,” Casey sighed, “and I appreciate it, but Ethan and I are just… it’s so… complicated.”

A line appeared between Sienna’s brows.

“It always has been. But I really hoped….”

“Hoped what?”

“I really hoped, after we almost lost you, that you guys would find a way to work it out. I know he cares for you… very much… and I wish….”

“I know,” Casey smiled, squeezing her friend's hand tighter. “It’s just… I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Sienna assured. “But if the day comes when you’re ready to talk. I’m here.”

The two friends embraced warmly just as a sluggish Bryce schlepped past Casey’s open door. Half-asleep, he stopped before her door. Rubbing his eyes, he managed to get up a pained grin.

“Ladies, you know better than this. If there’s going to be girl-on-girl action, you’re supposed to call me,” he laughed, but that quickly turned to a wince.

“You are such a jerk,” Casey laughed, hauling a pillow in his direction, and though it barely tapped him, he let out a howl when it hit. “Rough night?”

“The night was terrific,” he insisted. “The hangover… not so much.”

“Well,” Casey sprung out of bed. “Luckily for all of you… I have all the ingredients for my handy-dandy hangover cure in the kitchen!”

“You do?” He marveled.

“Did you think I was coming to Vegas, of all places, without? Be reasonable, Lahela.”

As she strode past him on the way to the kitchen, he gently grabbed her wrist.

“All joking aside,” he asked with sincerity. “Are you doing OK?”

“I am,” Casey smiled sadly. “Everything will be OK… one way or another.”

“That’s my girl,” Bryce grinned. “Now, please go make your buddy Bryce that remedy before he dies.”

“I’m on it!”

~~~~~

Several hours later, the gang was gathered around a table at International Smoke. The atmosphere was so light and festive that Casey sometimes forgot her troubles for a moment or two… but they always came back. Still, she was enjoying one of the best steaks she had ever had.

“Now, this is the way to celebrate!” Elijah enthused, pouring a glass of champagne.

“I don’t even know how you can even look at that stuff!” Aurora soured. “I’m never drinking again!”

Across the table, Jackie rolled her eyes with a scoff before taking the bottle from Elijah’s hand, “Amateurs!”

Casey looked around to ensure no one was in earshot, then spoke softly to her friends. “I’d offer a toast, but should we even be talking about… it… publicly yet?”

“The ball may be in motion, but I doubt anyone knows it’s happening yet,” Jackie shrugged. “So it may be better to keep it quiet for now.”

“Yeah,” Bryce agreed. “Unfortunately, I know a thing or two about these sorts of investigations go down. Right now, the gruesome twosome is likely in the dark. They’ll want them to slip up. But don’t worry, they’ll get theirs in the end.”

“In that case,” Casey raised a glass as Aurora cringed. “Oh, Aurora!” Casey laughed, “just toast with water! As I was saying… let’s toast to a successful trip. We all got what we came for.”

“Hear, hear!” Elijah cheered.

“I’ll drink to that!” Sienna agreed.

Bryce took a sip of his champagne, but his eyes stayed focused on Casey. “But, did we?” he asked.

Casey looked at him nervously. “So, you don’t think this will stick?”

“No, it will. I’m talking about you… did you get all you wanted from this trip?”

“Sure,” she said, taking a si of champagne. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”

“We’re you?” He asked pointedly. “Casey, you’re among friends; you know we’d never judge… and your secret would be safe with us.”

Casey’s eyes nervously darted around the table, trying to determine what each person knew.

“You’re kind of the worst-kept secret in Edenbrook,” Aurora agreed. “But when asked, we all insist you’re just close coworkers…. But it’s not like we didn’t know better.”

“Yeah, we’ll always have your back, Case,” Jackie agreed.

“Guys,” she sputtered nervously, “what are you talking about… what do you think we….”

“Casey, you were with your med school friends last night to get your mind off Ramsey. We know that,” Elijah concluded.

“Oh, uh… yeah, but… it’s not like that at all… between us… it’s just that….”

“You should really give him another chance,” Sienna said softly.

“What!?!”

“He was just trying to get information, Casey… he didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Aurora agreed. “And you did say you were OK with it in advance. We can’t blame you if it was harder to witness than you thought, but we can’t blame him either.”

“Guys, why are you doing this?” Casey asked.

“Because we don’t like seeing you sad,” Sienna offered.

“We called him to see if he wanted to join us last night,” Elijah offered. “And Bryce called him again today to see if he’d come to dinner today. I mean, if anyone deserves to celebrate, it’s him.”

“Damn straight!” Bryce insisted. “If I had to cozy up to that snake, I’d need all the booze in the world to wash that memory away, and I’d want the reward for being tortured.”

“But he wouldn’t come either time,” Elijah continued. “The only thing he was worried about is you. Especially today.”

“And it’s not the first time,” Sienna chimed in. “We all saw him at your trial last year. We saw him the night of the attack; the man seriously cares about you, Casey.”

“I mean, we have eyes,” Aurora chuckled. “Look, he dated my aunt on and off for years, and I never saw the look he has on his face when he’s around you.”

“Guys… why are you doing this?” Casey asked.

“Because we know he’s a good man,” Jackie replied. “And we know you’re happy when you’re with him. Hell, he’s even willing to subject himself to this bunch of losers….”

“Hey!” Bryce hollered. “Speak for yourself!”

“That was geared toward you, meathead!” she scoffed before turning back to Casey. “I’m just saying take your time and think. Don’t make any rash moves, OK?”

If anyone noticed Casey choke on her drink, they didn’t show it. Rash moves? If they only knew. But her friend's words affected her more than she let on. And thoughts of their time together began flooding her mind. Whenever life seemed at its darkest, he came through for her… and she did the same in return. No, they hadn’t planned on getting married… never even discussed it… but she knew she’d spend forever at his side as long as he wanted her there, and he just asked her to stay there, forever, as his wife… and she said no and ran away. She couldn’t stop seeing the look on Ethan’s face when she ran away from his room, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted this man. She fought for this man when he tried everything possible to push her away. Casey MacTavish was no glutton for punishment. She did it because she knew. She knew they were inevitable… they were meant to be. Now, fate stepped in and delivered them a surprise… and he wanted to stay married to her. He wanted her to be his wife… his forever. He loved her that much, and she ran away.

“Casey,” Sienna said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Did you hear a word we said?”

“Did… did I? No!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t hear a single word, but… I’ve got… I’ve got to go!”

She took off without further explanation, and Bryce raised his glass once more. “To Casey… go get it, MacTavish!”

~~~~~

She didn’t call him; it was nothing she’d want to discuss on the phone. But she needed to see him as much as she needed to breathe. She ran down the hallway and into a waiting elevator, cursing silently to herself as it stopped on every floor. When a tour bus full of enthusiastic senior citizens began piling in, Casey reached her breaking point.

“Excuse me,” she yelled, pushing through the crowd. “I’m sorry, I need to get off!” she insisted, making it out just before the doors shut.

She was only four floors away; she could handle that! She took to the stairs taking two at a time in her haste to reach Ethan. The smile on her face doubled when she reached his floor. Rushing down the hallway, she ignored the stares of other guests as she whizzed past them. They didn’t matter… nothing did… except getting to him.

Finally, she reached his door and knocked furiously, but there was no answer. She knocked again, smoothing her unkempt hair nervously as she waited… still, nothing.

“Ethan!” She hollered with one final rap on the door. “Ethan, it’s me! Open up!”

Damn it! She should have called. Then a lightbulb went off… he gave her his room key! She fumbled in her purse, but it was nowhere to be found.

“Come on!” she groaned, pushing lipsticks, coins, and receipts to the side, but she still came up empty.

Discouraged, she was about to walk away when the door finally opened to reveal Ethan, dripping wet, wrapped only in a plush white towel, standing on the other side.

“Casey! What’s going….”

“Shhh!” she pushed her way through the door and locked it behind her. “Shhh. Don’t talk. I need you to listen.”

“I’m listening….”

“So, you think we could make it work?”

“Make what work, exactly?”

“If we stay married… it would still have to be a secret… right… it could still jeopardize us….”

“Maybe initially, I haven’t given it much thought… since we’re getting an annulment… I don't see the need for us to waste energy on that."

“Well, you better start using energy on that. We’ll be back in Boston tomorrow, and we need to figure out how to make this work because you’re my husband, Ethan Ramsey, and there is no way I’m ever letting you go.”

“Wait,” he gasped, eyes bulging and his smile shining bright. “Are you serious? You don’t want the annulment… you want... to stay married?”

“I’m serious as a heart attack!” She reached up and ran her fingers through his damp, tousled hair, gently smiling as his bewilderment turned to delight. “You’re right… it wasn’t planned… but nothing about us ever was, yet, it’s perfect. I love you… so much… how could I ever want to undo this?”

They stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity, then Casey grew impatient. Pulling him close, her lips crashed against his and he pulled tighter than she ever thought possible. Their kisses, which began as sparks, now burst into flames, engulfing them as their hands grasped passionately at each other. Casey could feel him smiling against her lips, and when she pulled back, she found his towel had fallen to the floor.

“Well, look at you,” she smiled as her eyes raked over his body. Biting at her lower lip, she leered at the man who was now truly, truly hers. “I am one lucky woman!”

“And I’m one lucky man,” he grinned, taking her hand. “You're sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, Ethan.”

“Well, then, there’s only one more thing to be done.”

“Oh yeah,” she teased. “What’s that?”

“We haven’t consummated this union yet… and being that this is Vegas… is the marriage even legal if we haven’t?”

“I’m not sure,” she giggled, her hands running over his muscular chest. “But we wouldn’t want to jeopardize the legality, now… would we?”

“Absolutely not. But there’s a problem.”

“Oh?��

“Your clothes, Casey. They’re still on.”

“Oh, that,” she laughed, pulling away and tugging each item away. “I can take care of that, but quick!”

Ethan’s head tilted, eagerly appreciating every inch of skin she bared. “Hmm… anxious? Not going to show me those amateur striptease moves you dream of?”

“Of course I am!” She said, pushing him onto the bed. “But you’re my husband now, Dr. Ramsey. You have a life of stripteases and lap dances waiting for you. But right now… I need to consummate this thing! FAST!"

“I really am the luckiest man on earth,” he said with a kiss. “I love you, wife….”

