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rhaenyrathecruell · 6 hours ago

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Glass Pilot ~ Robert "Bob" Floyd

synopsis: You were used to people ignoring you, never noticing what you did. But then there's the entire Dagger Squad, especially Bob.

tw: fem!reader, reader has glass child syndrome, reader's callsign is Mouse, Iceman lives because I say so, age gap (reader's 25 and Bob's 32), reader is under 6 foot (I'm sorry to my tall readers), reader punches two creeps in the bar, reader's dad own jets, mostly fluff but angst thrown in, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Something about Robert Floyd makes me want to write until my fingers cramp. Also, sorry for not posting yesterday. I was in a lot of pain and I ended up at the ER at 8am this morning. Turns out I have a kidney stone way too early in life, going to the urologist Monday to find out more.

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When you were called back to TOP GUN, you weren't expecting much from the others. You figured it would be the same it always was, you'd stay in the background, do what you were told, and never disobey orders.

It's how you got your callsign, you never spoke unless someone spoke to you, thus Mouse is what people called you. You didn't hate it, it could have been worse, but you also didn't love it. You figured most people didn't like theirs, but you also couldn't be sure.

You were able to float around the bar without people noticing you, you watched as a pilot named Bob get noticed, yet not you. You were used to it, you could even stand by the pool table and not one person said anything to you.

Not until you ended up being seen by Callie, "Mouse!"

You floated over to her, your smile making it's way on your face. She was about the only person you've met that didn't care about how quiet you were. She seemed to just like your company and you were ok with her talking to you. "Hi, Halo," you greeted her, your voice barely heard over the loud music.

You let her talk to you for a while before you walked away and to the bar. You ended up sitting a few seats away from an older man, you eyed him for a moment before realizing who he was. You wanted to say hi, to introduce yourself before what you assumed was his class the next day. But you were too nervous, you didn't want to take his attention away from someone else that might deserve it more.

"What do they call you?" You heard him ask, you turned your head to him and stared for a moment.

"Mouse, sir," you replied and he laughed while nodding. "Are you the one they got to teach us?"

"I am, Captain Pete Mitchell, Maverick," he stuck his hand out and you shook it. The conversation died and you awkwardly stood, waved to him, and left the bar. You would beat yourself up about it once you get to your childhood home, the one your parents left to you when they moved to Florida.

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You were in the back, awkwardly sitting next to someone who introduced himself as Rooster, when Pete walked in. You watched as a blond's face fell but you looked away before he could notice.

You were flying with Callie and Neil, you watched as they decided to take the tone from Pete for you and decided it was time to stop playing nice. You knew you could get in trouble for flying the way you were about to, but you once told Callie and Neil that if they sacrificed themselves, you wouldn't let it go to waste. "That's a tone, Maverick," you softly called into the radio.

He let out a disbelieving laugh, "That it is, Mouse."

You climbed down from your jet and were met with Callie wrapping her arms around your neck. You smiled as you gently wrapped yours around her waist and she laughed. "You did it, Mouse!"

You nodded as you pulled away, watching as Pete walked over to Hondo for his 200 push ups. "Let's go see this!" Neil grabbed your arm and pulled you along, you awkwardly stood by Neil and Callie as you watched Pete start his push ups and Hangman, as you heard someone call him, finish his.

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"You got Maverick out?" It was a female voice, Natasha, you met her once before. You were standing in the room where everyone was waiting for Pete to finish his push ups and pick another group.

"Oh, uh, yeah," you affirmed as Pete walked in from his push ups.

"That was impressive, Mouse," Pete told you as he walked in and you ducked your head.

"Uh, thanks," you quickly told him, moving to sit in the far corner as he called another group of pilots. You stayed in the corner, watching as everyone got interested in the next round of pilots.

Bob was watching you though, the way you played with your own fingers and tapped your palm with the opposite hand's fingers every now and again. He noticed you the night at the bar, how you walked so delicately it seemed like you were floating. How you could stand in a group full of people, yet never noticed. How the only time he saw you smile and talk at the bar was when someone interacted with you first.

He noticed how only Callie and Neil were the only people who talked to you for seemingly no reason. How you always seemed shocked when they asked how you were doing and how you would always say you were fine. Bob also saw the way you did what he did, you watched others. You noticed what they did and how they held themselves.

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By the end of the day, you were the only one to successfully get Pete out. You were up in the air for the second time, this time flying with Natasha and Bob. You took a deep breath as you heard Callie talk into the radio, presumably through the added radio in the watch room. "Mouse, show them why you're here even though you're only 25," Callie told you.

"Ok," you mumbled, narrowing your eyes and recalling the way that Natasha and Bob flew earlier in the day. You flew with the two, listening to the way Bob and Natasha called out where Pete was. You dropped, fast, before swopping up and flying straight at Pete while he tried to lock onto the others. "That's a tone, Maverick," you called, a little louder then last time.

There was another laugh, more proud sounding, "It is, isn't it, Mouse?"

Callie and Neil met you as your climbed down the ladder of your jet again. This time, the rest of the pilots were with them, and you got hugs from more than just Callie. "Holy shit, Mouse! That's twice!" Callie squealed into your ear and you grimaced.

"That's two for two," Neil told you and you pursed your lips a little.

You gently pulled away from Callie with a small head shake. "It's nothing, really," you brushed the praise off, but then there was aggressive and offended shouts.

"Woah, Mouse!" It was Hangman, Jake as you learned was his given name, that shouted the loudest. "That's not nothing, you've got Mav doing 400 push ups in one day," he told you and you scrunched in on yourself as he freely roamed his eyes over you.

You brushed the words off with practiced ease again, "I couldn't have done it without the expert flying of Omaha and Phoenix." It seemed to do the trick as the attention turned from you and onto the others, but Bob approached you as you slunk to the edge of the group.

Bob kept his eyes off you, rightly assuming that his full attention would make you a little uneasy. "You're a good pilot, I don't know why you're so insistent on brushing off praise."

His words caught you off guard, and you shrugged as you talked. "I just don't deserve all of it."

"You're the one with the tones," Bob shook his head but you only shrugged again as Pete walked back into the hangar. The group celebrating still but Pete bypassed them all and stopped in front of you and Bob.

"I was warned about you, Mouse. Told that while you're quiet and sweet, you're not the same in the sky," Pete raised an eyebrow at you and you just stared at him.

You wracked your brain for a response, "I'm just flying the way I need to." Bob looked at you as you deflected more praise, even praise coming from your instructor.

Pete raised his eyebrow at you, "I was told about that too."

"About what, sir?"

"You're good at what you do, you never disobey orders, yet you never seem to accept compliments when given," he replied and you shrunk in yourself.

"Oh, uh," you were saved from having to answer by Jake yelling over to Pete.

"How were your push ups, Mav?" Jake taunted and Pete turned to look at him.

"You say that like you're the one to make me do them," Pete said and you took the time to walk with Callie back to the locker room.

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The Hard Deck was extra packed tonight, tag chasers were everywhere. You stayed at the bar, your phone securely tucked away so you wouldn't have to pay for the bar. Penny was cautiously eyeing some of the men in a booth, you made a silent vow to step in if needed.

You two both watched them approach the young college student to your left, she had been asking you for drink advice the whole night. Her 21st birthday was the day before and this was her first time going to a bar.

"What's a pretty lady like you doing alone?" The creep got into her face and you automatically spoke up, nervousness be damned.

"She's not alone," you told him, eyeing him and his friends.

"Oh, there's enough for both of you here," he told you and you raised an eyebrow. You watched his friends close in and try to grab the girl, you didn't think before you landed a punch on the main guys face.

"Oh!" You gasped as you heard the sickening snap of his nose and watch him fall to the floor. Every head turned to you as you stood there with your hands over your mouth, you turned to his friends who looked pissed. They grabbed their friend and hauled him out, not even bothering to say anything to you or the girl.

"Are you ok?" The girl grabbed your hand and pressed her cold cup into your knuckles. The bar slowly went back to normal and you looked at Penny who just smiled and gave you a thumbs up, telling you that it was ok and you could stay.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you told her, letting her obsess over your knuckles. You had learned earlier in the night that she was a premed major and that she was always wanting to help in any way she could.

"Holy shit, Mouse!" Jake approached you with the others in tow. "You got that guy down in one punch!"

You shrugged as the girl pulled the glass away and gently pressed over your knuckles. "It's nothing, he had it coming," you told him as the girl pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

"It might be physiological but I still feel like that should help, they're only bruised," she told you and you narrowed your eyes as you saw Jake gear up to say something.

"Don't, she just hit 21 yesterday," you told him, the most aggressive he's heard you since meeting you. Jake backed off from her and you took your seat again as everyone else gave their impressed words before going back to their spots.

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Bob was getting out of his car at the same time you did the next morning, and rushed to walk in next to you. "That was impressive last night, the punch," Bob told you and you pursed your lips into a sorta smile.

"He was being a creep and grabbed Sarah, he deserved it," you told him, and Bob realized that was the closest to accepting a compliment you would give.

You ended up closer to the front, sitting behind Bob and Natasha. Callie was sitting down next to you as you listened to the others talk.

"A man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back," Jake said before turning to Natasha. "No offense intended," he added on.

"And somehow, you always manage," Bob added on from his spot in front of you.

"Last I checked, only one of us has gotten Maverick out, not once but twice, and Mouse ain't no man," Neil piped up from his spot farther in the back.

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You were flying again, this time with Bradley. There was some easy to spot tension in the way Bradley and Pete flew. You got tired of it and did something that was going to get you in trouble with Admiral Simpson.

You dropped again, swooped up, flew dangerously between the two, round to face straight down, and locked onto Maverick before swopping to the side before you collided with either. "That's a tone, boys," you announced but before they could answer, Admiral Simpson jumped onto the radio.

"Lieutenant y/l/n, my office now," he told you and you started to fly back to the hangar.

Admiral Beau Simpson was standing in the hangar with Admiral Tom Kazansky as you climbed down, you pursed your lips at the idea of how much trouble you were in. "You're a dangerous flyer, what you did could have ended horribly!" Simpson didn't even wait until you were out of the hangar to start yelling at you. You just stood at attention and took his words. "You're praises have been sung by every CO you've had, we were told you never disobeyed orders!" You wanted to tell him you disobeyed no orders, that your only order was to try and get Maverick out again, but held your tongue as you stood at attention.

"But, it was impressive and perfectly executed," Kazansky cut in, you didn't move. You just stood there and noticed your fellow pilots start to slowly gather. "Not even Mav has the guts to pull that move, where did you learn that?"

"My dad, sir," you replied and watched him raise an eyebrow.

"Your father?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he a pilot too?"

"Not in the way you're thinking, sir," you told him.

"Care to explain what you mean, Lieutenant?" Simpson asked.

"He's owned jets my whole life, sir. F-16s that he bought and refurbished himself, he's a mechanic. I got my license at 16 and I've been flying since then. I learned that move right before basic training while flying with him, sir," you explained and saw the intrigue on both of their faces.

"Well, then, at ease, Lieutenant," Kazansky told you and you automatically relaxed your stance.

"I'm not in trouble?" You questioned and saw the annoyance flash on Simpson's face.

"No, you're not," Kazansky told you and you let your shock cross your face. "Just, don't do it again," he added and you quickly nodded. "You're dismissed," he told you and you quickly thanked him and scurried off, ignoring the looks from your fellow pilots.

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"Are you coming to The Hard Deck?" Bob questioned as he walked next to you, you were told you weren't to fly for the rest of the day but you stayed at base because you had to.

"No, not tonight," you told him, wanting to go home.

"Not even after you've kept your title as only person to get Mav out?" Natasha ended up on your other side and you suddenly wished the ground would open up and suck you in. Their had to be other people who deserved their attention more than you.

"It's not as impressive as you guys keep saying it is," you rushed out before scurrying off to your car. Natasha and Bob both stood there, dumbfounded.

"It's not either of you," Callie said from behind them where everyone else was gathered. "She's quiet, always has been. It's my she's called Mouse, you never hear her until she makes a noise. It's why her flying is impressive, she doesn't show off and she knows how to fly in the perfect way to stay hidden until she strikes. I tried to get her callsign changed to Reaper for that reason, but she's too quiet for anyone to take me seriously," Callie explained, her eyes trailing your car.

"Do you know where she's staying?" Natasha had an idea.

"Yeah, why?" Callie questioned, her eyes moving to Natasha's face.

"I think we should bring the party to her," Natasha told the group.

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You had your lips pursed as you looked at your full living room, the entire group, including Tom, as he insisted you call him, and Pete, where there. "So, you're all in my house because?"

"Because you've gotten my out three times, yet refuse to let us celebrate you," Pete supplied and you tensed minutely but Bob noticed. He was the only one who thought it was a bad idea but no one listened to him.

"I've said it's no big deal," you told him but there was a wave of disagreements from the others. "It truly isn't!" Your eyes found Bob's and saw the quiet disagreement in them. "Fine, but you're all watching this movie I want to watch with me," you told them, a chorus of ok following your words.

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"Holy shit!" Jake jumped at the jump scare from his spot on the floor with his feet thrown over Javy's legs, everyone was sprawled across your living room with snacks and drinks. Bob and you were pressed into your overstuffed chair together with Bob's feet kicked up on the empty space on the ottoman that Mickey had laid out on. Your feet where resting on Mickey's lower back, him telling you the pressure of your heels helped the pain he had. Ruben was on the floor next to the ottoman, sharing Mickey's candy you had given them. Pete and Tom were on your couch with Billy and Neil, the four were the calmest.

"Bagman, shut it!" Natasha told him from her spot on the loveseat with Callie, both holding pillows to their chest. Everyone else was thrown around the floor with various pillows and blankets you got them. You were watching The Nun, it wasn't even that scary but there were a lot of jump scares.

"Do you want more popcorn?" You lowly asked Bob, your shared bowl almost empty. He quietly nodded and you got up, you asked Mickey the same question as you leaned down to grab his empty bowl. He nodded, his eyes never leaving the TV and you walked to your popcorn maker. It was one of the nostalgic looking ones, it was pretty new and was turned on to make new popcorn for your impromptu movie night. Your parents had gotten it right before they moved out but left it just in case you wanted it.

You turned back to the TV just as another jump scare happened and shouted along with a good chuck of the others. "Oh god!" Your eyes widened as you shouted and Jake looked at you.

"I feel validated now that Mouse has been scared," he mumbled and you took a deep breath to calm down. You walked back to your seat, leaning down to place Mickey's bowl back on the ground where he's been keeping it, before sitting back down and kicking your legs up again.

You glanced around, noting the comfort you got from seeing a bunch of people who were so determined to celebrate and praise your accomplishments. You looked back to the TV, not noticing the look full of love Bob was giving you.

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The dynamic changed after that and you found yourself on the beach playing dogfight football. You were in a pair of shorts and found a swim suit top in your old clothing that still fit. You brought extra for Natasha and Callie at their request. You laughed as Bradley did a silly little victory dance but cheered the loudest when Bob won the game. "Way to go, Bobby!" You yelled as he was lifted up, he caught your eyes and gave you a bright smile.

"Bobby? I see you, Mouse," Callie told you and you gently shoved her, you had gotten used to being noticed and cared about.

"Oh, shut it," you laughed as Bob was put down. You took a deep breath as you calmed your racing heart as Bob walked to you.

"You called me Bobby," Bob said and you nodded, you could tell he was more amazed than annoyed.

"Would you prefer Bobert?" You questioned but cut him off. "Wait, too late, I'm calling you Bobert," you sing songed and he just smiled at you.

"Ok, fine, honey," he told you and you gasped as he walked away.

"You can't just call me that and walk away, Bobert!" You called after him, the name lighting laughter throughout the group.

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You started going to The Hard Deck more and people started to notice you more. It felt odd, no longer able to float around like you were a ghost. But you enjoyed it, enjoyed being included and openly loved by friends. However, you didn't enjoy the looks, the hungry and lust filled looks from non-Navy men in the bar. "You know, you're body's a ten but your face is a," the brazen man didn't get to finish his statement before the last person you expected punched him, Jake.

"Hey, that's the future Mrs. Floyd your insulting, and no one insults Mouse without consequences," Jake growled and you stood there confused but seething.

"You Mr. Floyd? Cause you could do so much," you cut him off this time, your fist connecting squarely with his jaw. Effectively popping it out of place as he screamed and hit the floor.

"Actually, that's Mr. Floyd," you pointed to Bob before pointing to yourself. "And I'm the one that just punched your jaw out of place," you hissed, gripping him by the shirt to pull him to be level with your face. He was barely taller than you, maybe an inch, and he was scrawny. Despite that, it was obvious you were strong, it took a lot of strength to punch a jaw out of place. "Now, I am going to push your jaw back in place. You're not going to scream like a little bitch, and then you're going to leave. Nod if you understand," you told him, he quickly nodded and you pushed his jaw just right to pop it in place before shoving him away from you and watching his run off with his tail between his legs.

"Damn, she could eat you alive, Bob," Neil laughed and you spun to face the others. Your hand red and angry but you were more worried about Penny walking over.

"I'm about to yell at you two, look scared and nod," she informed you, letting you two know she wasn't mad in the slightest. "You two cannot just punch a guy in my bar!" She started yelling. "I don't care that you're Navy pilots, next time I'm kicking you two out!" She added before turned and storming away.

"She flies like a pro, she punches harder than expected, yet she's called Mouse," Javy shook his head in amusement and you gave him an awkward smile.

"I also needlessly defended Hangman," you shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

"Well, darling, it was hot," Jake slung his arm over your shoulders and you gently jabbed your finger into his side. He jumped away from you with a small yelp.

You walked to the booth Bob was sitting him and took the seat next to him, he quietly hoped you didn't notice how turned on he was. "I hope Hangman saying you were my future wife wasn't awkward for you," Bob told you.

"Was it for you?" You looked him in the eyes, the first time you've ever initiated eye contact.

"No, more embarrassed that you're finding out about my crush this way," he told you, able to read the fact that you liked him just as much as he liked you.

"Good and don't be embarrassed," you gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him to your lips. It was immediately intense and breath taking and when you pulled away, you finally noticed the cheers.

"Way to go, Mouse!" Callie cheered and you smiled against Bob's lips.

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You wanted to say it all disappeared, that you suddenly believed that you deserved people's attention and love. But it didn't, you still found yourself standing on the edge of a group and brushing off compliments. And worse of all, you found yourself slowly starting to pull from Bob as the mission grew closer.

It all came to a head when the mission actually happened, you weren't too surprised that you weren't picked for it. You figured that even if there wasn't favoritism with Pete and Bradley, Bradley would be picked for the effortless way he flew with the others.

You lingered by Bob, wanting to apologize for pulling away to tell him to be safe. But you didn't want to overwhelm him, so you started to walk away. "Honey," Bob gently grabbed your arm and pulled you a little away from the others. "What's wrong?"

You gently shook your head at him, "We will talk after you're back. You need a clear head for this," you told him.

"I won't have a clear head knowing there's something wrong," Bob gently argued back.

"It's just, what's going to happen to us after this? What happened if you," You looked down at the place the toes of your shoes were gently kissing his, not able to finish the question.

"You know I can't promise to make it back, but I'm going to try. And when I get back," you didn't miss the fact that he said 'when' and not 'if'. "We will make this, whatever we are, work. Letters, FaceTime calls, random trips to the other, taking leave at the same time to visit each other and go on vacation, applying to the same stations for a chance to get put together, we will work it out. That I can promise," he told you, his hands grasping yours.

"Ok," you whispered. "Just, come back to me, alive. Hurt, broken, scared, I don't care. Just come back alive," you begged, you knew he wouldn't promise, that he couldn't promise.

"I'll try, Honey, I'll try," Bob told you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before separating.

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You met Bob, Natasha, Ruben, and Mickey down on the landing strip once you could. You were in Bob's arms faster than you should've been but he didn't care. He just hugged you tight and spun you to make up for the kinetic energy from your run.

"You're ok?" You pulled back, even with the nerves for both Bradley and Pete, you had to know.

"I am," he told you, easing your worries. You pulled away completely and tackled the others into a group hug.

"Mickey, get your ass in this hug," you called to the WSO who tried to avoid your grasp. Natasha was pressing her face into your neck as he hugged your waist as tight as possible while Ruben has his arms wrapped around both you and Natasha from your right side.

"What about Bob?" Mickey argued but came to your left side to wrap his arms around the three of you anyway.

"Bob," you just said his name and then his arms were circling all of you as he pressed his chest to your back. The five of you stood there for a moment, just soaking up the comfort.

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Pete and Bradley made it back and you made a mental note to tell Jake good job for helping them. There were celebrations everywhere and once Pete and Bradley had their moment, you forced the two into a group hug as well.

"Just accept your fate, boys. She'll hug you until you hug her back!" Callie told them over the noise and they listened, hugging you back.

You pulled away with a small smile, you didn't say anything but you figured they got the message. You let they go about their business as you found your way through the crowd to the edge. Bob met you there not even moments later, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his side.

"You came back," you breathed out, the tension you've been carrying for weeks finally falling.

"I did, I came back for you," he used his hold to turn you towards him as he did the same. His face was a little flushed from the excitement and good celebrations happening but his smile was that soft one you've gotten used to.

"You know, I could reprimand you two for relations within a squadron," Simpson ended up next to you two and you quickly pulled away from each other. "But, I'm not going to. When we get back, you two, along with the others, will be asked to stay on the North Island for the foreseeable future to train new recruits. If you take the job, I'll give you two the proper paperwork for whatever you two call this," he told you before leaving.

"Looks like fate is in our favor," you told Bob, pulling him into a kiss by the collar of his flight suit.

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rhaenyrathecruell · 6 hours ago

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B-A-B-Y (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: On a Monday morning, Rooster and Hangman bring Bob and Phoenix to a local diner, and Bob’s instantly smitten with the waitress singing along to the jukebox. Next thing he knows, “Diner Mondays” become a squad tradition… and so does watching Bob fall harder every week while the rest of the Daggers try to get him to finally ask her out. WORD COUNT: 2.7k WARNINGS: Fluff. Tooth rotting fluff. Reader wears glasses. NOTES: Yes. Like Baby Driver. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

It was an early Monday morning, and Bob was awake and ready earlier than he would’ve anticipated. He always woke up early for work, and on the weekend, out of habit. But that day, he had to wake up even earlier. Rooster and Hangman insisted on going to this diner with Phoenix and him. Bob wasn’t gonna turn down the idea of a real proper breakfast before their shifts, though he knew Phoenix was gonna be grumbling the whole time.

He pulled up in his baby blue truck to Dot’s and Joe’s, a stout metal and red building not too far from base. The sun was just rising, and it painted the sky that sleepy light blue. Spotting Rooster’s Ford Bronco and Hangman’s Jeep, he pulled up next to them right as they were getting out.

“Mornin’ Bob,” Rooster said. They were all dressed in their khaki uniforms, knowing they would change into flight suits once they arrived at training anyway.

Bob nodded with a small smile. “Mornin’ guys.”

Hangman stretched, “Where’s your pilot?”

He shrugged. “Phoenix isn’t a morning person.”

As if on cue, her black version of Rooster’s Ford Bronco pulled up and parked next to Bob’s truck. They watched as she got out of the car, grumbling and rubbing her eyes.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Hangman teased.

“Shut the fuck up, Hangman. It’s too early for your bullshit.” She groaned, making the rest of them laugh. Only she would cuss like a sailor at five in the morning. “Why on earth would you guys want to do this?”

Rooster started walking towards the doors of the place, and the rest followed. “They’ve got quite literally the best pancakes I’ve ever had. It’ll be worth it.”

They all walked in, and Bob looked around the interior. It was like they had hopped into a time machine. The classic 60s look was clean and colorful, even if the outside of the building seemed a little worn down. Red leather seats and silver table tops. Warm fluorescents wrapped around a countertop bar. Old movie posters and pin-up art hung up on every wall while a jukebox played oldies by the kitchen door.

Rooster and Hangman led them to a nearby booth, and they scooched in.

“It’s nice,” Bob said, nodding with a small smile.

Hangman chuckled, “Figured you of all people would like it. You look like you would’ve gotten your lunch money taken in Back to the Future.”

That made Rooster let out a laugh heartily enough to capture the attention of the staff, and Bob rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t help the smile. Okay, fine. That one was good. More original than his usual quips.

At the sound of Rooster’s laugh, the kitchen door swung open by the jukebox. A soft voice rang out. It was quiet enough for almost nobody in the diner to notice… But Bob sure did. A beautiful voice sang along to a song he didn’t recognize playing on the juke.

“B-A-B-Y. Baby. B-A-B-Y. Baby.”

His head turned over to see a waitress in a pink uniform and a little paper hat. In most cases, he’d just see the waitress and be excited to dig into some food. But for some reason, at the sight of her, his heart flipped in his chest. She was beautiful. In knee-high socks and glasses that were similar to his, though they weren’t nearly as big and awful-looking as his own. She swayed her head to the song without a care in the world as she held a notepad and pencil.

He didn’t even notice the rest of the squadron trying not to laugh at Bob’s obvious gawking.

“See something you like, Floyd?” Phoenix asked with a smirk.

Bob’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?” He asked quickly, making the rest of them laugh harder.

When the waitress spotted the table, she smiled and walked over.

“You two again.” She said, stopping by and looking at Hangman and Rooster, “And you’ve brought friends.” She smiled at him, and Phoenix and Bob could’ve sworn his heart stopped.

“Yeah, well, we had to share how good this place was,” Hangman said casually.

Bob looked at the nametag pinned on her top. Y/n. God, he was practically melting, and he was trying to resist the wiggly Charlie Brown smile that wanted to appear.

She tapped her pencil. “What were your call signs again? I remember thinking they were cool, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were.”

Rooster nodded and pointed to himself first. “Rooster. Hangman. Then those guys over there are Phoenix and Bob.”

She tilted her head with a smile as her eyes landed on Bob properly. “It’s Bob? What’s your real name then?”

With his heart beating out of his chest, he stammered, “B-bob. It’s just Bob.” He wished he could give another answer. He wished that his call sign wasn’t as simple as it was or that he had some sort of cool name like ‘Dagger’ or ‘Striker’... But he couldn’t even pretend like Bob didn’t fit him perfectly.

She laughed. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

She liked his name.

Hangman cut in, “We’ve made it stand for Baby on Board. He’s a backseater.”

“Oh, so like a WSO?”

She knew what that was? This conversation was just getting better and better, even with Hangman’s attempts to embarrass him.

Bob nodded, barely able to speak.

“That’s pretty awesome. My dad was Navy, so I like seeing ya’ll pop up here since we’re so close to North Island.” She explained, “Well, Rooster, Hangman, Phoenix, and Baby, what can I get started for ya?”

That wasn’t his call sign, and if it was, it would’ve been more embarrassing than just Bob. But having the beautiful waitress call him Baby? He could leap out of his skin. The massive blush that spread over his face was uncontrollable.

“Just four hot coffees to get us started, will ya, Y/n?” Hangman said

She didn’t even write it down. “Simple enough. I’ll be back.”

Bob watched her walk away, completely mesmerized. Especially as she jumped back into the song.

“Just one look- in your eye. And my temperature goes sky hi-” And the kitchen door swung closed.

There was a silence as the three pilots watched Bob, surprised as he sat there with a dreamy look on his face.

“Jesus, Floyd. I’ve never seen you so whipped. And you usually are by most people.” Hangman smirked, leaning back.

Once again, he was sadly snapped back to reality by Hangman. A common occurrence. “N-no. No, I’m not. She was nice.” He cleared his throat, pretending to look over the menu, “Really nice.”

Rooster made a little ‘Aw’-ing noise. “Buddy, it’s okay! I get it. She’s super cute.” He said, trying to be supportive, but Bob quickly shushed him, horrified at the prospect she might overhear.

“And she matches your dorkiness,” Hangman added

Bob shook his head, but he had that feeling, too. Their interaction had been so limited, yet he had a feeling they’d get along perfectly. He was already completely and totally captivated by her.

They left the diner an hour later to make it to work on time, but Bob couldn’t shake the thoughts of her that graciously occupied his brain. The whole day, even as he was driving or flying or doing push-ups, he’d hear her calling him ‘baby’. Or he’d think about how, when he put in his order for strawberry french toast, she winked at him and said that was her favorite. It was both horrifying and the best distraction he could ever ask for.

Wanting to make it a tradition, Rooster dragged the three of them back to the diner the following Monday. It was a nice thought. Start the week out with a great breakfast and end it with a Friday night at The Hard Deck.

Bob got out of his truck and looked over at Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix, who were already there.

“You’re here before me, Phoenix?” He asked, confused.

Phoenix chuckled even through tired eyes, “Couldn’t miss the Bob yearning show this morning.”

He practically choked on his own spit. “What?”

“Yeah, we’re surprised you weren’t the first one here to say hi to your little girlfriend.” Rooster teased.

He let out a little exasperated breath. “Can we go in now?”

Hangman walked towards the door, “Whatever you want, Baby.” He teased back, emphasizing the name the waitress had called him last time.

For the next few weeks, they had the same routine. They would sit down in their booth, and like clockwork, Y/n would strut out quietly singing along to whatever song was on the jukebox. It was like she had a Rolodex of 50s/'60s hits. The Supremes. Marvin Gaye. Aretha Franklin. Tom Jones. Even the songs he didn’t recognize sounded like his new favorite song coming from her.

Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix would all watch him stumble and smile up at her. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. And they would all tease him or even subtly try to hype Bob up to her. The three noticed how she seemed to pay special interest to Bob, even though he remained oblivious. They noticed how she always complimented him or would point out his glasses. There were little things- like her making his paper plate of ketchup a winky face or a heart, while the rest got stars or smiley faces. The fact that she always addressed him as Baby was more than enough to convince them. It wasn’t Bob or Baby on Board. It was just Baby.

But Bob was oblivious. He was completely convinced that she was just being friendly because she was being paid to be. He figured that a girl like that would already have a partner, and he didn’t want to be a creep. It wasn’t like him to hit on a girl while she was working. His mama taught him that it wasn’t appropriate.

So even as the rest of them egged him on to ask her out, he didn’t. He stayed comfortable with the small talk and stammering banter he’d make with her on those Monday mornings. It got to a point where even the rest of the squadron knew about this. Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote wanted to come with and see for themselves, but for the first time- Bob vehemently rejected them from coming. It would be obvious if suddenly there was a crowd watching him try not to turn red in the face while talking. And she deserved better than that.

One Monday, Y/n came back out singing that Carla Thomas song again. And when she reached the table, Bob couldn’t help himself.

“What’s that song playing? You’re always singing it.” He asked

Her eyes widened, “Oh goodness, I hope it’s not too cringy that I sing while working.” She said with a nervous smile.

All of them shook their heads, looking up at her. Rooster and Hangman went back to their menus with smirks while Phoenix looked down at her phone, as if they were all letting him have his moment. His favorite part of the week.

“No. No. I- I like your voice. I’m just wondering what the song is.” He said with his typical bashful look.

Her nervous smile upturned to a genuine one. “Oh, well, it’s Baby by Carla Thomas, but the title is spelled out like B-A-B-Y… Hey, that’s like your call sign, isn’t it?” She asked excitedly.

Bob nodded. “Kinda. Kinda yeah.”

“Guess, I’ll be listening to this song even more then, Baby.” She said, which made Hangman and Rooster look at each other with raised brows that said ‘it’s so obvious’, “I’ll be right out with your guys’ coffee.”

As she walked away, he heard “Whenever the sun don’t shine.”

The kitchen door swung shut.

“Jesus Christ, Bob, this is torture.” Rooster groaned, leaning his head back.

He looked at him, confused with furrowed brows.

“Look, Bob, I was a whole proponent of the whole don’t ask her out at work thing, but this is getting ridiculous,” Phoenix said, grabbing her menu.

“I don’t know what you guys mean. She’s just being nice.” Bob said, looking around at his friend’s exasperated faces.

Hangman dragged his hands down his face, “And calling you ‘baby’.”

Bob shook his head. “She thinks that’s my call sign.”

“So… she’s going to ‘listen to the song with your call sign more now’ because…?” Rooster added.

He couldn’t deny that. It was probably the most forward thing she had done besides smile and point out they were matching every Monday because of their glasses.

Bob shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”

Phoenix exchanged a look with Hangman… That couldn’t be good. Those two could barely stand each other, so if they were joining forces, something was up. Bob saw their stares.

“What-what are you guys doing?” Bob asked.

Phoenix turned to him, “If you don’t ask her out, I’m gonna have Hangman kill us in every dogfight this week. 200 push-ups each.”

He immediately groaned and put his head in his hands. The idea of that was pure torture. Not only did that mean he’d barely get to fly because he’d be tagged out every time they did, but 200 push-ups daily for a week. Look, Bob was strong… but his shoulders and biceps shivered at the thought.

“You’re evil. You’re literally evil.” He said, looking over at Phoenix.

Rooster tapped the table. “You’ll thank us later.”

After they all paid, Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix all walked out, leaving Bob still lingering behind inside. He felt awkward. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there anymore because it was outside of this routine. When Y/n came back out, his heart beat so hard he thought it might stop. It had gone from zero to sixty at just the sight of her.

When she spotted him, her eyes brightened and she walked straight towards him. He swallowed anxiously.

“Hey, Baby! What are you still doing here? Need something?” She asked smiling

Oh god. Oh dear god.

“No, no, I was just uh, I was just-” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his friends not so subtly watching him from outside the window. He scratched the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thanks.” He nodded.

OH GOD WHAT WAS HE DOING? THANKS? A little confused, but still smiling, she nodded. “You’re welcome. Any time.”

He took a deep breath before spitting out, “I was just wondering if you’d like to… go out sometime. I- I know this isn’t appropriate when you’re working and all, but-”

“I’d love to.” Her face was the brightest he had seen it. It didn’t seem like forced hospitality. She seemed genuinely enthusiastic. “God, Bob, I was waiting for you to ask.”

He blinked and shook his head in disbelief, “You were?”

“I was worried you never would.” She said, “I’m free this weekend if you are.”

It felt like he was melting into the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I am. I’ll uh- here.”

He reached over to a table and grabbed a napkin, quickly scribbling his number on it. Handing it to her, he added, “And if you change your mind, I won’t be mad.”

She took it and folded it neatly before putting it in her pocket. “I would never.”

They stood there for a moment just looking at each other. She smiled, and Bob let out a nervous laugh. This felt like a dream, and he was still waiting to wake up. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She didn’t seem creeped out. And she had been waiting for him to ask her, despite being at work.

“I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll see you.” He said, nodding.

“See ya soon, Baby.” She waved before going back into the kitchen.

Walking out, Bob’s legs felt like jelly. It was like he was on the aircraft carrier for the first time, and he couldn’t get his bearings. He fully wore the bashful smile now, unable to resist it.

“So?” Phoenix asked, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk.

“She said yes.” He said breathlessly.

541 notes · View notes

rhaenyrathecruell · 6 hours ago

Text

Knight in Shining Glasses : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: All you wanted to do was enjoy your first night in San Diego at the bar recommended to you by your father, but a hot-shot new to the Top Gun program was intent on bringing you home with him, or at least couldn't take a hint. Lucky for you, there's a knight in shining glasses ready to save you.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), fluff, language, kind of a pushy douchebag guy is in this, female reader, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol but I did do a ton of research so hopefully it's accurate-ish), suggestive and steamy but no smut (but boy did we get real close), like a TINY maybe hint of angst for 0.2 seconds

Word Count: 11,044 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“Another beer?”

You nodded your head at the gorgeous woman behind the bar, who was already sliding a beer your way before you’d even answered, as if she could read your mind. You gave her a smile in thanks, sighing the second your hand touched the cool glass of the bottle.