“I love you, husband. Now… consummate me!”

~~~~~

"What do you mean they know!?" He ignored the stinging of his hand as it slammed into the mahogany table, the ice in their drinks rattling in its wake. "How the hell do they know!"

"I... I'm not certain... but I have a lot friends, in a lot places, and when they hear things that involve me… they make sure I know.”

"Good! Then your friends… they can fix this. Right?” he scoffed. "Isn't that how it works?"

Picking her glass up from the table, she took a long sip. Silently closing her eyes, she centered herself before speaking again.

"I'm afraid that's not how it works. If it was just a story at the New York Times, I could have it quashed within an hour. But did you miss the part where I said it’s already in the hands of the Justice Department? I have influence, Declan, but not that much influence!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Declan tugged at his cropped hair as he walked in frantic circles. Charlotte was doing her best to keep her cool, but she could feel panic settling in. Turning away from Declan, she stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigarette. But he was quick at her heels.

“How did they find out?” he demanded.

Charlotte took a long drag of her cigarette as she surveyed the Vegas landscape. She didn't slip up. She could count on one hand the number of times she had slipped up since she was in grade school... and never like this. And for what? A man! Ashamed, she turned away.

“Wait a minute….” Declan scowled in an accusatory tone. “You were with Ramsey!”

“Declan, there is no way to know if that had anything to do with this!”

“Oh, sure! It’s all a coincidence! You’ve been so damn desperate to get into his ridiculously long trousers you lost your damn mind. Now… what did you tell him!”

“I didn’t tell him….”

“WHAT did you tell him!”

“I don’t remember. I had a lot to drink, and I don’t remember! OK?”

Declan collapsed onto a settee behind him, his head falling into his hands.

“You’re right,” Charlotte lamented. “You’re right… he has to be involved. When the hell have we ever even seen him at one of these conferences! He came here for a reason, and like an idiot, I fell right into his trap!”

“I told you… you should have fucked the cabana boy, Char… get it out of your system, but no.. no, you’ve got to….” Declan raised his head, a look of wonder in his eyes. “Repeat what you just said?”

“That I’m an idiot? That I fell right into his trap? You know I already feel like shit. Do you need to rub it in?”

“No! No! Not that part! When did we ever see Ethan at a conference like this?” Declan’s eyes were glowing now as he reached for his phone.

“What are you getting at… I don’t know how that….”

“I have,” he interrupted. “Once, I saw him at a conference… in Miami.”

“Yes, he was there to score a cure for Naveen. He always has a reason… which is why I should have known better!”

“That wasn’t his only reason,” Declan handed Charlotte his phone, a devious grin on his face. “Only scroll right, babe. I wouldn’t want you to see what’s on the other side.”

Ethan and Casey on the balcony… talking, laughing, then a few where his hand cupped her cheek, a kiss, a stare, Casey straddles him on a chair….

“Holy shit!” Charlotte exclaimed. “You have pictures of him fucking her?”

“Well, not exactly, but it seems to be that was implied once they closed that patio door. After all, the good Dr. Ramsey was sharing a room with his nubile little intern.”

“That sanctimonious piece of shit,” Charlotte grumbled. “Always acting like he’s so high and mighty. But why didn’t you do anything with these sooner?”

“Why would I?” He shrugged. “We got the contract with Edenbrook. Once I had that in hand, getting a dozen more top hospitals to sign on was easy. I just kept these for insurance… and now… I think I’m ready to cash this policy in.”

“Hello!” Charlotte mocked, knocking her fist against Declan’s head. “Earth to little Deccy… what part of it is with the freaking DOJ did you miss! Those photos are lovely souvenirs, but they’re not giving us any leverage now.”

“Oh, no shit. I will be on the phone with my attorney in ten seconds and suggest you do the same. That… or escaping to a lovely island with no extradition treaty… they’re our only avenues of protection right now. But… if that son of a bitch and his little piece of ass are responsible for taking us down… I’m going to make sure they fall right beside us.”

Charlotte poured two glasses of whisky, and their glasses clinked after she handed one to him. “I love the smell of revenge in the morning. And… if we can watch their reputations and careers destroyed aboard a yacht in the Maldives… better yet.”

“You know, I think I have a call or two to make before I call my attorney. I want to guarantee the little lovebirds a rough landing back in Boston.”

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84reedsy · 4 months

Text

A Friend Date

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7888

Characters: Kevin Nash, Scott Hall, FemOC (Brooklyn)

Pairings: Kevin Nash/FemOC; Scott Hall/FemOC (implied)

Warnings: Smut, Cursing, Consensual Infidelity, semi-public sex

“For some reason, it's really important to Scott that we are friends and can get along,” Brooklyn had trouble saying the simplest of things to Kevin Nash without an attitude creeping into her tone.

“We can fake it in front of him. At least, I can,” Kevin crossed his arms, defiant to her olive branch. Just because Scott was smitten with her didn’t mean he had to be, for that reason alone he often resisted returning any kindness out of spite.

“You can barely look at me without sneering” she pointed at him, “See? You just did it,”

Kevin resisted rolling his eyes, which would only further her point. He wanted to wipe that smug smile from her face. That's probably the way she often felt when he was around. He couldn’t blame her but couldn’t be bothered to change his ways at this point.

“Fine. How the hell do we do a ‘friend date’?” He gave in though the words were full of disdain. Seeing Scott outside through the kitchen window reminded him quickly that would do anything for his long-time companion. Even if it was willinging subject himself to an evening with her.

“I dunno,” she shrugged, “I guess we go to dinner or movies or the beach or something.”

“I doubt we'd pick the same movie…” he said judgmentally, “no chick flicks,”

“Oh no of course not,” she said sarcastically, “because you're much too deep and introspective,”

“You know I was doing you a favor agreeing to this, but I'm thinking it's a bad idea now,” he opened a beer and started to walk towards the door to the patio. Even though she and Scott had met on the road, Kevin didn’t share the same camaraderie with her, he didn’t feel obligated to play an audience to her.

“God, I’m sorry,” she went after him grabbing his arm, “Please, for Scott if anything. Just dinner or whatever,”

“Fine, Tuesday, I'll pick you up around 7,” he agreed, sighing loudly.

“What should I wear?” She asked, wondering what shitty dive he'd drag her to.

“Something a little nice. Low cut, maybe they'll comp our meal and I'll get outta this pretty cheap,” Kevin surmised.

“There's that classy reputation I've heard so much about,” she rolled her eyes towards his back as she followed him out to the patio.

Kevin couldn't deny how happy she seemed to make Scott. The smile across his friend's face was genuine when she came out of the house and she went right to him, wrapping her arms around him as soon as she reached him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been greeted like that. To say it made him bitter wouldn't be a lie, but more than anything, it made him envious.

She was too young for Scott, he reminded himself. 20 years his junior was too young to take anyone seriously. They were barely dating before Scott moved her into his house. Kevin had his reasons to be mistrustful.

--------------------------

“He agreed to it, by the way,” Brooklyn said as she got ready for bed, Scott emerging from the bathroom in a towel. She grinned at him with his black hair loose around his face and shoulders. Ever since she mentioned that she liked it down, he had been wearing it that way a lot more.

“Agreed to what?” He asked, confused at first, “Oh, going out together?”

Brooklyn could hear a subdued excitement in his voice. She knew Scott cared about her, but she knew how much Kevin meant to him, too. She never knew why Kevin never warmed up to her while they toured the pro-wrestling circuit together. She was nothing but nice to him then, but the closer she got to Scott, the more standoffish Kevin became. Sure, she could understand some jealousy, but these were full-grown, middle aged men; she expected more maturity out of them.

“Yes, we're going to dinner Tuesday,” she watched Scott like a hawk in his towel, any chance she had to see his body she took without apology. His physical presence made anything else on her mind seem to disappear.

He dropped the towel and grabbed a pair of boxer briefs, but chuckled when he saw the look of disappointment on Brooklyn’s face.

“What? You get to wear that little number to bed, but I gotta be naked?” He scoffed a little as she crawled up on the bed and kneeled at the edge of it.

Brooklyn looked down at the silky teddy he'd just bought for her.

“But it won't stay on long…” she reasoned, “I just wanted you to see it on me since it was a present.”

“Well aren't you just a good little girl,” he stalked toward her.

She found herself grateful that he'd put on those boxer briefs, they presented his bulge so well that it made her mouth water.

“How the hell is Kev supposed to keep his hands off of you when you look this good,” he licked his lips looking at her.

“Don't worry….Daddy…he won't see me like this,” she mewled at him.

Scott growled audibly at her, he still was extremely aroused by the new name she used for him. He was already half-mast, but he felt the surge of rigidity. Grabbing a handful of satin, he pulled her to him.

“God for a good girl you're so naughty…”

--------------------------------------

Tuesday

“What about this?” Brooklyn checked her angles in the mirror as she tried on yet another outfit. Scott watched amused, comfy in sweats and a t-shirt.

“It's cute, I've always liked that dress on you…” he thought about how often he had trouble keeping his hands to himself if she was in any kind of skirt. He knew Kevin well enough to know he had the same problem, “What about that red one?”

“The red one?? Scott, that's like skin tight and all lace,” she looked at him incredulously, “It's basically lingerie.”

“He might find it harder to be mean to you if you look like a fucking sex goddess,” Scott reasoned.

“Well that would make sense if I was trying to fuck him,” Brooklyn rolled her eyes but disappeared back into the closet.

She paired it with a skintight white slip dress underneath the sheer red lace. She wound half her hair up and secured it with an onyx zanzi and dug out white heels. They would give her a couple inches, but Scott (and Kev) would still tower over her.

Scott whistled a low, long tone when she walked out of the closet. She spun for him before going to the mirror again. She could tug at the bottom hem all she wanted, it wasn't going down any further.

“Look at your ass in that,” Scott hummed a hungry vibration in his chest, “put a bow on that and call it a gift to mankind,”

“Stooop,” she blushed, but didn't really mean it. She looked at the low scooped neckline that packaged her breasts as well as her backside. She thought of what Kevin said about earning a free meal…this certainly could do the job with the right waiter.

“I wouldn't blame him for fucking you if you wear that,” Scott lounged further down in his chair, “hell any warm blooded man for that matter,”

“He wishes,” she mumbled, “I can't handle the man I've got, I don't need anyone else,” She smirked back at him, “Plus, remember what I wore in the ring? He didn’t want to fuck me then, he’s not going to now,” she reasoned.

“It's not gonna bother me if you do,” he said honestly. He knew what made Kevin tick. He knew he'd understand what she was to him if Kevin could see her the way that Scott did. He'd understand if she acted the same way to Kevin for just one night.

“What are you trying to say?” She looked at him apprehensively, “You're not pimping me out to your buddies now are you...” She started to head back into the closet.

“Brook, wear that,” Scott stood walking towards her, “you've already got it on and you look so hot in it,” he made an obvious pass over her with his eyes.

“You didn't answer my question,” she said with a suspicious stare, backing out in their room.