San Diego was hot, too hot for your liking. Every piece of fabric on your body felt as if it was clinging to your body right now in a way that had you begging the world just to make it legal to walk around naked. You much preferred the weather back in New England, on the complete opposite side of the country, but you had promised to come to town for a bit. It had been years since you’d seen your father, not since his promotion and subsequent move to San Diego, your conflicting work schedules making it impossible to make the cross-country trip, even if you missed him.

You were here now, though, seated in the bar that had come highly recommended to you straight from him: The Hard Deck, located right on Coronado Beach, just minutes from the Naval Air Station of North Island.

“Local beer?” you questioned the woman as yet another group of rowdy, young Naval aviators came bursting through the doors of the bar, disturbing some of the other guests in the packed bar. The woman, whose nametag you could now see said Penny, just laughed at the antics of her new guests before nodding at you.

“Yeah, local company. They’re pretty popular around here, so I always have to keep them in stock,” you hummed, taking another sip of the drink in your hands. Rich in flavor, maybe with a hint of sweetness that complemented the bitterness it left behind. You could see why it was popular around here. Penny wiped the bar directly in front of you, flashing you a smile. “Now, I know most of my regulars here, and you certainly aren’t one. Where’d you blow into town from?”

“Watertown, New York,” you told her as another group of Naval aviators passed by you in their service khakis, older than the group that had just come in. Your eyes followed them for just a moment, lingering as they moved to the back of the room to the pool tables as if they were there every night, before looking back at Penny. “My father is in the Navy, stationed here in San Diego. Thought it was finally time I visited him.”

“Good, means you know how to deal with the rowdy bunch I have here,” you both laughed as she gestured toward the group of young pilots that had just come through. Someone called to her from further down the bar, and she paid you one final smile. “Holler if you need anything, or if anyone’s giving you trouble.”

“Will do,”

With the jukebox playing off in the corner, Summer of ‘69 by Bryan Adams filling the air, it gave you a chance to really take in the atmosphere. Given the proximity to the Naval Air Station, you weren’t surprised by the amount of Navy paraphernalia that decorated the entire bar. Mugs hung from the ceiling with F18s on them, plenty of pictures of those monster jets hung up around the tables as well. And with the clientele that Penny seemed to attract here, judging by the number of young pilots scattered around, you weren’t surprised that this seemed to have turned into a place many in the Navy flocked to after a long day on base.

The young group of aviators, who seemed to have met up with another group of friends, were loud and rambunctious over by the dart board as they took bets on who could make a bullseye first. You rolled your eyes at their antics with a slight smile, reminded of the stories your father had told of his days, and looked over your shoulder toward that older group by the pool tables.

Easily your age, or at least older and more experienced than the group by the dart board. There was one woman among the groups of men with darker hair, already kicking their asses at the pool game they were playing. That alone quirked your lips up just slightly as you watched Penny deliver a tray of drinks to the group that seemed very personally friendly with her. Ah, so they must be stationed here at North Island and be regulars of the Hard Deck.

They were quite the bunch, from what you observed from the bartop. There was the young man playing alongside the woman, and what seemed like his best friend pestering him after another missed shot. There was a taller, tan blonde who you could tell from here exuded confidence in an over-the-top way, and a friend beside him who also seemed to have that arrogant confidence about him. The man taking the tray from Penny and passing out the drinks had that same confidence and charm, but it almost seemed to roll off of him naturally as if he wasn’t even trying to charm those around him.

It was the one sitting off to the side, silently observing his friends, that caught your eye.

He didn’t exude confidence in the same way that his friends did. He wasn’t walking sex on legs like many would think the tall, overconfident friends of his were…but he was to you. Quiet, simply observing his friends with a tiny smile that stirred something in your chest. One hand holding onto the neck of his beer bottle, the same one you were drinking, and the other casually snacking on a cup of peanuts. You tried, and failed, to keep your eyes from lingering on those long, slender fingers of his, or the fact that, even from here, you could tell his hands were large in a delicious way that had your mind imagining what they’d feel like settled on your bare-

Okay, yeah, maybe it was time to say ‘fuck it’ to your no hook-up rule and get laid on this vacation. You couldn’t be thinking like this over a man you’d been looking at for less than a minute, didn’t even know his name, or had yet to make eye contact with.

But then, when your eyes finally left those slender hands, you were making eye contact with him.

There was an adorable flush crawling across his cheeks, and god were you a sucker for a cute man in some glasses. His lips quirked up in a shy smile as he met your gaze, giving you a tiny nod. A similar flush crept up your neck at being caught staring, giving him a small wink before turning back around to not seem like a creep watching him.

With Penny off taking orders as the bar only seemed to get busier by the minute, and no one around you seemed like good options for a conversation, you found yourself spun around to lean against the bar and observe the room. No time like a crowded bar to people watch.

With a few work emails checked to ensure you weren’t missing anything pressing on your vacation, and a text sent to your father to thank him for the bar recommendation, you found your eyes drifting back to that same Naval aviator once more.

The woman had dragged him from his seat, his beer and peanuts left behind as a pool cue was shoved into his hands as his friends cheered, bringing a grin to your face. Your eyes tracked him as he bent over the table to line up his shot, his friends engrossed in a conversation together, but then his eyes flicked up and met yours again. Your eyebrow shot up as you raised a beer to him, a simultaneous encouragement for him to sink his shot and also a challenge to see if he could. His lips quirked up at that as, without even glancing down to his cue, he took his shot: directly in the pocket without interference. His friends clapped for him, patting him on the back, but his eyes stayed on you. Even with another flush crawling up his neck and nerves practically stitched into his smile, he shot you a wink this time, and you couldn’t stop the giddy grin on your lips.

“Well, never seen girl as pretty you before,”

You didn’t want to stop looking at that gorgeous man in glasses across the bar, but you were intrigued to know who was speaking to you.

He wasn’t the worst-looking man, he was attractive. Dark hair that matched the mustache and the beard that was growing in, which was definitely against grooming standards for the Navy. Pretty brown eyes…but he wasn’t your shy, glasses-sporting boy across the room. Plus, you recognized him from that rowdy bunch of pilots that had walked in beforehand. The smile you’d given the man across the bar dropped into the smallest, friendliest one you could muster as you looked at the name on his badge: Jackson.

“Well, that’s definitely a way to open up a conversation,” you shot back. The man only laughed, leaning against the bar next to you with a charming, over-confident grin on his lips.

“Warrant Officer Daniel Jackson,” he held out his hand to shake yours, and you reluctantly gave it to him. You regretted it the moment he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you quickly took your hand back and slyly wiped it along the side of your jeans. “Friends call me Caveman.”

“Interesting callsign,” you shot back with a fake laugh, tilting your head. “You get that from the unkempt beard that’s clearly not within grooming protocols?

He laughed again, but it did nothing to lift your smile from where it was frozen to be polite. He took a swig from his own beer that he’d brought over with him before leaning closer.

“Funny, and you know the Navy,” you laughed uncomfortably again, taking a subconscious scoot backward on your chair to get away from him. “Brand new to Top Gun, friends and I got in earlier. About to become the best of the best…”

He continued talking, droning on and on about Top Gun and the ‘prestige’ that came with being one of the best of the best (if he could actually get through the vigorous training). In the interest of being polite and not pissing off a man your first night in town, you laughed politely when appropriate and pretended to be listening.

When your eyes glanced back at that man in the glasses, though, he was already looking at you. Back to standing near the seat he’d occupied before, peanuts in his hands and the pool game abandoned as he seemed to be watching you. You gave him a dramatic roll of your eyes, pitching your head toward the pilot still talking your ear off as if to say ‘get a load of this guy,’ and you could see him laugh from across the bar. That simple action sent a flutter through your chest, and god, what you wouldn’t give to actually hear that laugh.

“...I could show you base sometime,” your attention was, sadly, brought back to Caveman beside you, who was still smiling at you as if you were a prize he’d won and wanted to flaunt around the entire bar to each and every patron. “Could sponsor ya for the day, give ya a private tour.”

“That’s sweet, but I’m sure if I wanted to visit the base, my father would happily sponsor me,” you shot back, trying to turn him down as politely as you possibly could. Your comment only seemed to brighten his mood even more.

“Navy dad, you say?” he’d leaned in closer once more, and you were running out of room on the little stool to lean away from him. “Guess that means you know a lot. Dad have rules about…dating pilots?”

Yeah, no, now you were uncomfortable. There was no being polite now, he’d made his intentions clear and could clearly not read your body language. Your body instantly tensed as your eyes avoided his, still trying to keep the most polite smile you could on your lips. Penny was nowhere in sight to help, so your eyes immediately found your pilot across the room.

He was already watching you, it seemed, but when you locked eyes again, he stood up a little straighter, the smile he had on his face dropping slightly. It was as if he could see the way your demeanor had suddenly changed, and god, you hoped he could see it.

“I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for anything like that,” you’d awkwardly laughed out as you looked back at him finally. “I’m just here on vacation.”

That was when his hand settled on top of your knee, and your heart leapt into your throat. The heat of his hand felt like it was burning a hole in your jeans as he squeezed just so.

“Don’t got to be anything serious, I’m down for some fun,”

That polite smile was gone off your face in an instant as you tried to yank your leg from him, but he squeezed it just slightly tighter.

“Okay, Caveman, sounds like you must’ve got your nickname from how you treat women,” that snide comment seemed to drop his confident demeanor immediately. “I’ve turned you down, I’ve made it clear I’m not interested. So I suggest you let me go.”

“Come on, I think you just need to-”

“I’m pretty sure she said let her go, Caveman,”

There was an edge to the voice that cut in, but not one that made you feel on edge yourself. A hand clamped down on your shoulder from behind, firm but not uncomfortable in the way that the hand on your knee was. Grounding, and when it squeezed your shoulder just slightly, it felt comforting. Protective, in a way. And when you finally turned your head and noticed those familiar glasses you’d been staring at all night, and those gorgeous blue eyes hiding behind them, you immediately relaxed into his touch.

Caveman’s hand immediately left your knee as he seemed to sit up a little straighter, putting his hands up in surrender as he looked at the man standing at your side now.

“Lieutenant Floyd-”

“Things are looking tense over here!” those two pilots you’d observed earlier, the ones who exuded confidence in your eyes, suddenly appeared behind Caveman. The taller blonde placed his hand down on his shoulder just as Lieutenant Floyd’s was on yours, and you glanced at their tags: Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw. The blonde pointed to Caveman, raising an eyebrow at the man at your side. “Baby-on-board, is this man causing trouble?”

Your shoulder was squeezed once more as you turned back to look at the man at your side, feeling another flutter in your chest as you got a good look at those sky blue eyes up close, which made him even more attractive in your eyes. He gave you a small smile, tilting his head toward your ‘friend’ just like you had earlier on.

“Is he bothering you?”

You’d glanced back at Caveman, who seemed semi-scared shitless around these guys, and a smirk curled up on your lips.

“Yes, yes he is,”

“Disrespecting a lady?” it was Penny’s voice now as she reappeared behind the bar, her glare set on that poor pilot that everyone was ganging up on. She ‘tsked’ in his direction, before stepping back to point to a sign hanging just behind her. “It’s your first night here, you should probably check the rules before you get comfortable.”

Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cellphone on my bar…you buy a round.

Alright, Penny might be your new favorite person, besides the hot ass pilot in glasses still comfortably resting his hand on your shoulder as the scene played out before you all.

Caveman never even got a chance to defend himself, as Penny had stepped up to the bell hanging from the ceiling beside the sign, the ring of it echoing throughout the bar. Within seconds, there were chants of ‘OVERBOARD!’ heard throughout the room before Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw had the man hooked under their arms, dragging him out to the parking lot as his friends quickly followed behind.

“A-Are you okay?”

Your eyes found your pilot’s brilliant blue ones again, this time in front of you as he chose to now occupy the seat Caveman was sitting in just moments prior. You simply stared at him for a moment, still trying to process the entire interaction, before a smile stretched wide across your face.

“You know, I thought the Knight in all the fairytales was wearing shining armor?” you posed it like a question, a teasing tone present in your words as you took a quick swig of your beer, eyes never leaving his, and your smile turning into a slight smirk. “Didn’t know mine was going to come bearing shining glasses, instead.”

He’d laughed, that laugh just minutes ago you would’ve burned this bar down to hear, and my god, did you adore it. You adored it more than you should, given that you still didn’t know this mystery man’s name.

“No woman deserves to be treated like that, ma’am,” he tried to dismiss you, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as your eyes trailed over those hands once again, now that they were so close. You could see the redness in his cheeks from this close now, too. “T-The way he was acting, my mom would’ve torn me a new one if I didn’t step in.”

“And is that the only reason?” you quipped back immediately, placing your beer down on the counter just so you could really look at him, study him. “That you stepped in?”

You could see the way he hesitated for a moment, but not as if he didn’t want to answer you. No, you could see that flush deepening in his skin: you were flirting with him, and he knew it, he just didn’t know how to handle it.

“N-No, no, that’s not the only reason,” there was a shy smile on his face as he huffed out a sheepish laugh, looking down at his lap for a moment, before looking back to you. “I should actually thank him, his incompetence gave me the balls to come over here and talk to you.”

He’d made you laugh, a boisterous one that caught the attention of a few lingering around the area of the bartop you were sat at, and you knew already that you were screwed when it came to this man. You’d offered your name immediately after that, a hand out to shake, and he took it in his own as he gave his name: Bob Floyd.

You tried desperately not to think about the way his hand had felt against yours, or the way it had absolutely engulfed your hand due to its sheer size alone. You forced your gaze to the badges that adorned the left side of his khaki uniform, glancing back up at him with a grin as you pulled your hand away.

“So, a Lieutenant?” you commented, gesturing toward the two silver bars on the collar of his uniform, before pointing with your beer bottle to the golden wings centered above his heart. “Flight officer badge. You’re a Weapons Systems Officer?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gave you another kind grin as Penny swung by quickly, shooting a wink in both of your directions as you slid you both another beer each, muttering something about it being on the house. Bob took his with a sheepish smile, thanking Penny quietly before his attention refocused on you. “Top Gun graduate.”

“Ah, that and the rank explain why Caveman was so scared shitless to see you and your friends,” he’d laughed again at that comment as you finished off the last of your beer, a sly smirk appearing as it was hard to miss the way that Bob’s eyes flickered down to your neck as you tilted you head back to finish off the bottle. “Typically, you’re only recalled here for special detachments and sent home to your squadrons, unless you’re here to train newbies like our friend in the sand outside.”

“We were brought in for a mission months ago,” Bob’s attention was turned away as Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw reentered the bar. They both gave you polite waves that you happily returned for what they’d done for you, before making the most obvious of kissy faces toward Bob that had him shaking his head in embarrassment. You tried to hold in your laughter for his own sake. “They thought we had good team dynamics, so they formed a special squadron to keep us in town for a while. VFA-73 Dagger Squad, at your service.”

“Well, cheers to you all and a sincere thanks for your service,” he happily clinked the top of his bottle against your own. “Must be one special group to get a new squadron formed, no less made up of the best of the best.”

“Oh, they’re special, alright,”

You’d quickly come to learn in the next few minutes that Bob Floyd might’ve been the quieter one of his friends, but he was just as charming as the rest seemed to be. Honestly, you weren’t sure he understood just how charming he really was. He’d pointed across the bar toward his friends, naming off their names and the callsigns that you were sure to remember more easily. With each name, he seemed to easily have a story or a quick-witted quip about each one (including the embarrassing story of his Bob ended up his callsign and how Hangman had turned it into baby-on-board) that had you progressively laughing harder, leaning further toward him. You were seated facing one another, bodies angled directly at the other, and his knee was just barely brushing up against yours now with each laugh shared.

“Hangman seems like a piece of work, but I bet he’s got a soft side buried somewhere down in there,” you’d shot back, turning Bob’s attention back to you as you leaned closer to him with a grin, launching into a story that Bob seemed gripped to, an easy smile on his own face. “My dad’s the same way, took my Uncle Solomon–not my real Uncle, but kind of chosen Uncle–to break him down a little bit, get him to loosen up more.”

“So, your father was in the Navy?”

“Still is, reason that I’m in town right now,”

With Bob this close, you were losing focus fast. The way he hung onto every word that you said, seemed to genuinely care about what you had to say, had a flutter flying through your chest that you hadn’t felt since your first boyfriend back in high school. Sure, you’d had your fair share of relationships in adulthood, but nothing that clicked, no one that made your heart soar or made you want to ‘pop your foot’ as Princess Mia always said in your favorite childhood movie. You were starting to understand her logic, though, because every second around this charming knight in shining glasses had you ready to throw caution to the wind.

So, with a little boost of confidence fueled by the third beer in your hand and the adorable sight of a blush on the Naval aviator’s face, you moved even closer. Your leg slotted itself between his, pressed between his thighs as your foot rested against the bottom rungs of his chair. You could see him freeze for just a second as his eyes followed you, not apprehensive, but just unsure, like he’d never been here before. With your beer pushed off to the side, not seeing a need for any more liquid courage, your elbow came to rest on the bartop and your head on top of your hand, allowing you to look up at the handsome man before you and watch as he visibly swallowed the lump in his throat.

God, that really had no right to be as hot as it was.

“S-So, he’s stationed here on North Island?”

“Maybe,” you shot back with a smirk, one that brought an easy smile back to his lips as he could surely hear the teasing tone laced through your words as you kept your answer vague. “I’d prefer not to talk about my dad, though, when I could be hearing more about the incredibly handsome WSO who saved this poor damsel in distress.”

Another easy laugh was shared between you both before the floodgates seemed to open up.

Bob had no issue telling you all about his childhood. He’d grown up in Montana, on a ranch somewhere on the outskirts of Bozeman, which prompted a lengthy debate on whether or not he qualified as a cowboy or not (you thought he did, and when he confessed to owning a few cowboy hats, you declared yourself the winner of the debate). His mother and father, Bonnie and Owen Floyd, had three daughters before finally having Bob, their youngest: Laura, and the twins Sophia and Sierra. He’d recounted a story from back in high school when they’d taken a trip to Yellowstone National Park for Bob’s birthday, at his request, where his oldest sister had gotten yelled at by a park ranger for stepping way too close to one of the hot springs.

“That’s, like, impossible to do!” you’d almost shouted through the bar incredulously as Bob laughed at your reaction. “All you have to do is stay on the guided paths, right?”

“That’s what I said!” Bob managed to explain through his own laughter. “Laura swore she saw a bald eagle and was just trying to get a closer look. She then, unbelievably, yelled back at the ranger about how one day she was going to be a conservationist and work there.”

“In the nicest way…she sounds like a piece of work sometimes,”

“No offense taken, the whole family agrees. I like to say she took all the extrovertedness in the family so that there was none left for me,”

Your lips quirked into another bright smile at that, tone slightly teasing once more, but in a soft way.

“I don’t know, you don’t seem so introverted around me,”

Bob paused at that, that adorable blush still ever present in his skin, as his lips quirked up just slightly higher than they were before.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t,” he’d shyly managed to say, eyes never straying from yours. “You make it easy.”

With more shared laughter, two hearts fluttering just from conversation alone, Bob even told you the story of how he’d decided to join the Navy. He’d been with his father one day, the family truck getting worked on at the local shop, and his dad had slid him some money to grab them both some snacks from the pharmacy a few doors down. Bob had only been around 10 at the time. In between those two buildings, though, had been a Navy recruitment center where he’d overheard the conversation inside with some high school students, and the rest was history. He suddenly had every book known to man about the Navy, was watching every movie that even mentioned the Navy in passing, and had sheepishly admitted to even starting a collection of model planes he’d built, dreaming one day of flying them.

God, if that wasn’t somehow the cutest story in the world, but also the hottest moment of vulnerability you’d seen from a man your age in years, you were practically ready to swoon and drop to the floor right there in the middle of the bar. You had a feeling that Penny wouldn’t take kindly to that, even if she seemed to like you and Bob’s friend group.

In turn, you’d told Bob everything about yourself, too. Growing up in a town in New York that felt more like it was part of Canada than New York, given your proximity to the border. You were an only child, your father (who had you skirting around any details that Bob asked about him) was too focused on his career to think about having another kid. But he always swore that you were enough for him. His workaholic nature and deep love for the Navy and moving up the ranks strained the relationship he had with your mother until they divorced. How you never got to see him often, but he always managed to call at least once a week to talk to his ‘perfect girl.’

With the depressing comparison of your childhoods and family dynamics, you’d told him the happy stories and memories, too. Ones that you didn’t normally divulge to a man you had just met. You’d been on a softball team all through high school with your best friends, won multiple championships, and even gotten a scholarship to Boston University because of it. There were multiple stories about how your parents always bribed you with Cold Stone Creamery, and how it was still your favorite ice cream place today. That time your friends had gotten caught sneaking alcohol into the punch bowls at prom (that story had Bob laughing, as he recounted a similar one that Hangman had told them from his high school days). And, of course, the thrilling stories of your very mundane marketing job back in your hometown, the one you never managed to escape.

“You at least like your job, though, right?” Bob had asked, and with the way you were now sitting together, it would probably be more comfortable and practical to just climb into his lap and use him as a chair. Legs still wound around one another, both leaning against the bar with beers long forgotten, faces entirely too close together as you sat in your own bubble together. The sun had long since gone down, as it had still been in the beginning stages of setting when you’d first entered the bar.

One hour, two? You had no clue how long you’d been talking to Bob Floyd, but every part of you wanted to talk to him for the rest of the night and beyond. It was easy, it was comfortable, and you felt more respected in the entirety of this conversation than you did on any Tinder date you’d been on in years. Safe. That’s what you felt. You felt safe around Bob Floyd, a feeling that was a hot commodity in today's dating climate.

“I do. I went to school for it, so I hope I like it,” your eyes drifted to the bartop, finger absentmindedly tracing the water ring left around your discarded beer bottle. “Pays well, very well. Just want to do it…somewhere other than my hometown, is all. Love the company I work for, just want a change. If an opportunity presented itself, I’d leave Watertown immediately.”

“And besides your mom, you wouldn’t uh…you wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind, would you? No like a, uh, a boyfriend…or anything?”

You’d glanced back up at him now, at the way he bit into his bottom lip with both nerves and hope shining in his eyes as he waited with baited breath for your answer. And in turn, you smiled, leaning just the slightest bit closer to him with amusement laced in your words.

“Lieutenant Floyd, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been flirting with you all night. I wouldn’t do that if there was someone waiting for me,”

He laughed then, and you could almost physically see the tension and nerves leave his body.

“Good, because uh, I-I don’t either. Have anyone, I mean,” your head tilted as Bob groaned slightly, running a hand down his face and adjusting his glasses with a deep chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m really not good at this.”

“At flirting?”

“I never really get the chance to, no one ever really notices me,” he’d shrugged it off like it was nothing, but you’d felt a small pang in your chest at that comment. “Jake, Bradley, Javy…it’s always them, and it doesn’t normally bother me. But I…I saw you earlier, and you looked at me like you saw me. Like you really saw me. You never looked at them, you kept looking at me. And…I’ve never been the one looked at like that, not when I’m with them. I’m not the one noticed.”

You shuffled, sitting up slightly now so that you weren’t leaning against the bar, as you placed your hand on top of his, where it lay in his lap. Bob simply watched you, a tiny smile never leaving his face, as you reciprocated the look and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m not one to flirt with a random guy at a bar, or sit and divulge details of my life story to him for hours on end. Which means you, Bob Floyd, are special. And honestly? I’m glad the other ladies don’t notice you, because I sure did. And that just leaves more for me.”

There was silence for a beat before his hand under your own moved back just slightly, his fingers now splayed out over your own, wrapping around them slightly with a tiny squeeze. And somewhere in that small movement, in the looks exchanged in the never-ending eye contact you seemed to hold with one another, something changed. Those heated looks from earlier held a new weight with the words spoken out loud, the tension on the rope connecting the two of you tighter than it had been from the moment you’d first saw Bob Floyd from across the bar, and it felt like all it was going to take to snap that tension was to lean in-

“Baby-on-board! You done hogging your girl over there so we can meet her?”

And…moment ruined. Bob immediately shut his eyes, groaning with a mumble under his breath about how he was ‘going to kill Hangman’ while his friends all laughed from across the bar. You’d simply laughed, leaning your head down until your forehead rested against Bob’s shoulder, his breath and words ghosting over the side of your face as he finally spoke.

“Sorry about them. The one time I have a girl interested in me, they decide to be pricks about it,”

“Maybe they’re just trying to summon you back over, I have held you hostage long enough,” you commented when you finally lifted your head, glancing down at the watch on his arm to see that you had, in fact, held this man hostage at the bar for almost two hours, even though it had felt like minutes.

“Trust me, this was no hostage situation. I’d rather be over here with you,” Bob was quick to interject, his smile seeming to stretch wider as you were sure he could see the flush crawling up your own neck. Untangling your legs, Bob rose to his feet beside the chair as a pang of disappointment hit you square in the chest. That was, until he held his hand out to you with a sheepish grin. “Care to join me?”

You were pretty sure you would’ve followed Bob Floyd anywhere at this point. Was it insane to like a guy this much after barely knowing him for a night? Probably, but you didn’t feel like you’d just met him. No, Bob Floyd felt like meeting an old friend again, and god did you love the feeling. That’s why you didn’t hesitate to put your hand in his.

“Lead the way, Lieutenant,”

There was another round of cheers the second you and Bob were finally in their vicinity, another comment from Hangman about ‘Bobby finally bagging a woman’ that ended with a harsh shoulder slap from Phoenix. You’d only laughed as Bob shook his head at their antics and gratefully accepted the barstool he’d held out for you. Your eyes watched him, like they had been the entire night, as he turned down the invitation to the pool game at hand, taking a seat on the stool directly next to you.

What he probably hadn’t expected was for your foot to hook around the leg of his stool, dragging it directly to your side until every part of you that could be pressed up against the handsome WSO was. When he saw the easy smile on your face and the tiny wink you gave him, you could see any last bit of tension leave his body as he easily leaned into you as well.

They’d all quickly introduced themselves, though Bob had already given you the rundown before. You greeted them politely with a smile, finally giving them your own name so Bradley didn’t have to call you ‘mystery bar girl’ anymore.

“Well, well, well baby-on-board,” it was Hangman once again, shaking his head as he took a shot on one of his last solids left in play, sinking it easily. “Looks like you snagged a confident one. Too bad, bet I could’ve swept her off her feet if given the chance.”

Flirty. Bob certainly didn’t exaggerate just how flirtatious Jake Seresin seemed to be, not that you were interested at all in any comments from him. The comments didn’t catch you off guard, but Bob’s actions did.

His hand was immediately on your thigh, closer down toward your knee, but resting there nonetheless. Just the slightest bit of pressure, enough to feel as if it had been meant in a comforting gesture, but it inherently held something a little more to it. Not quite possessiveness, but something akin to staking a claim, to say you were with him and him only. While Caveman’s hand on any part of you had you wanting to run for the hills, Bob’s firm grip had you leaning into his side more, chasing after the warmth and security he provided. It still sent a flash of heat through every inch of your body, especially when you glanced down to see just how big his hand was when it was resting on such a small part of you. You wished you’d opted for the jean shorts you had picked out earlier now just to feel his hand engulf your bare skin instead.

“Knock it off, Bagman. Clearly, she’s more interested in the quiet types,” the wink Natasha sent your way made you laugh, a similar chuckle coming from Bob at his front-seater’s comments, as she whacked Hangman over the shoulder. While lining up to take her own shot in the game, you saw her catch the way Bob’s hand rested on your leg, and a flash of surprise followed by pride seemed to cross her features. “So, never seen you around before. What brings you to Fightertown?”

“Visiting my dad for a few weeks, he’s stationed here on North Island. But…I’m also here for work,” you could see Bob’s head turn to look at you curiously from the corner of your eye, but you kept your gaze on Natasha. “The marketing firm I work for has a branch out here in San Diego, over in Chula Vista. They know I’ve been looking to move, so they thought I should come check out their set-up out here to see if I liked it enough to take their offer.”

There was a squeeze to your thigh as you turned your attention back to Bob, who was looking at you quizically.

“You didn’t mention that before,”

“Wasn’t sure I was going to take their offer earlier,” you shrugged innocently. “San Diego is hot, I’m not built for this weather.”

“But you…think you might take it now?”

You bit into your bottom lip, leaning just a fraction closer to Bob as you tried to hold back your grin as you replied.

“Well…maybe I found another enticing reason to hang around San Diego for a while,”

There was a low murmur of laughter throughout the group at your words, that gorgeous redness settling back into Bob’s cheeks, and you could hear Fanboy mumble out just loud enough a ‘damn, she’s good at this’ comment.

The group asked their questions, and you answered happily. Where you were from, what all your job entailed, even the stupid little questions like who your celebrity crush was or if you ever thought about joining the Navy like your father.

All the while, Bob never strayed from your side. His thumb had been rubbing little circles into your jeans, just firm enough to feel it on your skin each time the digit moved back and forth, and god, you were really cursing yourself for not wearing those shorts right now. At some point, during a pool rematch between Rooster and Coyote, your head had found it’s way to rest against Bob’s shoulder, and after a brief moment there was the unmistakeable feel of lips pressed to the crown of your head that had a shiver running down your spine and another flash of heat rushing through you, this time heading all south.

Charming, sexy in a quiet way that made him seem so non-threatening, and an absolutely sweetheart and a gentleman…it hadn’t even been a day, but you knew Bob Floyd had already ruined your standards for men. He was the standard.

“Sorry, my favorite fighter pilots,” the attention of everyone crowded by the pool tables turned to Penny, hand on her hip, but an easy smile on her face as she glanced around, eyes lingering on you and the WSO who were still wrapped around one another. “Last call time, going to have to kick you all out now.”

Last call? With a quick glance around the bar, you noticed that there was, in fact, barely any patrons still around. The ones still left behind were already moving toward the door. And with a glance down at Bob’s watch, the time was confirmed: 2 a.m.

“Damn, we almost never stay here until last call,” Rooster laughed, packing up everything on the pool table so that Penny didn’t have to deal with it, Fanboy and Paybackl disappearing after offering to help Penny clean up bottles still littered around the bar.

“Time does fly when you’re having fun,” Natasha commented, bumping shoulders with him before she set her sights on you. “What about you, our honorary Dagger? Need a ride back to wherever you’re staying?”

“Nah, I’m staying at Hotel del Coronado right down the beach. Perks of the job. I just walked along the beach to get here earlier,” your gaze then flickered over to Bob, his thumb still rubbing circles into your leg where he’d never let go throughout the night. “Though it’s pretty late, I’d love if there was some knight in shining glasses still hanging around that wouldn’t mind walking me back.”

There wasn’t a second of hesitation from Bob before he was on his feet, the heat of his hand on your leg disappearing, and then reappearing moments later when his hand wrapped around your own, fingers sliding into place between yours.

“I’ve got tomorrow off, I’ll see you guys on base Sunday,” Bob nodded toward his friends, tugging you even closer to his side. “Tell Penny I’ll come grab my truck later.”

“More like in the morning,” Hangman commented, trying to conceal it surrounded by fake coughs. The group had laughed, the comment spurring another bloom of red across Bob’s cheeks and your own, before he’d tugged you out the back door of the Hard Deck and into the sand.

The beach in these early hours of the morning was quiet, beautiful in a way that only these lonely hours of the night could make it. No distant sound of traffic, no families or rowdy groups of teenagers running up and down the sand, just the sand, the waves, and the moon. It cast streaks of light over the water, its reflection rippling in the waves as they crashed to shore, setting the scene of a picturesque night along the stretch of sand that lasts miles.

Bob had held you up as you removed your sandals, carrying them in one hand in order to appreciate the cool sand beneath your feet. Your other hand still stayed wrapped up in Bob’s, the warmth of his skin a delicious contrast to the cool breeze that came with the cool nighttime California air. Conversation hadn’t stopped, not once, since you’d both started talking earlier on in the night, but this time it was Bob pointing up at the sky as you lazily moved down the beach at the slowest pace you could, naming constellations visible.

“That one right over there,” you followed his gaze as he pointed just slightly West in the sky. “That one is Hercules.”

“Ah, absolutely. I can totally see it,” you nodded your head repeatedly, and it was clear that Bob was already starting to laugh at your response. “The square those stars form, and the little stick arms and legs, definitely gives off a mythological Greek hero to me.”

“Well, actually,” Bob managed to speak through his laughter. “It’s named for his Roman counterpart. Heracles was his Greek counterpart, so they’re essentially the same thing.”

After a moment, you dropped Bob’s hand, turning and angling your body so that you were facing him head-on, walking backward in the sand. Even in the dark of the night, you could tell there was a tiny blush creeping along his cheeks as you tilted your head toward him.

“Bob Floyd, don’t tell me you’re also a secret space nerd!”

His laugh echoed down the beach as he hung his head for a moment, adjusting his glasses when he finally looked back up to you with a grin.

“Guilty, hard not to be with the kind of night skies I grew up seeing in Montana. I-I haven’t…completely ruined my chances now that I’ve nerded out…have I?”

“On the contrary. I have a thing for smart men,” with another wink, you’d spun on your heel in the sand, continuing your walk toward the hotel. “Especially this smart, handsome WSO named Bob Floyd that I met tonight.”

You’d barely gotten a few steps away before there was a sudden tug on your hand, your body spinning back around in the sand until your chest was pressed directly to Bob’s. And before you could utter a single word, his lips were, finally, on yours.

Without a second of hesitation, you fell into him, swept away by the way his fingers traced the line of your jaw, sliding their way to the back of your neck as he held you in place against him. His lips moved against your own with a sense of gentleness that disappeared once it was clear you were reciprocating with vigor, his mouth swallowing yours with the hunger of a starved man.

Almost involuntarily, a delicious little sound you swore you’d never made before tumbled from your lips, swallowed whole by the soft, firm moves of Bob’s lips against your own. A spark grew in the pit of your stomach the second the hand on your waist gripped you just the slightest bit tighter, a spark that was soon a raging inferno that you had no thoughts about taming.

It takes no effort to give in to Bob Floyd, not when he holds you like this. Not when he’s kissing you on a moonlit beach as if you’d personally hung the moon in the sky just for him.

There is no question in this kiss, no lingering doubts about whatever had sparked between you both since the moment you’d made eye contact hours ago. When your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, fingers sliding through and tugging lightly on the sandy blonde hair you couldn’t even see in the dark, and he elicits a groan that has your knees threatening to give out in the sand, there’s no question: there’s a claim. If his hand on your thigh was the precursor, the writing of a contract to claim you as his in a way you didn’t even realize you already were, this kiss was the signature. Signed and dated, written in stone. You weren’t sure there was another man in the world who could kiss you the way Bob Floyd was kissing you, who could ignite a fire that bright in the depths of your soul.

With reluctance, as if it takes the gods themselves to pull either of you away, you part for the simple need to breathe. And, god, does Bob Floyd look wrecked. Panting, lips red and swollen, the skin of his neck and cheeks flushed red, and an unmistakable bit of fog to his glasses. You laughed then, breathy from your own lack of oxygen, reaching up with the sleeve of your shirt to wipe at the fog, knowing that, given how you felt right now, you surely didn’t look any better than he did.

“Well…hi,” you managed to huff out, chest still struggling to get air back into your lungs.

“Hi,” his voice came out almost like a whisper at first, full of wonder, his hand still cradling your head. His thumb was, once again, drawing little circles into the skin right around your ear, his smile wider than you’d seen all night. “I…I’m sorry-”

“Do not apologize for that,” you’d interjected immediately as Bob huffed out a laugh. “Please, never apologize for that.”