“I'm not nor would I ever ‘pimp you out to my buddies’. If I was, Waltman would pay a pretty penny, “ he teased to her scrunched face, “just teasing…” he got amusement out of her reaction.

“So what's all this about screwing Nash?” She felt a nervousness in her gut that made her feel self conscious.

“Baby…I'm not saying you should. But I want you two to have fun and get to know each other. Have a couple drinks. Show him who you really are. Just be you. If you do that, I'm just saying I couldn't resist you, how can I expect him to?” Scott tried to reason, knowing he was doing a poor job. Her skeptical face confirmed this.

“What if it does? I don't want to hurt you …”she stopped there, already upset by the idea of causing him any pain.

“This is different, trust me,” he slipped his arms around her sides, “I just want you to let loose and have fun. He'll see what I see then.”

Brooklyn still wasn't convinced, but she nodded to placate Scott. The doorbell caught both of their attention. Scott left to answer it as she finished her earrings and lightly added subtle eyeliner. She didn't know what compelled her to change her simple panties, but she slipped on a cheeky satin pair instead.

She carefully went downstairs, getting used to the heels. At the bottom waited Scott and Kevin. It was quick, but she could have sworn she saw Kevin gulp. But he was definitely looking, and looking at everything. Scott pretended like he didn't notice.

“There she is,” Scott smiled up at her, proudly beaming over her attractiveness.

“Evening,” Kevin said, clearing his throat. He stared her down as she stopped on the last step to keep her height closer to his.

“Good evening,” she answered politely. Scott had to stifle laughing at the contention between the two of them, “Are you ready? We should probably get going,” she was not up for small talk.

She kissed Scott on the cheek goodbye, Kevin walking out the door first and going to the driver's side door.

“Geez Kev, your mom raised you better than that,” Scott shook his head as he crossed his arms leaning against the door frame. He could see Brooklyn was already irritated, but she hid it well.

“She's capable of getting her own door,” Kevin excused his lack of chivalry, “See?” He said as she opened her own door. She gave one last look of annoyance toward Scott, before rolling her eyes and getting in.

Kevin tried to focus on driving, glad he brought his 5-speed Lexus. Shifting gears kept him somewhat distracted from the amount of bare leg in his passenger seat.

“Nice dress,” he said, still not looking directly at her.

“Thanks,” she tried to adjust the hem in vain once again, “just something I had in the back of my closet,” she looked over at his wardrobe selection now.

He wore khaki shorts and a crisp, but plain white t-shirt, not an unusual male outfit for the sweltering humidity of Florida. His hair was done perfectly and his goatee looked freshly trimmed. His cologne smelled incredible, one of those scents that one would find themselves leaning in to catch more of.

“You look nice, too,” she returned the compliment honestly, “I feel like I should be getting hair tips from you,” she complimented him as she remembered Scott's wish that she be herself.

“Yours has always been nice, I should be asking you,” for someone who always knew what to say, he was certainly having trouble finding words to fill the silence.

She started to reach for the radio, but remembered her manners even if Kevin forgot his, “Do you mind?” She motioned towards the knobs.

He shrugged, accelerating and shifting as they merged into the highway, “Feel free,”

She fiddled with the stations until a familiar tune floated through the speakers. She had no idea what kind of music he was into, but figured I'd he was too opposed to it, he'd say something.

As T-Boz started her quick, husky lyrics, Brooklyn felt more relaxed, her leg keeping a slow time with the beat. Kevin side-eyed her movements, noticing the subtle movement of her hips. He looked away quickly when she caught him.

For some reason, catching him relaxed her. He was just a male, not some impenetrable force of nature.

“This is tight,” he complimented her, always a sucker for R&B, “Who is this?”

“TLC…how do you not know TLC??,” if anything they had similar tastes in music, “You into this kinda stuff?”

“Hell, I'm from Detroit. Motown. Birthplace of this music,” he spoke reactively, being himself though he was trying not to, “I’ve heard of ‘em, thought they were more of a pop girl group though,”

“We have to get you Crazy, Sexy, Cool. It's a great album,” She started to feel a bit more comfortable now, “I've only been to Detroit when we were on tour. Never got to spend much time there.” She was feeling good about making conversation.

“It's home, but it's cold for way too long,” Kevin didn't elaborate, essentially shutting down the exchange.

Brooklyn tried again a few moments later.

“So where are we going?” She looked out the window, trying to figure out where they might be headed.

“It's a Jamaican place up here on the lakefront.” He vaguely gestured to the south, “Good, ethnic seafood and shit”

Brooklyn was expecting a parking lot with a food truck at this point. But the swanky restaurant outdid her menial expectations of him. Clearly it was elevated island food. At least the valet opened the door and held his hand for her. She almost jumped when she felt Kevin's large hand on the small of her back as he led her in.

“Jumpy much?” He snickered, before speaking with the hostess.

“Not used to you touching me without it being in the form of a powerbomb or chokeslam,” She reasoned, “Usually expect something violent,” She smirked knowing the hostess probably would take her words out of context. Kevin furrowed his brow angrily, knowing how she was making him look. Her smirk only confirmed it was on purpose.

The hostess only blushed as she handed off their menus to an assistant server, not making eye contact with Kevin again.

“I’ll be lucky to get out of here without getting arrested,” His teeth were gritted slightly and she could feel the heat of his glare on her, but it did little to reduce her smugness.

She sat in the chair that was pulled out for her, glad it wasn’t Kevin as she’d likely have ended up on the floor. She glanced at the wine list the maitre'd held.

“The 1972 Malbec, please,” She was met with an approving head nod from the maitre’d before he turned to Kevin, who looked at her almost disapprovingly. It was no Cristal, but it was far from their cheapest.

“Just bring a bottle of it,” He caved, at least this way it would be cheaper per glass.

“A whole bottle, what exactly are your plans?” She said as they were left alone for the moment.

“If you think I’m going to go through this whole night sober, you’re wrong. Gonna at least need a couple of glasses to tolerate you.” He sipped on his glass of water.

“Wow, just keep layering on the charm,” She put her hands on the table as if she were going to push away and stand. Kevin reached his foot out, catching the lip on the bottom of her seat and pulled it forward roughly so she was pinned to the table.

“We agreed to this, don’t get all pissy about it and think you’re going to bail. You’re stuck with me tonight, kid,” He reminded her. He lowered his leg slowly, feeling her knees trying to close.

“Rule #1 then, don’t call me kid,” She lowered her voice, but maintained a serious tone, “I’m not a kid, your buddy Scott knows that real well,” She smiled as the sommelier poured their glasses expertly. Kevin couldn’t help but glance at her cleavage as her arms inadvertently pressed them together even more. Scott had always been a fan of tits and he could definitely see the appeal there. Her ring outfits had never been conservative, but something about being in dressy, but regular clothes and not a costume made him view her differently.

“Fine, you’re not a kid, Brooklyn,” He said her name and it felt oddly personal to say to her. She seemed to react to it similarly. He grabbed for his glass, but stopped short of drinking when she cleared her throat.

“Shouldn’t we toast to something?” She reached for her glass now, holding it up from the table slightly, “isn’t it bad luck not to toast?”

“Fine,” he held his glass out, “To an…unusual woman… who makes my friend very happy and for that I am grateful for her,” He offered, noting the subdued surprise on her face. The corner of his mouth couldn’t resist a smirk.

“To a man that the love of my life considers family, that I hope to one day as well,” She hated saying such vulnerable things, but it was the truth. The glasses clinked and they each sipped, their eyes darting away from the other. They both knew that such statements would make things awkward and they had been right.

The wine warmed her tongue, throat and belly, and seemed to simmer her discomfort with her company.

“So…do you hate me because I take up too much of Scott’s time?” She asked blatantly.

Kevin sputtered in his wine a little, managing to keep it in the glass.

“Jesus, no,” He started, before bending to her unconvinced gaze, “Maybe partly. It's been him and me for a long time. I have my family, but Scott’s never been the -” He knew he was going to sound harsh and selfish, “ he’s never been the stable one. I was the guy he could count on to be there.”

“And if I’m the real deal, then you have to figure out the role of just being a regular friend?” She surmised. It was true, but he still didn’t like it.

“Honey, you haven’t seen everything yet. There might be nights you’re calling me for backup.” He knew Scott was in a different mindset now and the truth was, he had no idea if he’d fall back on those old habits if he was in a state of domestic bliss.

“And if I did?” She tried to ignore the spite in his voice, “If I called you for help, would you show up?”

Kevin took a long drink of his wine, “I would. But for him more than for you.”

Brooklyn exhaled in frustration. Just when they seemed to be heading towards some small but significant breakthrough, he had to return to disparagement.

Brooklyn excused herself to the bathroom and silently screamed into the echo-y void out of irritation. She could understand feeling threatened by a woman. This was nothing new in the realm of men’s relationships. But Kevin was being purposefully obtuse. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to kick him in the balls if only to see something else on his face other than contempt.

She leaned on the counter staring at herself in the mirror. She thought of Scott’s roundabout ‘approval’ that tonight was a ‘free pass’. He might have looked at her tits once or twice, but she couldn’t imagine Kevin was thinking of anything close to fucking her. She thought it far more likely that he might throw her in the lake to the gators.

“Be nice. It irritates him more when he doesn’t get to you,” She said aloud to herself. She adjusted her dress in the mirror, smoothing out the lace and pushing up the bust.

“You the one here with that super tall stud?” A lady walked into the bathroom as she was adjusting.

“Yeah, that’s my date,” She tried not to spit out the word.

“Girl, I ain’t ever seen someone stare at an ass like he was you. I mean, congratulations on it,” She complimented, “But you definitely got the upperhand on that man,”

Brooklyn grinned at herself, the girl code was a marvelous thing.

In her absence, Kevin had ordered for her and though she was miffed at first, when he revealed what he’d ordered, she settled her ruffled feathers. It was not a cheap dish and shrimp happened to be one of her favorite foods.

“I didn’t forget that time you out ate Norton in boiled shrimp,” he recalled, “If anything I have to respect you for that,”

She tried to let her irritation roll off her back, remembering what was said in the restroom. Perhaps he was lashing out because he was attracted to her and felt guilty about it. Lashing out would be a natural response. The idea seemed to make a lot of his behavior fall into place. Maybe Scott knew it, too and was trying to lead her to the same conclusion. She held her tongue for now, still managing polite conversation.

She played the part of a gracious date as he paid a surprisingly half-comped bill. He knew her kindness and subversive flirting was likely the cause. She seemed to easily enchant any man that came near her if she felt like it. Why she chose to be such a bitch to him was a mystery.

“Maybe because that’s a valid response to you being a dick to her first?” his subconscious suggested, but he brushed it off.

Once again, the valet opened her door, though for a moment Kevin seemed to head in the direction of doing so, but side-stepped when he was beaten.