“Good, because I was lying. I-I’m really not sorry,” the hand against your cheek left you, taking its warmth with it, before both of Bob’s hands settled on your waist. You tightened your arms around his shoulders in response, sandals having been long discarded in the sand somewhere amid the kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that for hours. I…I like you. Like, a lot. More than I think I should for the few short hours I’ve known you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re on the same page. I don’t divulge my entire life story to just any Naval aviator in a bar,” another breathy laugh fell from Bob’s lips as you leaned forward, the tip of your nose brushing against his. “No, I only tell all those stories to this one guy that I happen to really like. Like, a lot.”

And when Bob Floyd kissed you again, it was blissful. Gentler, still passionate, so full of an emotion that you wouldn’t ever dare to call love, not this soon. It was more like affection, adoration, a warmth that had you melting into his arms without a care in the world. You’d do anything, as long as it meant you got to keep kissing this man.

Maybe Princess Mia had been onto something with that ‘foot pop’ of a kiss idea, because this sure felt like that moment.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” Bob groaned out against your lips, hands squeezing at your hips again as you laughed, playfully leaning back to swat at his chest as he smiled down at you, illuminated by the moonlight.

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps kissing me. I think any court of law would find you at fault for that. Also,” you quickly gestured around at your surroundings with a tilt of your head. “Hell of a setting for a first kiss. A moonlit beach in the dead of night, did you walk straight out of a rom-com, Bob Floyd?”

“In all honesty, I was going to wait until I got you back to your hotel room to kiss you and hopefully get your number,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But then I looked at you and…and you were just too beautiful not to. And I was going to kick myself in a few hours if I didn’t kiss you.”

If you were ever asked to pinpoint something you adored about Bob Floyd, his ability to make you laugh with the simplest of things would probably be your favorite. He barely even had to try, and he had you laughing like a little schoolgirl.

The entire walk back to the hotel down the beach felt like a dream sequence, like something straight out of a movie that you never believed actually happened to people in real life. Bob’s hand never strayed from yours, swinging between you both as you kicked at the sand. Every few steps, he’d push you away from him slightly, just to be able to pull you back into his side and make you laugh again.

And somehow, in the midst of the walk, you’d ended up engaged in the most spontaneous round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ questions you’d ever been part of. You and Bob had both been caught speeding during college, but Bob had managed to awkwardly sweet-talk his way out of a ticket with the female officer. You’d been skinny dipping twice before, both on bachelorette trips for two of your college friends, and you didn’t miss the way Bob had to swallow the lump in his throat at that confession (no doubt imagining it). He, in turn, had ended up having to confess the embarrassing story that was him having a crush on his high school English teacher.

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to wrap my head around that,” you’d managed to say through your laughter that you couldn’t contain as you both approached the main doors of the hotel building. “She was at least young, right?”

“Yes, she was in her thirties,” Bob shook his head, obviously amused by how hilarious you found the story. Like the gentleman he was, he’d opened the door for you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he led you into the building. “Girls didn’t look at me in high school, okay. She always offered that I could eat lunch with her since she had a free period, and the entire school had agreed that she was objectively pretty. You can’t blame me!”

“Okay, fine, but you do have to admit it’s a little funny,” you’d offhandedly waved to the concierge, the same one who had checked you in that morning, now working the graveyard shift, before leading Bob over to the elevators. You rested against the wall, awaiting your ride to arrive, while Bob stood just barely a foot in front of you. “As for the girls: their loss. If I’d have gone to high school with you, trust me, I would’ve looked at you.”

The doors for the elevator slid open with a ‘ding’ as you quickly moved inside, back turned to Bob.

“And trust me, if I’d have known you back then, we’d be married by now,”

The second the elevator doors shut, you paused, finger hovering over the button for your floor. Turning on your heel back to Bob, head cocked to the side in amusement, you could see the realization flicker over his face as it dawned on him what exactly he’d just said.

“Oh, would we now? You saying we’d be high school sweethearts?” Bob sheepishly laughed, fixing his glasses as he looked anywhere but you. “That kind of sounded like a line straight out of Hangman’s playbook, and I barely know the guy.”

“Yeah…y-yeah, it really did, didn’t it? Might have to blame the alcohol, I-I don’t typically drink much on our nights out,”

You hummed, taking a step toward him with a growing smile as his stuttering came back for just a second, something you realized only ever made an appearance when he was nervous. His eyes were locked on you as you leaned up, nose bumping his.

“Don’t worry, I found it cute coming from you,” you leaned back to hit the button for the third floor, and the second you did, Bob’s hand was settled on your hip, pulling you back to him. Teeth gnawing into your bottom lip, you contemplated the words floating around your head for a moment, afraid that whatever was happening here was fragile and your words could break it. “When we get up there…do you want to come in?”

You had read it before, about the way a man’s eyes darkened with ‘lust’ or in moments such as this, but you’d never witnessed it. Not until now, and once again, Bob Floyd had you weak in the knees.

“I’d love to,”

“Good,” you nodded. “Just know…I don’t do hook-ups. I don’t do flings.”

“Good,” he responded with his own nod. “Because neither do I.”

“Good,”

The door of your hotel room had barely been closed before Bob was on you.

His hands on your hips guided you, pressing you up against the closed bathroom door just to the right of the room’s main door, and his lips descended upon yours as if he were attacking his target. Vigorous, relentless, he kissed you in a way you’d never been kissed before, not even like he did on the beach, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance. A wanton moan slipped out of you, parting your lips just enough for Bob’s tongue to sneak through, to savor the taste of you. You savored the taste of him, too: the lingering taste of the beer he’d been sipping all night, and the remnants of your own vanilla chapstick still smeared across his lips.

You moved in tandem, like your bodies were one with each other. It didn’t take long before your shirt was off, his lips hot, slicked with spit, dragging themselves over every inch of skin he could get his lips on. Every drag of his lips, every press of a kiss against your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts had your mind going blank, your fingers desperately fumbling with the buttons of his khaki uniform to no avail.

If you just asked, you’d let him have anything he wanted in this moment. You’d let him take you against this door, the wall next to it, the floor, the bed, hell, you’d let him lean you over the balcony railing where anyone might be able to see you both. Nothing else mattered besides Bob Floyd, as long as he continued to touch you, adore you, worship you the way he was.

In the moments it took Bob to maneuver you from the wall to the bed, you’d finally come back to yourself, able to delicately unbutton his uniform and not ruin it, before tugging it from its place tucked into his pants and tossing it across the room. The white shirt he had on beneath it was gone in seconds, too, and god, you wanted to admire him like a painting on the walls of a museum, like he was the Mona Lisa himself.

Like they say, it’s always the quiet ones. You shouldn’t have been surprised; he was in the Navy, after all. But you couldn’t deny the heat that pooled between your thighs from just a single look.

With a tiny yelp from your lips, your back hit the bed, and Bob was on top of you in seconds, drawing yet another moan from your lips. At this rate, there’d surely be a noise complaint in minutes. His leg wedged itself between your thighs, delivering just enough friction to have you squirming, while his lips locked back into your neck. From your jawline, all the way to your collarbone, Bob nipped at every inch of skin he could, blowing a short puff of air across over tender spot before leaving a searing kiss to it that felt like you were being branded. All the while, your hands roamed up and down every expanse of skin you could touch, His forearms to his biceps and every vein that ran along them, popping out from under his skin. The lean body that hovered over you now, nails ghosting along the lines across his stomach toward his chest that had a low grumble emitting from him. And in a moment of boldness, invigorated by the tension that had snapped between you both, your hand traveled lower, just barely grazing over the outline straining against his khaki pants, finally feeling for yourself just how big he truly was. And the groan that left him that time, wrecked and on the verge of falling apart, had a whole new flood of heat rushing through you.

In a show of his strength, Bob rolled you both again with just one arm. Suddenly, there you sat, straddling him as he lay below you, half naked, eyes blown wide behind those glasses, looking absolutely desecrated beneath you. The only sound that flickered through the room was the heavy pants from each of you, once again catching your breath and calming the firestorm of emotions in you both.

“So,” Bob had breathed out once he’d finally caught enough of his breath. “Y-You’re totally taking that transfer to San Diego, right?”

You’d let out a breathy laugh, swiping your hand down your face as you sent him a small smirk.

“In all honesty…I already accepted it. That was half the reason for this trip: to see my new office and meet my new coworkers. Meeting you, though…well, that’s just like the cherry on top,”

His grin was infectious, but your mind was elsewhere in the moment as you took your chance, simply grinding yourself down on the man below you with a smirk of amusement still on your lips. His smile was gone instantly, lips straining to hold in a moan as his hands gripped your hips tightly, forcing you to freeze in place so you couldn’t make that same move again.

“I-If you do that again, I’m not going to be able to stop myself,”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes, because I want to do this properly. I want to do this in order,” he huffed out a laugh. “Tomorrow, my day off. 7 p.m. I’ll pick you up. Il Fornaio, an Italian restaurant just on the other side of the island, right on the beach, with beautiful views of the water. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, and for dessert…a Cold Stone Creamery, barely a minute away. And if I can muster up the confidence to do it, I’ll make you mine before you’ve even taken a single scoop of your ice cream, because I don’t need a second date to know I want this. And then I’ll bring you back here, and then I’ll fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked, to be worshiped. God…I already don’t think there’s a single thing I wouldn’t do if you just asked me to.”

If you opened a dictionary, Bob Floyd would be painted under the word ‘perfection,’ and there was no doubt in your mind about it. Hell, he’d remembered the stupid story about your favorite ice cream shop you’d told him hours ago. You were about ready to ravish him on the spot.

“Sounds like you’ve had this planned out for hours now,” your voice had dropped into a whisper, laced with just pure awe for the man below you.

“Since the moment we first locked eyes across the bar. Had to add the ice cream bit in, later,”

And you’d laughed, something you had done all night with him. For a moment, you paused, smile stretching nervously, as something you’d been meaning to say all night, but had been stuck in your throat, was itching to finally be said. It terrified you, but you had to say it. Bob Floyd was an angel; he deserved to know what he was getting into.

“Well, that’s a yes to dinner, and everything that comes after. I’ll just have to make sure to tell my father I can’t have dinner with him after I visit the base tomorrow afternoon. I hope he doesn’t get too upset, you know how the, uh…how the Vice Admiral can be,”

It was like you’d just dropped a bomb, and you could see the aftermath in Bob’s eyes. The way he tilted his head from beneath you, before realization seemed to crawl into every feature of his face.

“The…the Vice Admiral. As in…Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, Cyclone…” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and all you could do was nervously nod your head as Bob let out yet another breathy laugh. “Your Uncle Solomon…Rear Admiral Solomon Bates, Warlock. Wow, how did I not figure that out?”

“Because I was really careful not to give it away,” you’d tried to laugh, nerves only calmed slightly by the little circles that Bob’s fingers were drawing into the skin of your waist where his hands still lay. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said something earlier. But you were so sweet, and not to mention attractive, and it was so easy to like you…I was scared if you knew, you wouldn’t think it was worth it.”

Bob’s eyebrows furrowed as he shifted, sitting up on the hotel room bed now with you still positioned in his lap. One arm fully locked around your waist, the other taking your chin between his fingers to keep your eyes locked on him as he spoke.

“Why would I think that?”

“I dated a Navy man in college; he was a few years older than I was. He was excited for his reassignment; he was going to be training under my dad. But then, I told him that it was my dad, and he freaked. Thought he’d be treated unfairly if his superior knew he was dating his daughter. I just…I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t worth the hassle. I know how my dad can be.”

Bob stared at you for just a moment before he pulled you into another kiss. Softer than any previous kiss the entire night, but firm, as if he was trying to drill something into you. Whatever it was, it was working, as your chest fluttered and your hands wound their way back into his hair. And barely a beat later, he’d pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, hand on your chin, cupping your jawline to hold you there with him.

“If in the end, I get you…anything is worth the hassle,”

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rhaenyrathecruell · 8 hours ago

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"wife life."

singer!yn x lewis pullman a/n: brainrotting over their married life sorry guys ... rhett tinder au pt 2 asap

(masterlist)

liked by ynsister, ynmom, and 98 others

0221_only life so far... (its been going really well) took up farming for some reason (herbs!! i have my own basil plant now)

ynmom Good job honey! Your dad and I used your rosemary for last night's steak!

ynsister can you tell mr. danny ramirez that he's so-- *gunshots*

0221_only oh my god... ynsister sorry an entity possessed me 0221_only he might see this ynsister OH GOD NO

dakotacarolina Are you actually gardening?

0221_only yes ! maybe i can give ur trees a little TLC soon dakotacarolina Give me some TLC too pls xx

liked by easteregg, ynsister, and 101 others

0221_only arizona road trip! 10/10 would recommend 6 hours in a pickup truck

d4nyrmz Lookin good Lew

ynsister THANK U FOR THE CACTUS CERAMIC I REALLY LOVED IT MWAH

easteregg My ass is still sore from the car seat

ynsister tmi bro

liked by ynmom, ynsister, and 104 others

0221_only honeymooning at the lakes

ynmom Gorgeous!

ynbestie did you swim too?

easteregg Why does my hair look like that

0221_only u look cute dw abt it

0221_only's instagram stories

taglist: — feel free to comment or send an ask to be added! :) @pearlstiare @yesshewrites1 @secretkittydreamland @greengoldhorns @menrsluts @fandom-geek17 @ashaluuler @homiesexual-or-homosexual @naushtheaspiringauthor @lizzie8878 @ae-aeitch @kaixvdenny

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rhaenyrathecruell · 8 hours ago

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Could you do a Thunderbolts* headcanons about like comforting Reader after they find them crying in their room after they screw up on a mission (romantic)?

I sure can! I ended up writing this as more of a little blurb for everyone and less headcanons I hope that is okay. Hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: None, all fluff.

Yelena

Yelena was already on her way to your room for movie night when she was stopped by the sound of sniffling. She had her ear pressed against your door as she knocked softly. She can hear you shuffle on the other side and mumble something before the door swings open to reveal you, eyes puffy and red. Her brows knit together.

“Oh milaya…”

Her accent is thick as she regards you. Once the door is shut she reaches out to take your hand and lead you with her towards your bed. She sits down and pats the spot beside her, waiting for you.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

When you shake your head she nods and wraps a blanket protectively around you, pulling you flush against her side. As she pulls you close the familiar scent of gunpowder and pine fills your lungs, easing some of your earlier anxiety. She reaches for the remote and puts on one of your favorite movies, as it plays in the background she occasionally places soft kisses to your temple or whispers in your ear words that remind you how amazing she thinks you are and how lucky she is to have such a capable partner.

Bob

Bob hadn’t been having the best day himself and had been looking forward to seeing you all day so when you walk through the doors and immediately go to your room, door slamming a bit louder than usual, he’s surprised to say the least. His stomach churns with anxiety, you usually give him a hug or a kiss right when you get home and you always tell him about your day. He gives it a good half hour or so before allowing himself to follow after you.

“Can I come in?”

When he has your permission he walks in, standing awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before asking what happened. When you shake your head and say nothing he gets that face that tells you he knows you’re lying.

“You can’t keep things bottled up baby, you have to talk about them or it’ll build up”

When you finally do talk he listens, holding your hand and rubbing circles on the back of it. He asks you questions and tries to help you figure out why you’re feeling so torn up about it this time.

Ava

Ava phased into your room without even thinking about it, ready to tell you about how John ate the last of her leftovers and that she needs your help getting him back, but when she sees you curled up in bed and sniffling she stops dead in her tracks.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just walks slowly over to you and puts her hand on your back to let you know she’s there. She’s never been the best at comforting people or being soft with them but for you she tries, she loves you more than anything and wants you to know that. Her hand gently massages your stiff muscles.

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

She doesn’t want to push you or say something wrong so she just stays with you until your crying subsides so she can ask you what happened.

Bucky

Bucky already knew you were upset before he found you, he saw the way you were acting on the way back to the tower and knew something was off. He didn’t follow you straight to your room, he gave you some time to cool off before coming to check on you. When he finds you still in your suit, covered in dirt and dried blood he sighs. He pulls you towards the bathroom and starts helping you out of your suit and starting the shower.

“Let’s get you cleaned up while you tell me what happened”

When you start rambling and telling him about how you screwed up he doesn’t interrupt, he waits patiently for you to finish before telling you that it’ll be okay, that everyone here has made mistakes and what’s important is that we learn from them.

When you’re both done rinsing the soap off he helps you out of the shower and wraps a warm towel around you. He leans down to kiss the top of your head and then rests his chin there and wraps his arms around you.

John

He was worried when you didn’t come out of your room for dinner, when all of you got back earlier you had said something about needing and shower and to go lie down so he didn’t think anything of it but that was a few hours ago and his gut tells him something is wrong.

There’s a curt knock at your door and before you have time to get up he lets himself in, a plate of leftovers in hand. When he sees the tears falling down your face he sets it down on your desk and reaches out, hands cupping your face tenderly. For a man who’s usually so gruff he finds himself unable to be anything but soft with you.

“What happened sweetheart?”

His arms encircle you protectively and the sound of his heart thumping helps calm your breathing. You can feel his body heat radiating through his shirt and smell his body wash, he smells like eucalyptus and bergamot.

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rhaenyrathecruell · 8 hours ago

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“You look lonely.”

“I can fix that.”

“Are you tired of fighting?

Let me help you”

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rhaenyrathecruell · 8 hours ago

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you're not alone.

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rhaenyrathecruell · 8 hours ago

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lewis with his cowboy boots in casual clothes but with the sentry wig oh i’m sick i need him so badly

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rhaenyrathecruell · 24 hours ago

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The Case of the Disappearing Cat

Summary: In which you and Bob adopted a cat from the local shelter earlier on in your relationship. One day, the cat suddenly disappears and chaos ensues.

(fluff, domestic slice-of-life, established relationship, set after Thunderbolts*, second person point of view, mild language, cat antics, anxiety (Bob), soft! Bob, gn! reader)

Word count: 1.2k

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You swore you weren’t going to cry when you left the shelter.

But then Bob handed you a little carrier with a scared, sleepy orange tabby inside, and said, “He kinda looks like a loaf of bread.” And that was it. You were done for. You named him Toast because… obviously.

Toast was fairly shy at first—hiding under the bed or the couch and hissing at Bob’s shoes like they were the enemy. But after a week, he decided that Bob’s lap was the most sacred place on Earth, and you became his designated food dispenser and favorite belly-scratcher.

It’s been three months now. Life has quietly slipped into a rhythm of early morning meows, fur-covered blankets, paws on faces, and gentle laughter over paw-shaped flour prints in the kitchen. You wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Which is why, when you can’t find Toast one Thursday afternoon, your heart literally drops to your stomach.

“Hey Bob?” you call from the hallway, pushing aside a stack of books Toast usually knocks over.

“Yeah?” he calls back from the kitchen, where he’s attempting to make a grilled cheese sandwich with the same level of focus he uses for training. “Have you seen Toast?” you ask.

Bob’s head pops into the hallway almost immediately. “I thought he was sleeping near the window.”

“… He’s not.”

“Maybe he’s inside the closet?”

“Already checked. No loaf.”

Bob frowns. “Under the bed?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ with a theatrical flair. He’s already moving before you can say anything else. Bob’s calm most of the time—quiet, gentle—but there’s something frantic behind his eyes now, like someone flipped the switch.

“What if he got out?” you ask, panic rising as you fling open the linen closet next to your shared room. Bob’s expression tightens. “He doesn’t go outside. H-he wouldn’t—“ He cuts himself off, swallowing thickly and swearing under his breath as he checks behind the fridge. “What if he’s stuck somewhere? The air vents?? God, what if he climbed out the fire escape—“

“Okay,” you say, gently catching his wrist. “We’ll find him. Let’s retrace.”

You search the entire apartment twice, calling his name until your throat’s hoarse, shaking the treat bag and his toys like a desperate maraca.

Still nothing.

Bob’s pacing now, hair wild from running his hands through it, voice low. “He’s so small. What if— what if he got out and something happened to him?” he mumbles. You reach for his hand, squeezing. “He’s probably just being a little jerk.”

“He’s never disappeared like this before.”

“He’s a cat. An orange cat. His whole personality is dramatic exits.”

Bob doesn’t laugh, which tells you he’s definitely freaking out now. You’ve seen him face cosmic threats without blinking. But Toast? Toast is his. You’re not sure he’s ever loved anything the way he loves that orange ball of fluff. Except maybe you, of course.

You sigh deeply, leaning against the wall. “All right. Let’s take a deep breath, Sherlock.” He stares at you, hands fidgeting by his side. He doesn’t move, prompting you to continue.

“You’ll be Homes, I’ll be Watson. Let’s think like the suspect. Where would a smug loaf hide?” Bob glances around. “Somewhere soft. Warm. Private. And he likes high places—maybe the top of the cabinets again?”

You nod. “I’ll check the bedroom one more time. You check the top shelves.”

You turn towards the bedroom, exhaustion starting to set in… when you hear a muffled sound. A faint chrrrp. You and Bob freeze.

“That was him,” you whisper.

Bob’s eyes go wide. “That came from the— wait.” He turns, then drops to his knees in front of the couch. No way. “Toast?” he calls softly, lifting the couch skirt and peering underneath.

There’s a pause. Then: “Oh my god.” You lean down too—and there, wedged inside the couch lining like some kind of proud cryptic, is Toast. Curled up, purring. Blinking at both of you like what? I live here now.

“H-he chewed a hole in the bottom lining,” Bob says, voice somewhere between relief and exasperation. “He’s made it into a damn fortress.” Toast lets out a chirpy yawn and slowly extends one paw like he’s an emperor accepting tribute. Bob drops his head onto the floor, forehead against the hardwood.

“I thought we lost you, you little rascal.”

You can’t help it. You start laughing—wild, relieved laughter that bubbles out of your chest like a shaken soda. Bob joins in a moment later, still on the floor, shaking his head.

“He’s not even sorry,” you manage.

“Of course not,” Bob mutters. “He’s a cat.”

You lie on the rug beside him, your heads close, Toast now lazily crawling halfway out of the couch to sit on Bob’s back. Bob turns to you, his expression softening completely. “I was actually terrified,” he admits quietly. “Like I couldn’t breathe without knowing he was okay.”

You reach over, brushing a hand through his hair. “Me too. It’s stupid how much we love him.”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, voice suddenly more serious. “He’s part of us now. This—“ he gestures vaguely to the domestic chaos, the couch, the cat— “It’s the first time I’ve ever really felt… steady.”

Your chest squeezes. “Me too,” you whisper.

Bob smiles, and then you feel Toast wedge himself directly between your heads, purring like an engine, smug about being the center of attention again. You and Bob both groan.

“He’s such an asshole,” you mutter. Bob kisses your temple, sighing dramatically.

“Our asshole.”

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Epilogue:

You buy a new couch three weeks later.

Toast immediately disappears into the new lining.

You sew a little flap on purpose this time—his own personal fortress. Bob draws a little “Couch Castle” signed in sharpie and tapes it to the side. And every night before bed, Toast climbs out, curls between you both, and falls asleep like he never once made you fear for your sanity.

But you’ll never let him live it down.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Bob tells him every morning.

You think that goes for both of them.

End.

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(crossposted on ao3)

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rhaenyrathecruell · 1 day ago

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Just got a captain America Funko pop at Walmart literally so excited I’m shaking like a crack addict I love you Sam Wilson

#sam wilson #my captain #captain america #cabnw #the falcon and the winter soldier #Sam Wilson my beloved #marvel cinematic universe #funko collection #funko pop

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rhaenyrathecruell · 1 day ago

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COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part seven

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: Alive or not, you're now facing your biggest fears and memories. A voice guiding you forward to your lost ghost with your history laid out for you and Bob to sew together. Some things are just supposed to happen and meant to be found. Even the silly ones.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, depressive and suicidal thoughts, death, thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

author's note 2: remember when i told you that i'd remind you all about the card with two ghosts in a future chapter?!?!? well...... now it's the timeeee BIG WINK WINK

The darkness had changed.

It was still there. It clung to you like a shadow. Endless and dark. It no longer felt like the death. It was lighter now, in a way that didn’t make sense even to you. The darkness that had consumed you as death differed from the darkness you were now in. It looked softer, brighter. It was dark, but not as dark as death was.

It felt strange. It felt strange saying that the darkness became a less dark. The darkness had a spring of color in it. Not a real color, it was just a shade of something else. Not just the darkness itself. It looked like the darkness you see when you close your eyes. Not the darkness that consumes you when you die. There wasn't any sound either, but there was something small. It sounded like a small noise, a hum. Or an echo of something in the darkness. Death didn't have sound, it was dead quiet, only silence.

You were not dead.

Or maybe you were.

Maybe this was what came after. You never got that far in dying. You didn't know where you were. If you were stuck in the actual afterlife, or if you were stuck in a nightmare. Or just dead.

But there was a certain feeling. It told you to move. To try. Your eyes felt odd. It didn't feel like you were gone with the death, it felt like you were just resting. Sleeping, maybe. It felt like you just had your eyes closed. Like you had the will to open them. Then, your eyelashes twitched against your cheek, and you could feel them brushing against the skin. The weight of your lids was heavy, like you had been asleep for too long. The instinct told you to wake up, to open your eyes and see what you need to see.

So, you opened your eyes.

You blinked away the darkness and then you were suddenly standing. You didn't remember rising, it felt like you were laying this whole time. You hadn't sensed moving at all. But you felt awake, felt real. You didn't know if this was actually death or just a burst of your imagination.

The room was quiet. You finally aligned your eyes with the dim but not dark interior of the room you were standing in. Your eyes adjusted slowly. The corners of the room were hazy, soft, and blurred as if it were a painting or a dream. But the center was clear. Too clear.

In front of you sat a child.

On a chair too big for a child that small. The child wore a long black hospital gown, and the child's small feet swung back and forth over the high chair. Almost as if the child was on a swing. The child's frame was hunched over, head hung low, staring at a certain item that was in those tiny hands.

A bright, pink birthday card.

The child read quietly in the mother tongue in which the words were written in. Not in English. It was Sokovian. A language you recognize too well. You watched from the side, standing just a few steps to the left of the small child, your stance angled subtly toward the scene unfolding in front of you. You couldn't pull your eyes away, you remembered the whole scene so vividly.

The little child was you.

Then, a door to your right creaked open. You turned your head at the sound, and you already knew who was coming through the doorway. Through the doorway stepped a red-headed woman. Her steps were graceful and elegant, her posture straight. She wore a smile that stretched on her lips like it was painted on. It glowed on her face. Her back was straight, chin lifted up. And in front of you, the child lit up, beaming at the sight of the entering woman.

"Mama," Mum, the child breathed out, "dziekujem za rodenodnevne želanie," thank you for the birthday wish, the child said sweetly in the soft native tongue. The child's whole face opened with joy.

The woman didn't speak, she just stepped forward to the child. And then she reached out. Her hand moved slowly, fingers outstretched to the child's thinner wrist. The red-headed woman's fingers locked around the tiny arm.

"Why do I need to see this again?" you said out loud, your voice rasping as if it didn't belong to you. It stung at your throat when the words left your mouth. You closed it when you asked the second time, your throat tingling. No matter how much your instincts screamed to look away, you couldn’t. You couldn't pull your gaze away. It was almost like your eyes were stuck, glued to the scene as if you hadn't seen it before.

You remembered it all, you felt it all. You lived through it.

The woman’s smile only deepened as she held the small child’s thin wrist in her hand. Then, the red-headed woman grabbed her other arm and reached into her belt, under her shirt. You knew what she was reaching for before you saw it.

She took out a gun. A loaded gun.

The small child blinked, the eyes catching a sight of the sleek handgun in own mother's hands. Still holding the pink birthday card in the other hand which was not being held by the red-headed woman. The child's smile wavered, cracking down.

"Mama?" Mum? the small voice barely made a sound, the child's voice trembling slightly, "što robiš...?" what are you doing...?

No answer came from the red-headed woman. You, the older version of the child, stepped forward, your expression furrowing as you stared at the scene you vividly remembered from your childhood.

The red-haired woman didn't respond to the fragile child's small distressed question. She guided the small hand of the child towards the weapon. Her own fingers wrapped gently around the child’s as she placed the gun carefully into the tiny palms of the child. Then together, they both lifted it like they were holding a medal. And then their moving of the gun stopped just beside the small child’s temple. Pressed softly against the skin there. The child stared at the mother with wide, searching eyes.

“Mama?” Mum? The child said again, more urgently now, "mama, mama, mama, što—” mum, mum, mum, what—

Then sounded a single shot.

Splitting through the small, grey room. The child’s small body jolted from the force. The pink birthday card slipped from the small child's fingers, fluttering and landing on the floor. It landed before the child did. Then the body of the small, young, child dropped from the tall chair. The small figure of the child twisted as it fell, limbs bending as the force of the shot made it jerk to the side. A small, lifeless body of a young child laid helplessly dead on the floor beside its own standing mother. Her own child. The tiny fingers she had just held, now open and limp against the cold, grey floor.

"Fuck—" you breathed out, your throat stinging and so did you eyes. They burned. You didn't want to cry over your own memory. You blinked the tears away.

But the second you blinked, the room twisted and changed in that second. And there you were again, in the same room with the child before you. The child was untouched. No blood anywhere, the pink birthday card in the tiny hands. The small legs swung back and forth as though time had never stopped.

Everything was back to the start.

It was a loop.

The moment, the memory was playing out again. And then she came in again, the red-headed woman with elegant posture and a beaming smile that brought comfort to the small child. You knew what she was reaching for before her hand even dipped beneath her shirt. But this time, you moved. Fast. You caught her wrist in your hand just as her fingers brushed against the grip of the gun hidden under her shirt. You pressed hard against her wrist, keeping her away from hurting the younger version of you.

The red-head's eyes flickered to you when your fingers wrapped around her wrist. Her eyes widened and her smile stretched even more, "moje dziev—" my gir— she began softly, her smile wide like she had seen her best gift. But your face hardened and your fingers tightened around the wrist of the woman.

“I’m not your girl anymore,” you hissed back in English. She didn’t deserve your language. Didn’t deserve your blood. She didn't deserve to hear the language she had taught you, the language that was called a mother tongue to you. She winced at your grip.

“I know,” she muttered, her language switching to English too. Her Sokovian accent thick in her sentences, “you never really were. You were just a subject for our—”

The small child before you cried out.

You turned your head instinctively. Your eyes snapped to the small face. The small child whimpered, staring at the red-headed woman with tears in eyes, "mama..." mum...

But the redhead didn’t look at the small teary-eyed child that she called hers. And that was your mistake. A mistake you once again overlooked. Because while your gaze lingered on the trembling child, the red-headed woman moved quickly. With her other hand, she dropped the child's wrist and yanked the gun from under her shirt. You barely saw the flash of metal before the gun was pressed to your temple and a shot rang out.

She shot you. Instead of the younger version of you, the small child.

Then it began again.

The child was perched on top of the high chair again, head bowed as the child read the Sokovian words written in the pink birthday card. Then, a door to your right creaked open. Through the doorway stepped the familiar red-headed woman.

“This is insane,” you hissed between clenched teeth, staring at the woman in the doorframe. You didn't waste time this time. You didn't need to see your nightmare being played once again, repeating like it was a television show.

You stormed towards the woman. Her mouth opened to call out to your older figure when you came just in front of her. Your hand went under her shirt faster than she could react, right to the spot where she was hiding the cold metal of the weapon she had used to kill you once with.

You ripped it free from there and the woman gasped loudly. She was not expecting this.

You were quick to raise it, aiming it down at her feet.

The bullet ripped through her foot. Shooting twice, once at the left one and once at the right one. Both feet shot through. The woman screamed and stumbled forward, deeper into the room, collapsing forward onto her knees as she couldn't stand still anymore. She let out a pained noise as her body stumbled onto the grey concrete floor of the small grey room, right in front of the small child perched on top of the high chair. But you didn’t stop to watch the woman, whom you used to call your mother, fall down in pain. You darted just past her, shoving through the door she had just entered from multiple times before. The one you recognized too well.

You ran through in a second.

The moment you flew through the room into the hallway, the entire world exploded in white. Burning white, so bright.

It slammed into your face. It pierced its ends into your eyes and face. You staggered backward, stopping your run, and your hand flew up to shield your eyes from the blaring brightness. You blinked a few times behind your hand, trying to adjust your vision. Then, when your vision cleared into something more natural you noticed that the entire space around you had changed. You were not inside a building anymore, there were no grey walls surrounding you from all sides. You were not locked up anymore. You were almost somewhere that you could call a freedom.

You were outside now.

There was a cold maliciously biting at your face liek you were a lunch for it. Wind was screaming against you. Pushing you around, making you stagger backwards. As if it wanted you to turn back and get back inside. Then, you realized your boots were drenched in cold. You were buried ankles deep in a thick, cold snow. You could feel your knees tremble, the cold pushing at your body. The cold was slicing at your cheeks like small cuts from blades' tips.

The world around you was so bright, so white. You couldn't tell where you were. The cold was terrible.

"Follow your fears."

The voice did not come from anywhere near you. Not from behind you nor from above. It was almost like it was in your head, like you were imagining it. You staggered, one hand flying to your temple. The voice was almost like a night terror, a deep noise. A rasping, hollow sound of a nightmare that made you want to crawl and hide somewhere.

“Where do I follow them?” you asked out loud trying to make your voice be heard over the gushing of the strong snowy and cold wind. The cold was so sharp.

"To me."

The sound of the voice almost hurt. The words were too loud to be called a whisper and too quiet to be called a yell. It almost sounded like it erupted in your mind, like a pressure pushing against your skull from the inside. It hurt.

You recognized it. The voice, the sound. You don't know how, but you did.

You nodded, or at least tried. The cold is biting at you. You took a step forward and then another. Then you went into a run, your boots sinking into the thick, cold, and crunchy snow beneath.

You kept moving, each step felt even more colder. Boots sinking into the snow and becoming even more colder and wet. Devouring you. The cold kept biting at your skin. Like you were its last meal.

And then you heard it. Just a small bit of a noise.

An engine. Tires against the crunching snow. There was a truck. It looked blurry through the veil of snow in your vision. But it was there, moving forward. Headlights lighting its snowy path in front of itself.

You moved forward, squinting at it, "I'm here! Wait! Please!" you shouted as loud as you could. The cold wind whipping the sound of your voice away like it was just a little piece of another snow.

You stumbled forward, your boots sinking into the snow. You nearly fell with each step, and your legs felt sore from the cold. Stinging frost at your eyes.

"Please!" you ran, harder and faster than you could. Feet burying into the snow with each taken step. Your muscles cried and so did your whole soul.

And so did the silhouette before you.

Just a few steps ahead, you haven't noticed the figure before. It was a teenager, maybe sixteen. They wore tactical pants with pockets empty, and their boots were frozen and buried in the snow. Then a shirt that was far too big for the teenager's frame. A plain t-shirt in the freezing cold. Own thin arms wrapped tightly around own chest, arms trembling violently in the coldness surrounding the figure. The head of the teenager was bowed slightly, looking like the figure was asleep, but standing still.

You stepped slowly forward, the cold raging wind whipping around you. The figure pulled you to them, maybe you did. You wanted to know why the figure was there, who the figure was. There wasn't supposed to be a teenager in a snow blizzard in the middle of nowhere, wearing just a pair of tactical pants with a t-shirt.

You stopped just a step away from the teenager, "are you okay?" you had to shout over the snow. The figure didn't respond at first, just kept the head low and trembled. Then the teenager lifted up head.

And your breath left you. Not from the cold.

But from the recognition.

Because those eyes that looked up. They were yours.

You found yourself gazing at the same person. You were staring at yourself. The younger version of yourself. Maybe, sixteen. Those eyes that were looking into yours were yours, you recognized them from anywhere. It was you. Almost reflexively, you came closer, your legs slow with coldness that was all around you. And the look the teenager gave you was one of the deep, quiet knowing ones.