“Where to now? Or have I worn you out for the evening?” She questioned, holding the door handle tightly as he got up to speed quickly. The sudden movement was exhilarating if not a little alarming.

He had to side glance at the way her thighs flexed when she braced herself.

“Don’t let her get you all worked up now,” His logic spoke up.

“Country Club down the shore a little ways, they have a private club. Quiet, private kind of place.” He shifted into the next gear, grinding it a little.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The club was dimly lit and had nicer furniture than she’d seen before. She was sure the leather sofas were worth more than her car. There were several alcoves around the edge of the space, partially obscured by heavy, dark red drapes that were secured to one side. They were led to one after Kevin spoke with a well dressed host.

Other patrons were in various levels of formal attire, if anything Kevin looked underdressed, but she assumed money bought leeway with some things. The alcove was raised from the main floor and she was surprised that it was Kevin’s hand that was held out to help her step up.

“Those heels look dangerous,” He reasoned, motioning for her to pick her seat. Two cushy black brushed suede chairs were nestled in one corner flanked by a matching loveseat. A rich, wood low level table separated them from the edge of the alcove.

“They aren’t not dangerous, thank you,” She agreed with him.

She sat, crossing her ankles to keep her legs together. Sometimes she had to purposefully remember etiquette after spending so much time on the road with wrestlers. She saw Kevin mumble something quietly to the host while handing over a small stack of folded bills.

Moments later a tray with expensive champagne and strawberries was brought. She raised her eyebrows at the gesture, though confused by his mixed signals. He poured her a glass after dropping in a strawberry.

As he settled back in his chair with his own glass, Brooklyn couldn’t stop the urge to break his composure.

"I think I know why you actually hate me" She sipped the bubbly sweet liquid.

"Can't wait to hear this" He was surprised by her sudden and direct statement, thinking they'd already covered this at the restaurant.

"Because you're jealous." She tried to subdue her wicked, knowing grin. She was amused by the sour turn of his face.

"Me. Jealous. Of you. " He scoffed at the ridiculous assumption as if it weren’t true.

"Not really of me... but...of Scott kinda" She shrugged, leaning her chin on her hand as her elbow rested on the arm of the chair, ‘It’s understandable though,”

"What the fuck are you talking about? Scott’s like a brother, but we all know I have more going on than him" Kevin replied with a contrived superiority.

"Which is why it ticks you off so much! " She didn’t falter to his cocky manner, still confident in her assessment.

"Why what ticks me off?? Fuck off with your riddles, jesus christ" He cursed, feeling the weight of her judgement.

"That from the first moment you saw me,” she made a point to make eye contact, “you wanted to fuck me so bad that you could taste it. And Scott beat you to it." She returned her own cocky attitude, taking a longer drink without taking her eyes off of him.

"Is that so..." He leaned forward, his arms on his knees, scoffing again.

"And the worst part for you is, the first time you saw me tonight you thought the same thing. And now you're mad because you're dick is hard as a rock and there's nothing....you...can do....about it"

Kevin’s ears were ringing with her words and was livid about how true they were. He knew his anger was surfacing as his breathing labored under the building wrath.

"You're about to find out what I'm gonna do about it. And Scott's not here to save you” He warned her.

“What exactly is it you plan to do about it, Mr. Nash?” She took a strawberry from the table and bit into it slowly, letting her lips linger on the juicy red fruit.

He set his glass down, with an aggressive clink that was probably not far from shattering it. Eyes on her, he lifted his hand and motioned with a finger. At that moment, the drape slowly lowered, completely obscuring them from the rest of the room. The only dim light came from two sconces glowing faintly on the wall.

Though she had expected turnabout, she couldn’t help but wonder if he could see her chest rising more quickly as the silence between them thickened.

Slow rhythmic music softly sailed from hidden speakers. She didn’t dare break the stare first.

Kevin downed the rest of his champagne in one large gulp and stood. He was such an imposing man, more so when she was sitting looking up at his towering frame.

He held his hand down to her. She looked at it and back up to his face.

“Get up,” he said, motioning for her hand with his fingers, “You owe me a dance.”

Still with her eyes on him, she set her glass down and reached to slip her hand in his. She stood, one hand sliding to his bicep, the other he held in his hand. She came up to his chest, just slightly lower than Scott. She maintained the slightest gap between them as his other hand slid around her torso.

“How do I owe you a dance?” She asked with a much more submissive tone than before. His cologne was still like a welcome incense.

“For dinner,” He reasoned, looking down at her, “and for busting my balls the last three hours,” he said but did not laugh, his face increasingly serious.

“You know I don't like that,” she still felt the tension from his mood, but struggled against smirking as he raised an eyebrow, “Well…maybe I do…but I don't like that I like it,”

“I don't like how you make me feel,” Kevin said, his firm tone contradicting how gently he was holding her, she looked at him confused, “You make me so damn aroused every damn time I see you. I want you so bad most times I have to beat it twice in your bathroom just to maintain. And then I feel like shit because you're my best friend's woman and what kind of friend does that make me,” his teeth were nearly gritted and she somehow felt safe and in danger in the same moment.

“I didn't know you felt like that,” she admitted, having only picked up on the seething hatred. She had noticed Kevin made frequent bathroom trips but never assumed anything out of the ordinary. She felt a tingle between her legs thinking about him self-pleasuring out of desperation.

“I shouldn't. I should be able to just be friends with you. At least cordial so that when I come to my buddy's house I can watch the game without thinking about you the whole time or insulting each other constantly.” he breathed like the admission was a weight off his chest but a stone in his gut, “Scott has never treated me or any girl I've been with like this, “ he winced referring to his wife as part of ‘any girls’.

Kevin pushed her away and turned his back taking a few steps while running a hand over his face then through his hair. Telling her this wasn't reducing his culpability and if anything it was making it worse having to look at her in such a sexy little dress.

“This was a mistake….I need to take you home.” He stood with his back to her still, his hands on his hips now as he cursed his stupid mind.

He shuddered when he felt her hands lay flat against his back. They rose slowly, curving over the round of his shoulder.

“Brooklyn…. You shouldn't touch me,” he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Sit down,” she said so softly and gently that he nearly groaned, her hands pressuring his shoulders slightly.

“Brooklyn,” he protested weakly.

“Sit, Kevin….please,” she stepped closer to him, her breasts grazing his back.

He conceded and sat on the love seat, silently watching as she stood between his splayed legs.

“Close your eyes,” she said, leaning forward, her fingers grazing down over his eyes, “Close ‘em,”

He did so, his other senses acutely aware as she straddled his lap. With the slow music, she moved her hips in time with it, her hands crept over his chest and torso. His head fell back against the frame of the couch as he focused on feeling her against him. He'd had lap dances before, but nothing this sensual, nothing that made his breath shudder from his lips like this. He tried to hold still, but his own hips rolled in time with her. His hands gripped into the couch, nearly puncturing the fabric.

Brooklyn kept the pressure of her hands soft, grazing over his neck, face, and threading through his hair. She could tell she was working him up, but she wasn't doing herself any favors either. She was impressed that he hadn't touched her, but the way his hand gripped the arm of the loveseat, she knew he wanted to.

“If you want to touch me,” She whispered, “You just have to ask,”

His fingers twitched and she knew he was fighting his own inner turmoil. She felt the hem of her dress riding higher and higher as her thighs spread wide across his lap. She separated the lace from the white slip and shimmied it over her head. It was just as tight, but the fabric alone showed the obvious hardened tip of each nipple as it hugged her breasts tightly.

She pulled his shirt from where it was tucked in, running her hands underneath it. She felt the radiating heat of his skin, drawing a strained sigh out of him.

“Brooklyn…. Can I touch you…please god dammit let me touch you,” he sounded regretful to ask, but she could see he was about to burst.

“Yes, Kevin…touch me,” She spoke softly to him. His large hands did not waste time, surprisingly going to her waist first, but it made sense as he pushed her down more firmly against his lap. She felt why immediately as the khaki cloth stretched over his stiff member. But they wandered swiftly. She couldn't help but moan as his hands gripped her scantily covered ass, squeezing and massaging it roughly.

She grinded against him slowly, wondering if he was going to remain submissive or at some point take control. She would see how far she could take it before he lost his composure.

She raised enough that one of her tits hovered above his face, she ran the cotton covered nipple over his slack lip, the weight of her breast grazing his chin.

He moaned, his eyes still closed as his head leaned forward, mouthing her breast. With his teeth, he pulled the fabric down enough to nibble on her bare nipple. His hand slid back to her hips, pushing her down hard against him as he dry humped her harshly. She held on to him for stability as his tongue swirled around the rosey peak and her sex gyrated against his.

“Fuck… Kevin,” she moaned, “fuck…stop, please god, stop!” she begged, losing the fight against cumming already. Kevin slowed for a second, before she grabbed his hair and changed her tune, “Fuck it…don't stop,” she encouraged him to keep going as she pressed her sex firmly against him, “Kev, I'm cumming!” She whispered in a high pitch as she felt her juices dampen her already slick panties.

Kevin opened his eyes just in time to see pleasure etched on her face as she gripped his arms tightly. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against him securely as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. She bit her lip as she looked down at him.

“I…I didn't mean to do that yet,” she mumbled. From the haze in Kevin’s listless gaze she would have thought he'd cum, too.

“Do you know how hot you look when you cum, fuck,” he said with a hungry look in his eye, “did you get wet?” He asked, licking his lips.

Brooklyn grinned mischievously, “I guess Scott didn't tell you about that part,” she slid down him a little, his parted lips beckoning her.

“I told him I didn't want to hear anything about you…it'd only make me want you more,” He admitted. He kissed her back insistently as her mouth pressed to his. The kiss was breathless and needy, his hands pulling the slip down her body so the entirety of it bunched at her waist.

She parted from his lips long enough to beg in a whisper, “Put your hand in my panties,”

“What??” He had her nearly naked in his lap, yet couldn't quite believe his ears.

“I want you to feel what you've done to me,” She sat back enough for him to slip his hand down the front. He first found her freshly smoothed skin, but quickly found the molten wetness coating her sex.

“Jesus christ…” he slid his fingers further, massaging her sensitive bud and making her squirm, “ Wanna cum for me again?” His own words rung in his ears now, almost unbelieving that he actually said them.

“Yes…make me cum, Kev…I'm so close,” She felt the tingles building before he even touched her, the direct contact sending her to the edge again quickly. His intense gaze wasn't helping to subdue it either.

Her hips rolled her sex against his wiggling fingers and she arched her back and let her head fall backwards as she came. His free hand massaged her firm tits as he felt her pussy coat his fingers with fresh wetness.

Her legs were shaking, but she managed to stand, pulling the slip down her legs and letting the panties fall with it. She started to step out of the heels, but Kevin stopped her.

“Leave ‘em on…it's hotter that way….” He looked up and down her naked body, jealous that Scott had full access to this all the time, but at the same time totally understanding her appeal. The slit of her pussy glistened with the wetness she elicited for him. His fingers were still sticky with it, but he wanted to taste it from the source, “Please let me lick that pretty little pussy,” he scooted forward, his hands holding her hips.

Brooklyn stepped her legs slightly more apart and put her hands atop his head, guiding him to her. His wide, strong tongue licked the length of her slit, flicking past her clit and suckling lightly on it as she whimpered.

“Kev…oh fuck…Kev….” Whimpering his name only made his tongue more spirited.

Not wanting to waste the slick on his fingers, he circled her entrance with them, before slipping them inside and shallowly fucking her cunt. Her knees wobbled, but she stayed on her feet as she felt a tickle surge into the sweltering heat of another orgasm.

He slowed his fingers, but didn't stop as she recovered, moving his head back just enough to have an amazing view of his fingers sinking into her pussy.

“Are you gonna let me see that cock I've heard so much about?” She cooed, running her fingernails through his hair. He looked up at her, still slowly working his fingers. He could see the pleasured reactions on her face still.

“What have you heard?” He slowly slid his fingers from her.

“Essentially that you're basically going to rip me in two,” She chewed her lip, “but I'd like to see for myself.”

“We…we can't undo it…if we do this…” he seemed still slightly apprehensive

“You've made me cum three times and had your mouth full of my pussy…I think we've already passed too far…why stop there when I know you're dying to fuck me?” She tilted his head up to look at her, she could see the inner turmoil in his eyes, “Right now it's just you and me,” he leaned his forehead against her stomach, “And I really want to feel you inside of me,”

He clenched his jaw as he stood, kissing up her body as he went. He slipped off his shirt, loosened his belt and dropped his shorts to the floor. She couldn’t help but look at his muscular frame and proud chest. She gulped at the heavy hanging shaft between his legs, far too large to ever stand on its own.

“There's a lot to get inside of you…” he warned the obvious now. He led her to the back of the love seat, perching her ass on the top of the back of it, putting her at the perfect height for him to penetrate easily.

Her breath quickened as he used her juices to slicken his shaft, directing it into her slowly.

“Holy FUCK…” she hissed, trying to keep her voice low, but found it nearly impossible as he continued to fill her. She pressed her palm against his torso and he paused, another third left to go.

“Ever had one this big, baby?” He puffed his chest a little, knowing it was unlikely.

She shook her head, her breathing shaky as he withdrew and slid back in slowly. Her eyes rolled back as he thrusted gently and slowly.

“Never that big…” She murmured, balancing precariously on the edge, her legs spread wide around him.

“Fuck…this pussy feels so damn good….” his legs trembled with restraint as he quickened his thrusts, hoping to sneak another inch or two inside of her.

“Kev…it's…it's too…” She bit her lip to keep herself from talking, flirting with the edge of her pleasure threshold.

“Am I too big for you, baby?” He hummed at her, seeing in her face that she wanted it all even if she couldn't handle it. He held her hips, harshening his thrusts now, letting out the frustration that had been building all night.

He knew other people could hear her whimpered moans, but his generous tip bought him more privileges than them.

“Yes…” she gasped, “but, don't stop,” she begged, breathless.

He still had a couple of inches to force into her, but he waited, thrusting rapidly now into her once again, freshly soaked pussy.

“Cum on my cock like a good little girl, that's it, squirt all over me you dirty little whore,” when she did exactly as told, he knew dirty talk was her trigger. As her orgasm subsided, he slipped out of her completely, much to the protest in her expression. He stroked his slick cock quickly.

“Bend over like a good little slut,” He commanded, aroused by the visual of her bent over the couch in her white heels and nothing else. He stepped behind her and slipped in his entire length, trapping her between him and the couch she had nowhere to escape.

Brooklyn covered her mouth, but her pussy ached in the best way. Kevin's hands held her shoulders as he rocked her with powerful, deliberate thrusts. He felt all his frustrations melting away as she begged for him to fuck her harder.

He lifted one of her legs over the back of the couch, drilling her deeper still and feeling her shake with an earth-shattering orgasm that made her pussy grip his dick tightly. She groaned primally as he knew he was fucking her to the edge of consciousness.

Brooklyn could hardly manage his invasion into her body. His cock slid deeper and deeper inside of her inching past what she thought she could handle. His large gripping hands held her captive though she didn’t want to escape this welcome torture.

“I wanna feel you cum,” She begged, not caring who, if anyone, heard her on the other side of the curtain, “please cum in me, Kev…”

He groaned at the request, his logic knowing better, but it was drowned out by the drive of his sexual prowess.

“You want my cum? You want it in that slutty cunt? I'll give it to you baby,” he pressed his hand in the small of her back, burying his large cock to the hilt and forcing his cum deeper within her womb than anyone had ever before.

“Kev!” She moaned his name loudly as his cock penetrated her deeply and spilled stream after stream of his stored seed, filling her tunnel until it seeped out and dripped on his balls.

She tried to catch her breath, her body at it's limit as her muscles trembled. She nearly came at the movement of Kevin slowly withdrawing, managing an airy laugh as she slowly lowered her nearly cramping leg. She turned, leaning against the couch, still out of breath as she looked up at Kevin who was in a similar state.

“I don't really think those things about you-” he started, but Brooklyn stopped him.

“I know…I know…it was just talk,” She offered an understanding smile. She laughed again as her leg momentarily spasmed, “I might need.. something…” She looked around, knowing he'd left a hefty deposit behind.

He reached for a stack of folded cloth napkins and flicked on open, parting her legs a little. She reached for the napkin, but he held it firmly. She gasped a little as he ran it slowly up her now delicately sensitive slit.

“You don't have to…” She gasped again as he passed back over.

“It's the least I could do…it is my mess after all…” He seemed to have found his generous side. If this is what she had to do to earn his kindness, she wished they'd done this much earlier.

Her panties were nearly soaked and she laid them to the side as she slipped on the white under dress and shimmied the lace over it. There was something oddly intimate about watching her redress.

“So much for these…” She murmured at the cold, damp satin, looking around hopefully for a trashcan.

“Do you mind,” Kevin stepped up only in his shorts as he buckled his belt, “if I have them?” His eyes were trained on the ball of green fabric.

Brooklyn couldn’t believe the surge of confidence and arousal she felt at the idea of Kevin coveting her panties secretly. She was glad she had changed into a cute, sexier pair… At least for his sake.

“I don't mind at all,” She handed them over to his open and waiting palm.

He poured them each another glass of champagne and she downed it quickly, her thirst demanding hydration. He made a mental note to stop and get her water or something.

She was embarrassed as she thought of walking out in front of all the people in the club, knowing they had probably heard everything.

“Trust me, I took care of it…” Kevin tried to calm her as he slipped his shirt back on and fixed his hair.

It was the first time he'd said ‘trust me’ and meant it without sarcasm. Maybe Scott knew what he was talking about all along. She took Kevin’s outstretched hand and crept from behind the curtain, using his frame as a shield. But the room was empty, save for a few workers who didn't even look their way.

The ride back was quiet, but comfortable as they listened to the Keith Sweat album he selected. When he didn't have to shift, he rested his large hand on her thigh and she didn't seem to mind. She smirked at the glovebox occasionally, knowing the green satin that was concealed inside.

It was late by the time he pulled up in Scott's driveway, welllllll after midnight. But the porch light was on and through the glass surround of the door, she could see the glow of the den TV. Scott was still awake.

She started to get out, but Kevin locked the doors, walking around to her side. She rolled her eyes, but did so smiling this time as he opened her door.

On the porch she turned to tell him goodnight, but he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into a deep, intense kiss. She held onto his shoulders for balance, left unstable at first when he parted.

“I had a great time…I'm glad we did this. “ He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, “Scott's lucky he found you,”

“I'm the lucky one, Kevin. He makes me really happy,” She looked towards the door smiling, “I'd do anything for him,”

“Believe me…I know you would,” Kevin chuckled, nodding towards the door, “Get inside before I get any other ideas,”

Brooklyn leaned up and kissed his cheek, “G'night Kev,” She said softly before going inside.

Kevin felt a sense of relief and clarity as he drove away. He'd been skeptical of the whole idea, but he had to admit, Scott might have known exactly what he was talking about.

#kevin nash #kevin nash fan fiction #kevin nash fanfic #kevin nash fan fic #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling #scott hall #wwe #wcw #wrestling fan fic #smut #smutty smutness

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forasecondtherewedwon · 2 months

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seven degrees east - chapter five

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairings: multiple Rating: T (may change) Chapter: 5 / ? Word Count: 4257

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It was just over half an hour from Thorpe Abbotts to Cringleford, and Rosie drove the first car, following the directions Liss had given him. Because the route was a simple one, he could enjoy the passing scenery. This was comprised of fields of tan and green—agricultural land that stretched towards the mature trees acting as windbreaks between plots. He liked the countryside. He found, actually, that it was hard to think of going home again, back to Brooklyn and tall buildings and bridges and noise, when he was out here, driving for miles on quiet backroads. But then, when Rosie went home (as he had, during the last winter break, catching the tail end of Chanukkah and flying out again on New Year’s Day), he felt he was happiest there, a New Yorker for life.

Everything, Rosie felt, was beginnings and endings. That was just where he was at the moment. Would he go, would he stay? Would tonight be another happy yet indistinct memory later on, when the time came to look back at his PhD years, or would it be a turning point? A moment in time he could pin to the map of his life. I remember where I was when it happened. It was what people said about things like the attack on Pearl Harbor, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the marriage of Charles and Diana. Rosie had never fought in a war, or toppled a symbol of oppression, or sat inside St Paul’s Cathedral, but he was young, and his life felt full of promise and meaning, ripe as whatever green things were growing in the fields he raced by. He would see Liss tonight. He felt like Nash as he stole a glance down at his shirt, tugging to straighten the placket around the pinch of his seatbelt.