The teenager's cheeks were raw and their eyes, your eyes, brimmed with tears. Maybe, just snow. But they were yours.

“Are we going to die?”

The teenager asked you and everything inside you had screamed to lie. To lie to the younger self. To say no. To shield them from the truth you’d grown used to carry with yourself like a friend. But you couldn't lie to yourself. The teenager has to know and will know later on.

"Yes. We will eventually die."

The teenager had nodded like they already knew, but needed to hear it from someone. From you. From themselves. The teenager looked out into the blizzard in front, looking at something unseen.

“Why do they like hurting us?” the teenager asked quietly, not looking at you this time, "what did we do wrong?”

"We didn't do anything wrong," you responded to the teen's question. Stepping closer to the trembling figure. They were shivering completely. Bare arms tucked in around own torso. The too-large shirt and tactical pants soaked through. Cold seeping in like a snake.

The teenager then turned their head towards you. The voice cracked when they asked, almost hesitantly, "can you… can you stay with me? Until I… until I leave?”

That made a tear in your heart. Aching.

"I will stay,” you whispered to the teen version of you.

You then opened your arms and the teenager collapsed into them like their legs were not working anymore. Almost as if the teen was waiting for your arms to be held out their whole life, like you were the teenager's missing piece. You held your younger self as tightly as the cold would allow, their thin body trembling against yours, just holding against your own chest, bent like a child. You let your head bow, lips against your own, but a younger head. Your tactical grey suit was already soaked through, but you felt the tears flow from the young you. Seeping into the cloth. Just tears running down cold faces in a world that never stopped hurting.

"You need to let yourself too," the words left the teenager's lips. And then the trembling in their limbs went still. The shoulders stilling and the small hands relaxing against your chest almost the next moment. The body fell at a dead weight on you. You remained upright, holding the fragile body against yourself.

Then, you sank down, lowering yourself until you lay on your back in the cold snow. The snow above you was flying like it was playing an act in a theater. The flakes of snow flew around like stage actors during a performance. You laid still, watching them fall.

You cradled the teenager, your younger self, against your chest. Snow gathered on top of the teenager's hair like a decorative flowers, flakes landing on their lashes too. Not melting in the cold. Your arms curved protectively around them, staring up with snow falling over your face.

The teenager laying limp in your arms was still you. But different, younger. This version of you, the younger one, won't be coming back as soon as you usually do. Twenty-two minutes before death, over and over again... That part wasn’t always there. You were not yet the one to be called Twenty-Two. You were just a broken thing learning how to live again through the wreckage of what had been done to you. This body didn’t know the rules yet.

So you lay back.

You had to let yourself too.

You closed your eyes. The snow welcomed you. It wrapped around your body. The snow kissed around your body, piercing your face. You dipped your head back until you felt it cold. Really cold, almost painful. Like a terrible migraine. Let the snow land against your face. You let yourself go, but not the teenager in your arms. Your arms remained looped tightly around the smaller figure.

You let the cold take you. Your breathing slowed down and you let your whole body be still. Your breaths grew shallow and hard. Hurting.

Then your chest stilled, your consciousness slipping slowly away. Your body stuck with the frost just like the younger version of you. Both of you closed in with the snow and coldness. Like you belonged together, to fall in the snow.

And then you were gone.

And your arms felt empty. A shift in the weight, the coldness was gone. You opened your arms slowly, confused at first. Grasping at nothing but air. An empty space. No fragile body of the younger version of you against your chest. No teenager slipping their consciousness away in the snow and cold in middle of nowhere.

"The pain only gets worse. You can't die here," the voice that was almost like a night terror sounded out again. Ripping at the air around you and your head. Almost hurting. A rasping, hollow sound that sounded right around you.

"You will ache. You will bleed... But not from your wounds. The light awaits, at the end of everything—" it wasn't just a sound. It was a voice, but it was something else too. Almost like a pressure that hurt.

So, you opened your eyes.

You weren’t in the snow anymore. You were standing in the center of a room in an old apartment. Wooden floor underneath your boots.

Right in front of you was a mattress thrown on the floor and on top of it sat a hunched-over person. Legs bent to their chest, arms thrown over their knees. Head bowed low, almost hiding their face. Broken beyond repair.

You didn't move at first. You very well recognized the person sitting on the mattress and the apartment that you were in. It was one of the first weeks in Bratislava. Just a few days after you were finally let free from Sokovia and your so-called hell. It was one of the first places you were ever truly alone. Not alone as in locked up in a cell alone. But alone, trying to take care of yourself.

You took one slow step forward. The wooden boards of the floor groaned under your moving boot. The figure on the mattress flinched at the new sound, their head snapping upward. Almost terrified. Under those terrified eyes were blooming dark shadows from not much sleep. The figure's face was so familiar, yet so painfully distant.

The figure's eyes were so wide. Awaiting your next move. The older version of you took another step forward, almost like you did not want the younger you to flee away or be scared away. Their eyes were searching. For something hidden within the older version. Eyes bruised with exhaustion.

"This apartment is better than the whole Sokovia, don't you think?" you said quietly to the person on the mattress who was so curiously staring at you. You took another slow step forward and tilted your head, looking around your old apartment.

The younger person didn't answer. Just stared wide-eyed back at you.

“Have you visited the Medic garden yet?” you asked, your gaze moving across the apartment, remembering your stay there. Every inch of the apartment was familiar to you, but not to the younger person on the mattress on the floor.

“No,” the teen rasped, voice so dry and so hoarse. It sounded just painful just to speak.

“You should,” you replied, a faint smile tugging at the edge of your mouth, "I... We used to go there every other day... when we were still here. It was a safe place in all this chaos."

Your steps slowed as you neared the person on the mattress, stopping just a few feet in front of the mattress. The younger version of yourself sat motionless, but staring straight at you.

“I don’t understand the language,” they whispered, trying to find a reason not to go out. Not to get out from the apartment.

“You will,” you said gently, kneeling down so your eyes could meet theirs, "eventually, you will know just enough to start a conversation."

There was another moment of silence between you and the younger you. Almost like you both were picking out the words. Then, the younger you furrowed their brows tightly at you and a snarl went out from their mouth.

“I don’t wanna go out. I want to die.”

The words twisted in your insides. Even though the words weren’t new to you. It was still you who spoke them.

You finally crouched just comfortably in front of the younger self, staring into a face you knew too well. Into your own, but younger.

“I know,” you said softly.

The younger you dropped their head again, letting it hang low between their hunched shoulders. You watched the figure tremble slightly and then they whispered something. Too quiet. You didn't catch the words.

You furrowed your brow and leaned in closer. But not too close. You had to keep your distance, you were so fragile and emotional back then. You could do things youu'd never do now, "what did you say?” you asked, your voice low to not startle your younger self.

Then, the person opposite you lifted their head, slowly until their eyes met yours. Your own eyes staring into yours.

You didn't even have time to jump back into your thoughts. One moment, you were looking at yourself with those sad, almost empty eyes. Then the next moment, out of nowhere, the younger you lunged almost as fast as a cheetah at you. You barely had time to widen your eyes or yell out at yourself before they crashed into you with the full weight of themselves. Tackling you backwards. Your back slammed into the wooden floor, your head striking backward into the floor with a loud noise. Your teeth clenching together at the pain rising at the back of your head.

Then their arms were around your neck. Just like you had yours around Valentina before. Choking you, fingers digging into your skin. Your own hands were wrapped around your own neck, but it was the younger you strangling the current you.

You just choked, your legs flailing and kicking underneath the body of the younger self. Your boots sliding on the wooden floor completely uselessly. Almost like they were designed not to be helpful.

Your hands clawed at your younger hands. Trying to pry them off your throat as fast as it was possible. But your younger self only tightened their grip.

“This is all your fault!” the younger version of you screamed and their fingers dug into your neck. Your younger face above you was twisted into something raw, rage-filled, a hint of sadness and pain flooding it. There were tears clinging to the corner of their eyes—of your own, but younger, eyes.

"It's—It's not our fault—" you gasped out, your throat crushed under your own hands.

"I want to die!"

"I want to die—please! I don't want this. I need to die! I don't want to keep doing—" they screamed and screamed. Trembling above you, shaking almost like they could never stop. Like you could never stop.

And then, all at once, it all broke down.

Your younger arms gave out suddenly, the pressure around your throat released, and their body collapsed onto yours. Tangling together. The younger you letting out a heap of breathless, never-ending sobs. Their hands, once shaking and cruel, trying to kill and hurt themselves, now fell limp around your neck. Your younger fingers wrapping around the cloth of your grey tactical suit. Their legs folded into yours, almost in desperation to not be let go.

The younger you broke down completely in that moment.

Gasping sobs escaped the younger person's chest like they had been kept there for years. Your younger face buried in the curve where your shoulder met with your neck, hiding yourself into you. Almost shameful. Shivering like a small, lost fawn.

“I know,” you whispered, "I know…”

You wrapped your arms around the fragile person slowly. Carefully slowly. You didn’t speak again, there were no words needed now. No words could overcome whatever is going on now. The silence is the key. You just held them, held yourself, through the breakdown. Letting the past you drown in you and your pain. The younger you wailed, sobbed, and cried. Tears are soaking the side of your neck. Their cruel grip from before now turned into a desperate hug of comfort. Like they were seeking the needed help. Pulling it from you.

You laid there with your younger self tangled over you for minutes. For such a long time, unmoving, letting the pain drain. You didn't move, you just held the younger self close. Let the younger one sob and shake. You didn’t tell the younger person to stop. You didn’t try to shush yourself, to not wake the neighbors. You let them, the younger you, fall apart the way you had once needed someone to let you.

Eventually, the sobs slowed and eased. Then they completely stopped.

The younger you shifted slightly, your breath still hitching now and then. A small whisper escaped their lips, "is it true?”

You tilted your head slightly, your younger face still hidden in the curve of your shoulder. Your hand absently smoothing up and down the younger self's back, "what is?”

"That we found our ghost."

The words hit you unexpectedly. You forgoten about that. You haven't thought about that since you left Bratislava. Your eyes closed and you puffed out a breath, “I forgot we still believed in that card…” you whispered out.

The younger you slowly peeled away from your chest, untangling their limbs from yours. They sat on the floor just beside you, you were still laying flat on your back on the wooden floor of your old apartment. Staring right above at the ceiling.

“But did we?” the younger you asked with a quiet voice, pulling their knees up to their chest.

You let your head fall to the side, your eyes falling onto the younger version of yourself.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, "I don't know if he is our ghost..." you chuckled softly at the word ghost. It was a silly thought that you had in your mind since you were a little kid. Since you've got that card from the only nice person in that Sokovian facility. The doctor who cleaned your wounds. He was the only nicest out of them. You were not allowed to call anyone by name back there, he only whispered it once when you were terrified for one of the experiments. His name was long forgotten to you, and you couldn't really remember the correct spelling of his name anymore. He was Sokovian, his name was something similar to Svetoslav, if you recall it right. It had been too long since you last thought about him. He was the closest to what you could call a friend, or someone that you could trust back when you were in Sokovia. He used to tell you about the two daughters he had waiting for him back home, the books he used to read. He told you he once wanted to be an author, but he couldn't leave this work. It was his whole life. He told you all that while he cleaned the wounds that the scientists made on you with their weapons and experiments.

He gave you that card.

That card with those two little ghosts.

"I—We may never see him again. I don’t know if I can get out from…” you paused, then motioned vaguely around the room, you still don't understand or know what this is. Where you are stuck at, "from here. From whatever this is."

The younger you watched you for a moment, then gave a shaky little nod, looking around the apartment.

"I can help you."

The younger you start to stand up, pushing themselvesed off the floor. You stood up quickly with the younger self. Reaching your arms forward when their knees buckled. Your arm slipped instinctively around your own back.

Then, the younger you reached into the pocket of their worn, baggy jeans. Dirty from all things you could imagine. It was a pair you used to always wear. Their fingers fumbled and trembled, then pulled out a small paper.

A card.

Its edges were creased, the paper worn from being touched too often. You used to carry it with you at all times. You recognized it before they even handed it to you. It was so familiar that it nearly stung at your eyes. The younger you placed it in your palm gently.

You turned the card over. Your heart tugged at the sight.

Two small, not scary-looking, but childlike sweet looking, sweet-looking ghosts. Faded colors adoring its own beauty. A faded orange-pink heart floated between them. Their forms almost looked like they were dancing together in love. You hadn’t seen this card in years. You haven't seen those two ghosts for years. You haven't even thought about them. Haven't thought about the missing ghost to your ghost.

“I used to believe in the saying,” you murmured, eyes locked on the card in your hands

“You still do,” the younger you said.

Above the round head of one of the ghosts, barely visible now, was a small, playful boo! After all, it was a card for children. Your eyes moved lower, to the line of text written there. It was written elegantly, old-fashioned like. Like the text you'd find written as a title of a storybook.

Count to twenty-two and you’ll be mine too!

The words curled like ribbon on the bottom of the card. You used to believe that it was destiny. That it was written for you and your own future. After the many, many experiments you've been through, they told you that no matter how many times they would kill you, or how they would kill you. Your body would reappear twenty-two minutes back from wherever it had its life ended earlier on.

Always twenty-two.

You held on to that number like it meant something. It meant you. So, you found comfort in the card. In the two ghosts. One of them was you. You decided that early on. Just a few days after the only sweet and caring doctor gave you that card and they told you about the twenty-two-minute curse you had been given by the scientists. There was another ghost out there. Someone you haven't met yet. Someone who would understand you, someone cursed like you, maybe. One to be the the one next to your ghost, right under the faded orange-pink heart.

You called them your ghost. And you used to look out for the other ghost. For the missing piece that was left to you.

“Keep it,” the younger you said softly with a quiet voice, pulling you from your running thoughts.

You looked up at the younger you. You noticed how their lashes still kind of clung to their cheeks when they blinked, from the tears holding there.

You unzipped a pocket on your tactical vest and slid the ghost card into the opened pocket, the one closest to your chest. Closest to your heart. You then zipped it back up and lifted your head to look at the younger self.

“How do I get out of here?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, looking around the apartment you were in.

"Close your eyes and go."

"Go?" you echoed back, confused by the choice of words. By such a simple words. The simplicity of it all.

“You’ll know,” the younger you said, staring up at you with their, yours, slightly still red eyes from the tears, "just… close your eyes and let it take you.”

You nodded a few times, acknowledging the words. Then, you took one last look at the younger self. The younger, hurt, living picture of yourself. You didn’t say goodbye. There was no need to say. You were always with this person. It was you. Stuck with you forever.

You closed your eyes. And you let go. You didn't know what would happen, you didn't know what would take you or wherre you would be taken to. But somehow, beneath the uncertainty lingering, you trusted it. Trusted yourself.

You left your eyes closed for a while, letting your whole body loose, the tension slipping away.

Then you felt it. A slight shift. As if you were moved.

You heard a gasp. But it wasn't yours, though. You snapped your eyes open at the sound quickly. And there he was, sitting on the floor. The only person you were looking and longing for. He was breathing and right in front of you like nothing ever happened to him.

Bob.

You were next to gasp. Your knees nearly gave up from underneath your weight.

He was right there.

Cross-legged sitting on the wooden floor on a rug inside an old wooden attic. He was surrounded by many trinkets and items, there was a Rubik's cube on the floor beside him too, with colors uneven, almost like he tried to solve it but gave up halfway in the time. His blue eyes were wide, stunned. Unbelieving to the sight. His mouth slightly parted in disbelief. He looked at you like he remembered every detail of his life. He looked almost as if he did not believe his own eyes. Like you were a flicker of his imagination. An unreal thought in his mind.

He had seen you die. He remembered that. He remembered you dying. He remembered that part so well.

“Twenty-Two?” he breathes out, so much disbelief lacing his words. His voice trembles too. He doesn't believe or trust his eyes at this moment. Almost as if this whole situation was impossible.

You stare at him back, frozen in place. You take his sight in for a little bit longer and then you take a slow step forward, like you don't want him to run off.

“What is this?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper. Your voice low and unbelieving, so confused, "how are you—”

By the next few slow steps, you're standing just before him, ends of your boots touching the old worn-out rug he's sitting cross-legged on.

He looks up at you, his eyes wide and soft. There is something swimming in them, it's not the golden hue you saw back when you were still alive at the fight. It's something soft. As well as guilty and aching. Almost like he seeks a comfort and finds himself the reason to not get it.

“I can explain…” he whispers, blinking up at you with those aching blue eyes full of miracles, "I promise.”

And at those promising words, you slowly lower yourself to the floor right. You sit beside him on the dark red rug that is much thinner now. Your knees are nearly touching each other.

He’s not wearing the golden suit anymore. You notice that at first. He isn't sporting a useless long blue cape anymore. None of that armor remains. Instead, he’s dressed like he’s just a person. Like a human being.

He’s wearing corduroy pants, a caramel brown that looks softer than anything. The pants themselves look baggy and worn. Something he's wearing for the comfort, not for the look. On top, a dark blue crewneck hangs off his torso. The crewneck itself is deep navy blue with horizontal stripes so close to the blue shade that they’re almost identical to the actual colour of the top. The ends of the sleeves fall just over his palms, one of his fingers playing with the end. Most likely not realizing so. On his feet, a pair of old beaten, and scuffed Nike trainers. They looked loved enough by the boy. The laces are unevenly tied, slightly hiding under the corduroy pants. The shoes look like they have been walked in for a long time. They were being loved for a long time. And are still being loved. Just like he should be.

He’s hunched slightly forward. His crewneck covered elbows resting on his knees, shoulders curved inward like he was carrying something so heavy on his back. But he looked comfortable.

"The blond hair is gone," you murmur, lifting your head up and catching the sight of his now not bleached hair. The brown curls back at adoring his head.