For better or worse, Rosie didn’t have Nash sitting in his passenger seat, ready to tell him how he looked. There was a tension within the group that night which only two understood and the rest guessed at. John and Gale, who always rode together, almost always in John’s Wrangler, had emerged from the dorms one after the other but split apart immediately. Gale had made for Rosie’s car, surprising Rosie and prompting him to ask, “You wanna drive?” But Gale had shaken his head and gotten in on the passenger side as if that were what he had always done. Rosie and Nash had exchanged a look. With a shrug, Nash had climbed into the back seat with Curt—another unusual addition to Rosie’s carpool. Rosie had said nothing.

The second vehicle in their procession, the Wrangler, was driven not by its owner but by Crosby. John had abdicated the driver’s seat right before they’d left, tossing the keys high and forcing Crosby to make a scrambling catch. “Wha— Why?” he’d asked, but John had just winked and said, “I trust ya.” He was currently sprawled in the back. Crosby wasn’t sure John had his seatbelt on, but he was wary of insisting because, first, it was John’s jeep, and second, keeping eyes on Rosie up ahead was consuming all of his attention. He had placed total trust in Bubbles, sitting in the passenger seat. Bubbles said he didn’t need it, that the girls’ house wasn’t that far, that it would be difficult to get lost when traffic was negligible and they were following Rosie. Crosby didn’t have Bubbles’ confidence. He was sweating, so he felt for the handle and cranked his window down to let the air rush in.

Though the air was warm, it was welcome. John sighed into the sudden gust. He’d wanted to remove his jeep’s soft top for this little venture, but he’d forgotten, watching Gale and Curt get into Rosie’s car back in the student parking lot. It was probably for the best that they remained covered; as they drove north, it began to look like rain. John wouldn’t have minded driving sopping wet—it would’ve fueled his sour attitude—but his boys in the front didn’t deserve that. He glanced out the window, then checked his watch. He knew their destination couldn’t be much farther, and then he would have to get out, and he would have to be at least somewhat social, or else it would be very hard to keep pretending that it hadn’t bothered him to come. Water off a duck’s back, John, he told himself, but he heard the words in Gale’s voice, and then he pictured Gale’s mouth saying them, then Gale’s mouth mashed against Curt’s. John’s hand flinched closed into a fist and he smacked it into the seat. He caught Bubbles staring at him in the rearview mirror and allowed his own gaze to slink away.

Little navigation was ultimately required to reach the house. Still, Crosby was grateful to shift into park and turn off the motor. He considered it a bad sign when he tried to pass the keys back to John and John waved him off—he had a pretty good feeling it meant John was going to get shitfaced at this party and expected Crosby to drive them all home. Which, now that Crosby knew the route, shouldn’t have been a problem. He didn’t plan to lose John’s keys. He didn’t need to get wasted; he wasn’t some teenage undergrad salivating for his first taste of independence. He certainly didn’t have any intention of spending the night here at this red-brick house set back from the lane. Below the front windows, flowerbeds overflowed their edging, blooms closing up as clouds obscured the sun. Early evening was coming on now, and Crosby reminded himself that he would not be here to see those same flowers open again in the morning light. He grit his teeth as he, John, and Bubbles strode towards the house.

The other four boys had already arrived and decided that waiting on the front lawn for their friends would make them appear afraid to enter this house of barely-known but much-desired women. They had looked at each other, then Rosie had taken hold of Nash’s shoulders and given him a little push, a little momentum to get him going. Following Nash through the front door, they’d felt a bit like zoo animals, though they were the ones entering this enclosure which contained the faces of many strangers. By the time John, Bubbles, and Crosby piled through the door after them, they hadn’t gotten very far.

Before they had to start convincing the other partygoers that they had been invited—really!—a girl who made Rosie’s face light up like the breaking dawn came galloping down the stairs.

“My guests!” she said, and the boys looked quickly from her to another girl who stepped through from the living room wearing a sarcastic smile.

“You’re claiming all of them?” this one said. Her gaze went unsubtly to Crosby, who reddened but stood up straighter.

Rosie laughed.

“Sandra, right? We met at the video store, but…” But I was ogling your friend at the time, and you were ogling mine. This thought passed unspoken, but he understood from the look in Sandra’s eyes that she’d shared it. She clasped the hand he’d extended towards her.

“Ships in the night,” she said. “Rosie, yes?”

“That’s right.” He glanced around him, urging the other boys forward as he named them. “And this is Gale, Curt, Bubbles—don’t ask—John, Nash, and, well, you know Crosby.”

“Not so well I couldn’t stand to know him a little better,” she quipped.

“Yeah, our Croz is one in a million.”

“Jean certainly thinks so,” Bubbles put in. He felt the weight of the pause that cushioned his words from either side. He didn’t look at Crosby, not wanting to know if he appeared annoyed, just smiled at Sandra (so this was Sandra) and clarified, “Croz’s girlfriend.”

Crosby laughed awkwardly and said, “Yeah, yep,” as he lowered his head and moved forward, away from this conversation. Sandra turned to allow him to pass her, then followed after; he felt her pinch his sleeve as he moved. He hoped he wouldn’t have to explain. He didn’t know where he would start. Mainly, he didn’t want Sandra’s immediate impression of his friends—who he would’ve liked to remind were guests in her home—to be that they believed she was a villain, hellbent on coming disastrously between Crosby and Jean.

He wasn’t interested in Sandra like that, he was just… interested. He was interested in the way he assumed nuclear scientists were interested in dangerous substances, tempted to cup that radioactive glow in their bare palms. Tempted—that was all; the detective never really fell for the femme fatale. And who was to say that Sandra was well-represented by either: the radioactive substance or the hard-boiled seductress? Like a solid object in front of a spotlight, Crosby was projecting a dark shadow of who this woman might be and supposing the boys saw the same. They obviously suspected, when they saw Sandra and Crosby together. They guessed at the enticement. Crosby fitted her with these personas, cloaked her like a spy, until it was he who was a stranger to his own blatant and (if he’d realized quite how blatant) pathetically uncomplicated and unsurprising attraction. He was a young man very far from his girlfriend, blindsided by a chance meeting with a beautiful woman. If everything would just slow down a minute, Crosby thought, if everything would just wait, there might be time in which he could figure out how to be Sandra’s friend. He could be. He was, sort of, and if their friendship had continued, of course he would’ve mentioned Jean. She just hadn’t come up yet.

The others bobbed in the wake of this uncomfortable extraction, tossing glances at one another, until Liss threw out the lifeline of a tour of the house. They relaxed as they moved from room to room. Liss introduced them to everyone they passed—boys in t-shirts worn under baggy button-downs and girls whose pastel butterfly clip-adorned hair caught the yellow light of table lamps, all classmates and friends of the girls who lived there. Walking at Liss’s side, Rosie kept catching his breath when his hand bumped hers. It happened again as Liss led them through the kitchen to show them the door to the backyard. When she raised her hand to gesture towards the lawn, he lifted his own fingers to smooth his mustache so his hand wouldn’t dart after hers and press their palms together.

“Smoke anywhere,” she invited, “but if it’s more than cigarettes, try to stay on that side of the yard. Our neighbour on the other side would freak.”

“And you wouldn’t?” Gale checked slyly. “I hear you’re studying law.”

Liss turned towards him, wearing a small smile.

“Laws only stand as they are until someone sets a new precedent.”

“Spoken like a future lawyer.”

“Or as someone determined to never be called by her birthname. ‘Phillis.’ Seriously, what were my parents thinking?”

There was ice in the freezer, beer in the fridge, bottles of harder stuff on the counter. Tour of the main floor complete (“Upstairs is just our bedrooms,” Liss said, a throwaway explanation, though more than one set of eyes lit up at the words.), the boys added what they’d brought to the collection and got themselves drinks. Gale, standing beside Rosie, said, “I like her,” and jerked his chin towards where Liss was talking to Nash. Rosie grinned and nodded his appreciation; Gale’s opinion meant a lot to him.

Nash had barely had a chance to ask Liss where Helen might be hiding when Helen herself walked into the kitchen and gave him a shy wave. Nash’s face split in a ridiculous grin. Helen looked good against every backdrop, he thought: a crowded bar, rows of VHS sleeves, a kitchen filled with all his closest friends. There were so very many words in Nash’s vocabulary, but “subtle” wasn’t one of them. He didn’t have Rosie’s etiquette—or, at least, no patience for it; rather than offering introductions, he just went right to Helen and forgot about everyone else.

“You don’t want me to meet your friends?” she asked wryly.

“Hmm?”

Helen laughed, but she blushed too. Nash was standing close to her, his whole consciousness seemingly fixated on her presence.

“What do you want?” she asked instead, one corner of her lips curling coyly as she tried the question that seemed more likely to get his attention. And it did—something ignited behind Nash’s eyes, something that burned deeper and stronger than his jubilant reaction to merely seeing Helen again.

The thing about Nash was that he would’ve told Helen what he wanted—would’ve told her exactly, and in detail, with his gaze holding hers to see whether he’d gone too far or whether Helen’s thoughts had floated up, like soft clouds, to one of those upstairs bedrooms Liss had mentioned—had Rosie not interrupted.

Mischievously, Rosie felt no compunction about breaking Nash out of his lustful stupor. Liss had suggested she and Rosie talk out on the front step, where it was quieter, and on his way by Nash, beer in one hand, Rosie tapped his shoulder and made a discrete “ok” hand sign with the other that Nash tore his gaze from Helen’s face just long enough to catch, smiling with immense self-satisfaction. Rosie doubted Nash’s total concentration on Helen would be so easily severed again that night. Oh, to be young and in love, he thought with a distance from youthful infatuation he could not claim and did not feel, gathering his courage and slipping his fingers between Liss’s. Rosie felt as if he were being carried down the hall atop his friends’ shoulders rather than walking on feet situated below knees that went a little weak when Liss’s eyelashes fluttered as she turned to look at him. And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes / Of the beautiful Liss Heller, Rosie thought admiringly, adapting Poe into a considerably happier context.

He hoped to bump into Crosby on his way out as well, maybe use his hands to communicate more of a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing message instead of the encouraging sign he’d sent Nash, but though Rosie poked his head into the living room and craned to look up the stairs, Crosby was nowhere to be seen.

This was because Crosby was in the middle of a more thorough tour of the house. It felt as though it had happened naturally, blamelessly, inevitably. Sandra had talked and Crosby had listened, knowing half of what she said was teasing lies simply because the look on his face promised he’d believe whatever she told him. They were renting the house from her uncle, she’d said. They were occupying the house for free, she’d said, because a family had been brutally murdered here. She herself owned the house, she’d said; she was rather wealthy, her family part of the British peerage. Sandra grinned every time Crosby gathered himself enough to vocally doubt her, but even as each illusion of who she might be shattered like a cascading hall of mirrors, he found himself more transfixed. He felt that, if he could count on anything, it would be that Sandra would not save him from himself if he decided to cross a line.

She wasn’t exactly inviting him to cross it, but at some point, she’d brought him up to the second floor, and the ease with which he might—they leaned against the wall opposite Sandra’s open bedroom door—oppressed him. Crosby both badly wished that Bubbles was there and felt franticly, guiltily relieved that he wasn’t.

Bubbles wasn’t there in person, anyway, but he was part of every story Crosby told—and he found he was telling Sandra much more than he usually told people he’d only met twice. There was a patience to her large blue eyes the Hammett hound in him wanted to call serpentinely hypnotic, but common sense said was just Sandra being a good listener. Like Bubbles. Maybe that was why Crosby kept bringing him up. Sandra and Bubbles really hadn’t gotten off on the right foot, and Crosby knew that was his fault, even if he had no clue how to rectify the situation. (Convince Bubbles that Sandra was no threat to Crosby’s relationship with Jean? Convince Sandra that he wasn’t usually the kind of person Bubbles had to worry about like that, interjecting so Sandra’s knowledge of Crosby’s girlfriend would do what Bubbles suspected Crosby’s willpower could not: prevent him from cheating.)

It felt a little strange to Crosby to exclude Bubbles by sneaking upstairs with Sandra and then speak of nothing but their shared stories. It made a buffer of Bubbles, a ruler between the bodies of a couple at a high school dance. Bubbles was safety. Bubbles was irreproachability. Bubbles was not flirtation or blurred lines or the cheating he had worried about with embarrassing conspicuousness downstairs. Crosby recognized that he was more upset that Bubbles saw him that way—potentially disloyal—than at the thought of actually committing any indiscretion up here with Sandra. The idea of losing Bubbles’ respect was painful, and the self-conscious acknowledgement of how badly he needed it made Crosby briefly, hotly angry in a way that he very rarely was. He didn’t understand it, so he grit his teeth and focused on Sandra with an intensity that appeared to startle her in the midst of the funny story she had started to tell.

Her hand seemed to dart impulsively forward, closing around his wrist. Crosby looked from her hold to her eyes. They stared at each other, outwardly silent. On the inside, Crosby tried to compel Sandra to just grab a little harder, just tug, show him which of these bedrooms was hers and let him react behind a closed door.

“Your friend Bubbles thinks highly of you,” Sandra said, uncurling her fingers and giving his wrist a disconcerting pat.

“Maybe he shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

But Crosby didn’t have a good answer; he was only being dramatic. He started to feel like a totally undesirable idiot until Sandra, surprising him again, reached up to restyle the front of his carefully gelled hair. She looked him in the eyes and gave a reason for the touch, gave it in such a way that Crosby knew she was, once again, lying. He ducked his head and looked up at her. His smile was trying for devastating.

—

Though the sky was darkening with the deepening evening and the gathering promise of rain, party guests were playing beer pong out behind the house. This was where Bubbles had chosen to keep himself occupied. Light-fingered and good with calculations, he was a natural at this game, and concentrating hard enough made it difficult to wonder where Crosby had gone off to, why he hadn’t seen Sandra since they’d arrived.

Sinking another ball, he beamed as the guy at the other end of the patio table drank and Gale—his partner—gave his shoulder a congratulatory squeeze.

Curt wandered over and watched for a while. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, his shrill whistle at his friends’ continued success cutting through the cranked-up pop hits streaming from the boombox tucked against the exterior wall. Somewhere up the street, a dog started barking, and Gale pinged the next ball at Curt, striking him in the chest.

“Quit it,” he instructed. “Gonna get the whole neighbourhood barking.”

“How ’bout losin’ a little then. Beatin’ strangers ain’t a good way to make friends,” Curt counselled. He slung an arm around the neck of one such stranger-turned-friend; they’d come from the side of the house, where they’d been bonding over the impressive longevity of Van Halen (“Man, if they could get fuckin’ Roth back…”) and a shared joint.

“That’s unfortunate,” Gale said with a grin. “’Cause Bubbles and I don’t know how to lose.”

“Damn right, buddy,” Bubbles agreed.

They weren’t bad winners about it though, graciously conceding the table to the next teams instead of staying on as the defending champions anyone else could only dream to beat. Curt drifted here and there, but Gale and Bubbles were content to stay and watch, drinking and observing the game as well as Nash and Helen, who stood by the back door, poised to canoodle.

“They’re gettin’ along,” Bubbles observed loudly as somebody turned up Take That to mixed cheers and boos. Bubbles smiled as he brought a bottle of beer to his lips.

Gale chuckled and said, “Good for Nash.”

“Seriously. Poor guy’s always been so shy around women.”

Gale laughed louder this time. Bubbles was good company, and always made it easy to feel relaxed. He didn’t talk too much, but he didn’t leave silences that felt demanding either, nothing Gale ever felt pressured to fill. He appreciated that. It struck him as they stood there together that he almost never hung out with Bubbles one-on-one. Their group, all seven of them, had formed a fast and strong bond at the beginning of their time at Thorpe Abbotts (though some had known each other before), but Gale recognized that he and Bubbles both existed as halves of a pair. It had never been him and Bubbles because Crosby was always present if Bubbles was there, and John was eternally at Gale’s side. Unless he was doing something stupid like attempting to climb that damn tower on campus, or something shameless like commanding a karaoke bar with his terrible singing voice and boundless confidence. Sometimes, Gale permitted himself to notice that these were acts designed to impress him. It was certainly always difficult to remember what a good time he could have with a different friend, like Bubbles, when John was up to his antics.

Thinking of John soured the moment for Gale. The easy smile fell from his face. He scanned the faces of the group gathered around the beer pong match even though he already knew John wasn’t there, then glanced toward the side yard and over to the back door. Who was with John now? Crosby, the other half of the pair standing next to Gale? After the way Crosby had slunk off with the British girl, Gale doubted it. Nash was accounted for, Gale hadn’t spotted Rosie walking back through the house after disappearing out the front with Liss, and Curt… well. Gale didn’t think for a moment John was hanging out with him.

“Lookin’ for Bucky?” Bubbles asked.

“Pretty obvious, huh?” Gale said in a tone of gentle self-deprecation. His expression grew serious. “You drove up with him. How’d he seem?”

Bubbles didn’t bother exclaiming, You mean you don’t know? though the boys lived together in the same dorm. Practically inside each other’s skin, Bubbles thought, with how they would often demonstrate a wordless understanding of one another in speech and actions. Even he, at a little distance from them—as everyone was; Gale and John were each other’s complete inner circle—knew something wasn’t right, and that it had begun the other night at the Barracks. It had to be serious, since they still didn’t appear to be speaking. They’d come to the party that night in two different vehicles, after all.

“Quiet,” Bubbles answered honestly. “He sat in the back while Croz drove.”

“Croz drove John’s baby? He must’ve been shitting himself.”

“About that level of confidence, yeah. There’s nothin’ wrong with Croz’s driving. He just doubts himself.”

Gale made a thoughtful noise. Bubbles thought he probably wasn’t thinking about how Crosby had fared behind the wheel of John’s Wrangler so much as trying to shift his own mind into a gear that would align with John’s so that they might understand each other. Bubbles watched his friend sympathetically.

“Maybe that’s what John’s problem is,” Gale observed. It was said softly, but harsh. His gaze was unfocused, no longer following the bounce of the ball across the patio table.

“What’s Bucky doubting himself about, do you think?” Bubbles asked.

“No idea.”

“You think he’s got a reason to? A Bucky who doubts himself doesn’t sound like any version of Bucky I’ve seen. If he is,” Bubbles said cautiously, eyeing Gale’s stern profile, “it must be over something that matters a lot to him.”

Gale didn’t have an immediate response to this, but, as usual, Bubbles didn’t push for one. He was grateful. It gave him time to think. What mattered a lot to John? Well, school did. John took his studies at Thorpe Abbotts seriously; if he played hard, it was because he worked hard too. Another thing that mattered to John was his friends. He was gregarious, trusty, and encouraging. He had helped Rosie replace all the furniture in Nash’s bedroom with inflatable facsimiles while Nash was away for three days at a grad student conference in London the preceding October. Hemingway’s old man would’ve loved to have John aboard when he went all that way out into the sea, Gale imagined. Anyone would’ve. In his estimation, John was pretty well always just the right person to have around.

Up until last week, John had felt the same about Gale—Gale, who he had presumably seen kissing Curt. Gale, who also mattered a lot to him.

Just as Gale decided on a response to Bubbles’ speculation and went to speak, two unmistakeable voices rose above the music, and it wasn’t because they were singing along.

#seven degrees east #my writing #MotA #MotA fic #Masters of the Air #Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal #Herbert Nash #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #Curtis Biddick #Harry Crosby #Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne #John 'Bucky' Egan #Bucky x Buck #Sandra Westgate #Helen (MotA)#Nash x Helen

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gaast · 1 month

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I didn't know posts like these still circulated... Got tagged by @cannibalise and am in a really good mood so I'm gonna play, lmao

Last song I listened to: "Modest Mouth," Neil Cicierega, Mouth Sounds.

Currently watching: What, like, a TV show? I haven't watched a TV show in years. I'm playing Tales of Hearts R and Link's Awakening DX HD, I'm reading The Infinite and the Divine, I'm writing about another grafting monster, I'm working on learning Django and Raspberry Pi stuff and related projects and also a stupid mod, and I'm looking for anyone who wants to hire a really expensive and lazy technical writer.

Sweet/savory/spicy: Everything has its time and its place. I will never take sides when three of the baddest bitches are pitted against each other. I've evolved beyond this.

Relationship status: I legitimately forgot this one until I was tagging because I was so excited to see what would come out of me for the next one. Anyway, I'm engaged.

Current obsession: AFK Journey and AFK Arena, maybe. Also, Python, modding Isaac, making really weird dumb involved elaborate jokes. I want Pando to be my obsession, though. I wanna be "the Pando ghost." Oh also autopsies, I haven't forgotten about autopsies!! Or anthropodermic bibliopegy!! Or esolangs!!! Or eels!!!! Fuck!!!!! I want to be obsessed with shit and I'm barely obsessed at all!!!! I feel like John Nash, I need to be a fucked up unmedicated freak in order to reach my full potential!!! I think Russel Crowe did a really good job in A Beautiful Mind but I fucking hate John Nash tbh. Also it fucking sucks that that film has to continue the trend of "electroconvulsive therapy is BAD uwu!!!" Fuck you. It has a fantastic success rate with only mild side effects. It isn't done like how the fucking film shows it. Imagine making A Beautiful Mind and still being an ableist about it. Oh wait a minute that's John Nash for you!!! Also while I'm talking about movies like this, one of my most hated films of all time is Rudy. I cannot STAND that movie. Look, I love Sean Astin. I love The Goonies. He does a great job in that role. But oh my fucking god if that's what Rudy was really like then I hate him so much. All of that effort. All of it. For what? The love of a father who only gives a fucking shit about FOOTBALL? I love football too but imagine VALIDATING the concept that you're only of worth to your PARENT if you FUCKING DEVOTE YOURSELF SOLELY TO THEIR ONLY INTEREST. The fucking dude didn't even CARE that his son actually fucking MADE the Fighting Irish unless he PLAYED and like, dude, it's FOOTBALL, your five-foot nothing son could get fucking KILLED out there, and he's doing it all for YOU, and you don't deserve it!!! But I'm mad at Rudy more!!! I hate him more!!!!! STOP TRYING TO PLEASE A MAN WHOSE DICK WILL NEVER BE DEEP ENOUGH IN YOUR THROAT. GROW THE FUCK UP. YOUR DAD SUCKS. HE SUCKS. YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST KISSED VINCE VAUGHN!!!!!!!!! God that movie blows. If you wanna watch a movie, fucking, watch, uh. I don't remember what movies I like. Fuck you.

Tagging: @monadolaguz, @babyraccy, @vendettagreen, @tmos-time, @geckobrains, @crowtrobot @torterracotta @izanameowe

#only do it if you wanna #but if you do it please tag me so i can see #i cant help but feel like i might have done one of these wrong

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saltsicklover · 9 months

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Part Twelve

It's not a long chapter, but it's definitely something! Thank you all for voting on my last poll!

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2000+

Rating: R

Warnings: Tobacco, Swearing, sexual themes implied

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

"Hey, Sunny, can I ask you something I'm probably not supposed to ask?"

The question came from Natasha as the pair sit on the back patio of the house, sipping on mimosas while they wait for Hangman to return Natasha's phone call about Sunny's duffle bag. The sun is high in the sky now, beating down on their legs, their upper bodies shaded with a large umbrella. Sunny ripples a bit at Natasha's question, knowing a line is going to be crossed. That fact doesn't bother Sunny all that much, rather it's the fact that she just knows it's going to be about Bob. Since Sunny unknowingly waltzed back into his life, his world, everything has been about him. Suddenly she misses the smell of tobacco.

"Just ask me, Nash," The words come with a sigh.

"It might be more than one question," Her answer comes after a beat of silence. One that was filled with a palpable, but not uncomfortable feeling. Natasha knows both Bob and Sunny are dying to talk about everything, to talk to each other, but neither is going to make that step any time soon. Sunny goes home in two weeks, and Natasha fears that if they don't sort things out now, they never will. So if she has to pry, goddamn-it she is going to pry.

Sunny doesn't respond, instead she just waves her hand like a white flag, conceding to Natasha's desire to talk about it.

There is a question that has been eating at Natasha since she found out that Sunny's Bobby and her Bob are the same person. The desire has all but grown since she saw Bob this morning, clad in jeans and that damn cowboy hat.

"Why Bob?" The question comes out too broad and almost wrong, and Natasha is adding on more words before Sunny can even open her mouth, "I don't mean why in his personality, I know Bob and I trust that man with my life, I mean, I want the down and dirty details. Is it the cowboy hat? It is, isn't is?"

The comment has Sunny laughing now, and she can feel the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. She lets her mind wander back to earlier that morning, to Bob, standing there like a stranger in his own kitchen. But, God, he looked just like home to her. She doesn't let her mind wander back further, knowing that if she does, she won't be able to stop thinking about Bob. From the way he smokes those stupid cigarillos and the crooked little smile of his. Hell, even his new birth control glasses make him look good.

Natasha watches quietly, a mug held tight between her hands, as a smile slowly grows over Sunny's face. She swears she can see her best friend's face literally brighten as she thinks, no doubt in Nat's mind that Sunny's mind is full of nothing but Bobby.

"You want the down and dirty? Are you sure? You do have to face him every day at work, at home, out with your friends," The words don't sway Natasha in the slightest. She knows that no matter what Sunny has to say about however hot she finds Bob, it's nothing compared to what she has heard from the rest of the squad. Natasha can describe women she has never met in painstaking detail because Rooster and Hangman like to talk over beers and pool at the Hard Deck.

"I want to know everything," Phoenix assures, a sly smirk peaking out over the coffee cup she has raised to her lips.

"Okay," There's an air of excitement to Sunny's voice and it makes Natasha buzz with excitement too. "Did I ever tell you about my prom?"

Sunny watches the blood drain from Natasha's face, an almost guilty look taking over her features. Natasha pulls her lip between her teeth, letting it go, only to suck it back in again. It's almost as if she is trying to decide what to say, but Sunny sees right through her hesitation, her biding time.

"Bobby did, didn't he?"

Natasha nods, her face falling along with her gaze. There is a bit of anxiety itching under Sunny's skin. She rubs over her exposed arms, the heat conducted from her palms doing nothing to calm the buzz in her bloodstream.

"Well, I am going to tell you the dirty stuff, okay? By the look on your face, it looks like you heard about the fight that got us here in the first place,"

"Yeah, I heard about the fight," There is guilt in her admission, even though she has nothing to be guilty about. It's not her drama, and it's nothing concerning her.

Sunny flips herself around in her chair, laying her upper body right in the direct rays of the sun. She pulls an arm behind her head, only to be poked in the arm by something hidden under the cushion. Sunny thrusts a hand under the cushion, retrieving a small box.

A fucking box of cigarillos.

And she laughs and laughs and laughs. Her head thrown back, eyes scrunched up tight. Her mouth is open wide and the loud laughter pours from her unapologetically. Natasha looks at her like she is crazy, until Sunny holds up the small box, the plastic wrap reflecting the sunlight. Natasha laughs too, but her giggles are more reserved, that is until she sees Sunny wiping tears from her eyes.

"What, is Bobby a fucking squirl now? Hiding his stash to come back to later? Keeping things safe for the cold harsh California winters?" Sunny gets the words out between gasps for air and the laughs flowing out of her lips. Natasha laughs harder now too, the women unable to look at each other as they calm down. When Sunny accidentally makes eye contact with Natasha for a brief second, it takes them another five minutes to calm down again.

"God, I miss his dumbass, I swear," There is a sadness in Sunny's tone, masked by light giggles. Carefully, Sunny peels back the cellophane wrapper on the carton of cigarillos, peeling it open like she is opening a century old book. The plastic crinkles and crunches in her hand as she balls it into her palm. She sticks the balled up cellophane under her thigh and it pokes into her soft skin. Sunny doesn't care, though, more focused on bringing the carton up to her nose to inhale the sweet, spicy scent of the tobacco.

The way Sunny relaxes at the smell is visible that Nat almost chuckles at her friend, but she doesn't. It's still too early to joke about it.

"I used to call Bob this awful nickname," Sunny watches Natasha's eyes widen over the carton of cigarillos she still has held up to her nose. "To be fair, he started calling me something awful first,"

"What did he call you?"

"He called me Douche," Nat's eyes get impossibly wider, "I went by Duchenne all of my life until I graduated high school. I get how Douche is an easy jab, I do, but my heart hurt a little every time he said it,"

"Please tell me you called him something better," There is so much anticipation in Natasha's voice that she is almost shaking. The smile that spreads over Sunny's face is almost diabolical, and Natasha can't help but love the sight.

"I called him Bertie," And that sends the pair into another laughter spiral.

"I am calling him that from this moment forward, just for hurting you! Bertie can fucking deal with it!" Conviction drips from her tone.

"No, Nash, don't call him that," Sunny shakes her head, her loose hair fluttering around as she does, "He doesn't deserve the torment,"

Natasha wants to fight Sunny on that thought. If there is anything Bob deserves after treating Sunny the way he did, ragging on her for years, throwing away their friendship only to make out with her and then fucking crush her right before graduation, it's a little torment. Natasha almost want's to beg her friend to reconsider, to let her rag on Bob a least a little bit, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But, Natasha can see the sadness in her eyes as she gently waves the carton of cigarillos under her nose.

"Give me those," Natasha makes a grabby gesture, leaning out further into the sunshine to snatch the carton from Sunny. She brings the carton up to her nose, taking in the scent. It causes her to wrinkle her nose, her features morphing into a look of disgust. She hands them back to Sunny, placing them in the woman's awaiting, outstretched hand. "Yeah, I don't get it,"

"If you were in love with him, you would," Sunny mumbles unintentionally, her focus on the swaying of the palm trees and the sun on her face. She doesn't notice the way her best friend's whole demeanor changes, the way she sits up a little bit straighter.

"I practically jumped him on Prom. I was drunk and god, he looked so good in his suit. It was black, it had these itty bitty little pin stripes that matched the gray of his dress shirt. Truthfully I don't now how I lasted so long without kissing him that night," Her words come out a little breathy as she reminisces.

"When I kissed him, I swear that was the start and the end of me. I know that's the sappy shit they say in books, but I knew right then, even through the drunken haze, that Bobby was gonna be it for me. I was absolutely fucked when I realized it too. The kisses were messy and I swear I could feel him everywhere, like he was some sort of electricity running through me, Nash,"

"He was laying on top of me, pinning my body down with the weight of his own. His hand cradled by face and I could feel the calloses of his hands scraping against my skin. He was so, so warm on top of me. And don't even get me started on how good it felt to have his tongue down my throat, because no man will ever kiss as good as Robert Floyd,"

Natasha is gob smacked at her best friend's words, taking them in as Sunny speaks them, gesturing lightly with her hands. She still holds the carton of cigarillos, the smell embedding itself in her nose, right where she wants it. It tangles inside of her lungs and it makes her feel warm, almost like Bobby did.

"He looked so damn good this morning, Natasha," Sunny giggle like a school girl, "Just like I remember him, but so much more of a man. When did he put on all that muscle? Because, Oh my God,"

The women sit in Sunny's words, their own image of Robert Floyd swirling around in their heads. They both have smiles on their faces, not that either would admit it. Natasha is plotting a way to get them trapped in the same room, so they would have to face each other and this goddamn stupid situation head on. Sunny can't help but think of the way Bob looked in his cowboy hat, all grown up and still as sexy as ever. She wants to feel his body weight on top of her again, to feel his callused hands graze over her skin. Goosebumps erupt on Sunny's skin, even under the warmth of the sun.

"Now can I say something I probably shouldn't say?" Natasha's voice is smaller, but there is a daring part of her that makes the words come out anyway. Sunny hums, her brain still on the image of Bobby's defined thighs in his well worn jeans.

"You two need to talk, hell, if you ask me, you two need to get all of the sexual tension out of my house while you're at it," Giggles erupt, "But seriously, you really need to talk to Bob, because I have a feeling that I know exactly how he feels about you,"

Sunny pushes herself up onto her elbow, looking her best friend directly in the eye, "How do you know? Did he say something?"

The shake of Natasha's head does nothing to quell the need to know that burns within Sunny, the small smirk on Nat's face only fueling the fire.

"He didn't have to, the photo of you on his nightstand said enough,"

#bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #bob floyd angst #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fic #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick fanfiction #best friend natasha trace #best friend phoenix

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