He follows your gaze, raising his head up trying to catch a sight of his own hair on top of his head. Almost like he hadn’t noticed the change, "oh—yeah,” he breathes out. Then his eyes drop back to you.

"You are alive," he says, almost like a whisper. Like he doesn't want to jinx the statement. Disbelieving the words, he saw you die. He remembers you laying on the floor.

"Am I really?" you breathe out the question. You don't know if you really are alive. If this still isn't your mind being twisted after death, "I really don't know what this is. A dream, my afterlife… some cruel in-between part of those? I don’t know. I just—” your breath catches at the words, “—I just suddenly appeared. Face to face with my younger self. More versions of myself from before and with… with everything I tried to leave behind myself. Things that were long forgotten."

"My worst memories.”

He doesn’t blink, just stares, like he gets what you meant by your words, "you're alive,” he says again, “you're here.”

“But how?” you whisper, your voice sounding different than before, “Valentina... she killed me. The right way. There was no coming back. I knew it and she did too. She made sure of it..."

"I was dead.”

He is still looking at you. His eyes were glued to yours, like he couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere else. He then starts to say with slight hesitation drawing at his words, "I have a feeling…” he starts, opening and closing his mouhh to a few times before continuing, "I have something in my mind. I feel like I know how you’re alive but—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head, letting his hair cover the front of his face. There is a silence for a while, an understanding one. A one that doesn't need to be filled in with useless words.

"When I was back there... I heard someone speaking," you murmured after a while, "it wasn't you. It wasn't me either. Just someone else, I don't know—"

Bob’s head dropped lower, the shaggy curled ends of his brown hair falling just over his forehead, "yeah,” he whispered out, “that’s what I mean. That’s why I feel like I know how you’re alive.”

"What do you mean?" you asked while your eyes tried to find his through the fallen hair hiding his face. You shifted slightly and your knees bumped into his again.

"There is someone else," he swallowed and said, "he is the reason you're alive. The reason you saw those... memories."

You listened, unmoving. Letting him talk while your eyes watched his fingers tremble under the blue sleeves of his crewneck.

"It's not me... Well, it is. But it's not just me. He's different," his voice dropped again, his fingers twitching under the ends of his sleeves, looking like he was gesturing at something.

"He lives inside me. When I'm at my lowest. He is there. He seeks to be let out at my worst," he exhaled out, his voice trembling and he opened his mouth again.

"The Void."

The word was deep. It showed pain, the name he gave out was almost hurting him. He shuddered at the mentioned name, his shoulder rolling.

"The Void?" you echoed his words back.

Bob nodded at your echoed back name, "is he there?” you asked him.

Bob then shook his head a few times, then he stopped and nodded a few times. Like he didn't know the answer too, "this is him," he said without lifting his head, "the memories, those nightmares and fears... That's all him. He's out right now. He's terrorizing everyone outside, while I'm stuck here. Trapped in my own memory."

"He is bringing everyone into their worst shame. Their fears," he continued, his voice dropping again.

“This is your—” you began to ask him if this attic was his memory. A fear of his, or a nightmare that terrorized his history.

A sound of shattering plate cut through the floor beneath you. Loudly. Then came the unmistakable sound that you too well recognized. So did Bob beside you. Skin on skin.

A slap.

Then another and another.

You looked down from where the sound came from. Just at the edge of the rug was the wooden floor slightly sagged, there was a small hole peeking. Through it, you could see straight into the kitchen below you where the sounds came from.

Bob saw where you were looking from where he had his head bowed down.

He didn’t even try to stop you from seeing his childhood memory, "don't mind them…” he whispered, "they're just—” he paused, swallowing in his throat, “it’ll end soon.”

"This is the nicest room out of all... The other rooms are much worse," he whispers out and lowers his head in almost shame.

You turned to look at him slowly. His hands were shaking, gripping the edges of his sleeves. You noticed his fingers trembling and gripping the ends of the blue sleeves. You didn't even think or hesitate about your next move. You just reached forward. Your fingers brushed the edge of his fingertips first. Then they wrapped around his fingers that were peeking out from beneath the worn cuffed sleeves of the blue crewneck. His fingers were cold, much colder than yours. Almost like he was the one to be in that snowstorm that you were in moments before.

At your sudden touch, his head snapped up. His eyes, glazed with kept and unshed tears met yours. They were wide. He wasn't expecting you to reach out at him and touch him. But he didn't pull away, he didn't move his hand away from yours.

His trembling then slowly stopped. He let your hand lay against his, now not not-trembling hand. And then, slowly he curled his hand into yours. A shudder left his chest, like a small cry of fear. Like your touch of your fingers against his broke something deep inside him that he couldn’t try to put into words. His hand stayed in yours.

"Say that again!" someone, an angry man, yelled from downstairs which made you turn your head towards the small hole in the wooden floor again. A furious sounding command.

You caught a glimpse of a man standing up at the table, in front of a young boy. His shoulder high in defence, but he still looked scared. He stood in front of woman, blocking her from the view of the angred man before him.

"Don't touch her—" a child, a young boy, stated firmly to the man before him. The young boy planted himself before the man marching towards the woman. Most likely his mother.

"Oh, yeah. He speaks up!" the man speaks out with angred mockery. He then pushed nearly all food off the table as he neared the boy who was standing in front of the woman. The clattering sound echoing off the kitchen walls. Almost like the boy was protecting her from the man.

"Mum..." the boy gasps out as the man nears him and his mother. The older man closed the distance between himself and the younger boy, who remained glued to the spot. Desperately standing straight to protect the woman behind him.

The mother stays put and yells out with a sharp voice, but a kind of voice that doesn't make anyone flinch or move, "stop!"

"A hero, Bobby!" the man barked mockingly and pushed another items off the kitchen table, all of it going across the kitchen onto the floor.

"Bob, sit down," the woman suddenly snapped at the younger boy, cutting with her voice through the chaos of the argument, "you're making it worse."

You felt Bob beside you start to tremble again, just slightly. The grip on your hand hadn't loosened, he tightened it. As if he didn't want you to vanish or be let go.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers again, his head dropped with his hair covering his face again. His chin nearly meeting his chest.

You tear your gaze from the crack in the floor at the edge of the rug and look back at him. He's hunched over, his head dropped like he is hiding and his hands is tightly holding yours in almost a silent prayer. You see in between his hair and see that his eyes. Teary. His blue wells full of water threating to spill.

“Bob—” you begin with your voice barely a whisper. But your words are cut off by Bob speaking.

"Do you have a card?"

You still at that question. Your mouth hangs open, no words coming out. Your mouth hangs open for a few seconds and then you close it, your brows knitting together, "what?"

You had to ask. You know what he means. You know that he means the small card in your pocket of your vest. You know exactly what he means. But you don't know how he knows about it.

“I had a dream,” he says quietly, his finger grazing over tours again, "you… you had a card. We were there... like this. Sitting next to each other. You held a card in your hands," his voice trembles slightly, "there was a drawing—”

"Of two ghosts."

You both speak at the same time. Your eyes are wide and his head lifts up, his eyes catching yours like a magnet. You reach for the pocket of your vest without thinking. You unzip it and your fingers find the creased edges of the card in instant. You pull the card out and hear Bob let out a long deep exhale. His eyes are already on it by the time you pull it out and he stares like it’s not just a piece of an old paper, but like it’s a real prophecy.

You don't see it, but his lips are parted. He doesn't believe the fact that his dream was somehow real.

You hold it in your palm, staring down at it without looking up at the man sitting next to you. He looks down at it too.

He sees the drawing, the complete exact drawing of those two sweet-looking ghosts from his dream. There are those two familiar small ghosts, floating toward each other like they're almost looking like they're dancing together. That faded orange-pink heart between them. The same creased edges, right at the same spot where it was in his dream. The same everything.

He nearly chokes when your fingers graze and trace the drawing of the card. Right over the two ghosts there. The same way you did in his dream. Like it was repeating. As if you had seen that dream too and had to react to it whole. To the single detail. Except the fact that instead of the Rubik's cube in his hands, there is yours holding his.

He then notices the writing now. The line of text. Finally. The symbols that he couldn't make out when he was dreaming. Like that piece did not belong in that sream, like he was supposed to find out himself. Not by the dream and thoughts. But with you by his side. The part that the dream refused to give him. The letters that blurred each time he tried to read them.

Count to twenty-two and you’ll be mine too!

His heart tugs. At the text. The part that the dream did not want to give it to me. Something inside him ached. He understands that text, that's why the dream did not want to give him that part. It would be too easy. His fingers, still curled around yours, squeezed once, "I think,” he started to say but a breath caught itself in his chest, “some part of me was waiting for you.”

"I had a similar one... I remember similar text on it," he whispered and his gaze stayed on the card in your fingers. Looking at the two familiar ghosts floating around.

You tilt your head and stared up at Bob. Your fingers tracing his fingers that are held around yours. Then, you looked down at your intervening fingers and that's when you saw it.

A familiar edge of a card that was peeking out from beneath the Rubik's cube.

Your heart lurched against your ribs the second your thoughts ran straight, "Bob—” the word came out strangled, gasped out, "under the cube—”

Bob's brows pinch together at your words. Confusion ran up his face. His gaze drifts to where yours is locked, right where he remembers where the colorful cube was. The second his eyes catch the sight of the cube, he gasps out just like you did.

He then reaches for it, for that one creased edge that's peeking from underneath the cube. He picks it up slowly, pulling it from underneath the colorful item. His breath quivers as it gets pulled free. It’s nearly the same paper. The edge of a familiar type of paper creased just like yours. Nearly the same card. This version isn’t like yours. Not exactly.

Bob holds the other card gently between his fingers, staring down at the faded drawing of the same two ghosts that were on your card. You’re already leaning closer, eyes locked on the small creased card in his hands. It’s not the same as yours. Not quite.

The ghosts on his card aren’t dancing like the ones on your card.

They’re sitting.

Just like the two of you now. Side by side on a floor colored the same colour as the rug you are sitting on. They have their ends, where their arms are supposed to be, held together. Almost like the two of you are doing now. One of the ghosts leans slightly towards the other, just like you are leaning towards Bob now.

Above the ghost on the left, the one that is leaning, is a pink heart.

Above the one on the right is a soft orange one.

Those two hearts mixed would make the one on your card. Almost like they were each other's future or history. It’s almost like whoever drew it had seen this moment before it happened. Maybe it was meant to.

Bob swallows and his voice barely breaks through the air, "they're not dancing like on yours… they're sitting.”

You nod slowly, still looking at the small card in his hands. It doesn't make sense but also makes huge sense.

“They’re us,” he says with a small chuckle and you let out one too, “this isn’t like your card. It’s… before. Before your card."

“Before the ghosts found each other,” you whisper quietly, your eyes lifting up and his as well. Staring into each other's eyes.

"They were never just ghosts,” Bob softly said and then he looks down back at his card. His finger traces over the line of text on his own card. You look down too, noticing the text as well.

Counted to twenty-two and I thought you’d feel it too!

Your heart nearly drops and so does Bob's. Your own fingers tighten slightly around the edges of your card. You both fall silent, your matching cards resting in your hands.

Bob lets out a low, unsteady laugh after a few moments, "I found this in a book. I stole the book... um, from a library when I was just a kid."

You chuckled at that. You'd never imagine Bob as a book thief. It's almost hard to believe. Your eyes flicker between him and the card in his hands, "you found the card inside?”

“In between the pages,” he nods slowly, "the card just fell out when I opened it. I remember thinking it was weird card. But I kept it as a bookmark."

“What book was it?” you let your finger graze over his, you once again heart the same shattering noise of plates from beneath you. But you tried to let it fall silent against your ears, so did Bob. Completely ignoring the scene below you.

"I can't recall the name of the book, but the author was…” Bob says, thinking about the name for a second, “Svetoslav Staríjski.”

You feel the world slow around you. Like it was suddenly stopped. You then whisper back when you hear that name, "Svetoslav Staríjski..."

Bob turns to you, staring up at you with those blue eyes of his, "you know him?” he asks.

You nod shakily, "um... The doctor who used to take care of me after... all these experiments. He—He that gave me that card."

You stayed silent after. A silence taking over your surroundings. Your knees touching Bob's while you both hold hands tightly, like either of you could vanish in a moment. Bob is the first to break your comfortable silence.

"Do you think he knew?” Bob asks softly, "do you think he meant for us to find each other?”

"I'd like to think so," you smile softly at him. Bob does the same, he looks back down at the card in his hand and then he slides it into his pocket of his corduroy pants, keeping it safe there. You do the same, but zip it up into your tactical vest's pocket near your heart. Keeping it safely hidden. His eyes stay on you again, like he is glued to you. Two ghosts with hearts.

"So... You are my missing ghost," Bob smiles at you with a curved smile, his eyes soft and deep. You look at him back, the same smile on your face, "and you're my missing one."

Two cards, two ghosts, two people.

A silence stretches on for a moment, both of you staring at each other. Then Bob’s voice, quieter this time asks out, "so, what now?”

"We should find a way out of this memory," you glance down at where your knees met and where your hands are holding each others. Bob then squeezes your hand and that makes you look up, he is staring at you. Wide-eyed and waiting.

"I feel like... I need to do something," Bob says, voice trembling slightly, hesitating maybe. You tilt your head, watching him, waiting for him to elaborate. His eyes are wide, something urgent swimming in his eyes. He’s staring at you like the moment might vanish if he blinks, so wide-eyed, "if we don’t get out... I need to—”

“What do you—” you start, but he cuts in quickly before you finish your question.

“I need to kiss you,” he says so quickly that he nearly stumbles over his own words. The sentence rushing out of his lips like a flash of lightning. Those wide, startled blue eyes don’t leave yours.

You don’t speak. You just look at him. But after a moment, you shift, just enough for your knee to nudge his again. His eyes are blown and his cheeks are red. He looks like he’s barely holding himself together. Then, just as you do, he leans in too.

Just as your lips draw close, the entire attic shudders violently. Like an earthquake approaches. Like it's about to shatter underneath your feet.

Bob then suddenly yells out.

Before you can even react, his arms slam around your shoulders, pulling you towards him, hiding your head down. Tucking your head beneath his chin, his body shielding yours. Something wooden, you don't catch sight of what, crashes against your back. The floor trembles beneath you, objects rattling and flying around. Another chair hurls itself at Bob from behind him. Bob is quick to raise his arm and hide his face behind it, the chair breaking as it makes contact with his body. Objects are flying from all the shelves and boxes. Papers are scattered into the air and everything is almost in like a rapidly rotating and growing whirlwind.

You scramble to your feet, Bob rising with you quickly too. Both of you dart away from the flying objects, and you back up until your back is pressing against the wooden wall of the attic.

But then, a sudden force tugs on your shoulders from where you lean against the attic's wooden ceiling-wall. Pulling at your shoulders with invisible force, absolute pain shoots through your shoulder and you cry out. Bob lunges for a nearby wooden stick from a box nearby. He grips it tightly, ready to defend.

You were kinda worried he'd swing the stick at you.

Before he can even strike, another object flies straight at him, slamming into his side with force that sends him falling onto the floor of the attic.

You somehow kick yourself off the wall of the attic that was pulling you and rush to Bob’s side. Your hands wrap his crewneck-covered arms as you help him up back onto his feet.

“Who’s doing this, Bob?" you yell out as you hold on to the man's arm. His eyes were darting around the room. Like he was looking for whoever was doing this, like the Void was hiding somewhere there.

Just then, another, thankfully wooden, heavy object smashes into the back of his head, staggering him forward, "I think I am!” he shouts at you.

Before you can even say anything, another chair flies right towards him, striking him in his back with unexpected force. Bob stumbles into you, and your arms wrap around him to keep him from hitting the floor once again.

Just then, from behind you, a window curtain whips itself from where it was hung. One of the ends wraps itself tightly around your neck, the other wrapping the same way around Bob’s. A choking the breath escapes from your lips. Your vision breaking as it cuts you slowly off. Bob’s mouth hangs open, a line of drool escaping as he gasps for air right at the opposite end of the curtain. Both of you tremble, struggling against the grip.

Both of your hands claw and try to rip off the curtain from the grip on your necks. Then suddenly, your savior bursts in.

Ava suddenly appeared out of complete nowhere. Almost like a miracle.

In a swift slash of her blade cuts through the curtain, freeing both you and Bob from the unforgiving grip of choking. You gasp loudly, the air flooding back into your lungs. Bob’s breath came out instantly as ragged.

From behind Bob, Bucky storms in and rips apart a flying couch that was hurling straight towards the two of you. John follows next and kicks away a speeding object that almost catches at your head. Yelena is there next, kicking away a heavy filled-up box of scraps that was aimed straight at the man in corduroy pants.

Then, Alexei is the last. He rips apart, into two pieces, a pillow that wasn't even moving, "stupid pillow!" he yells out in his thick Russian accent.

You double over, gasping for breath as you pull off a curtain that was clinging to your neck.

"Twenty-Two..." John is the first one to speak, he comes forward and puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"We saw you die—" Yelena starts, moving to you too. Her face twisted, almost like she was about to cry. She comes closer to you and stares at you with her longing eyes. Her eyes almost shine as she looks at you. John is next to you too, his hand still on your shoulder, almost like he believes you'd die and vanish if he lets go.

"You were gone!" Yelena finally reaches out, placing her palm so gently on your arm.

"But I'm here now," you tell her and give her a small, comforting smile, and put your hand to where hers is. Right over hers, you give her a small squeeze. Your face then twists, realizing they must have seen their memories as well to be there with you, "what did you see? Are you all okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I have a great past, so I'm totally fine," Bucky is the first to answer and gives an awkward smile to you. You don't really know the man, but you're pretty sure that the man in no way had a great past when his whole arm is completely missing.

"Yeah. This place is messed up," John nods and his hand falling off your shoulder. He steps away, looking around the attic you're in. Bob next to you wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at the new additions in the attic.

"We're here together," Alexei says, nodding at you and his daughter. Then stares at the others around too, "that's what matters."

"Thank you, guys," Bob says from beside you, nodding at everyone, "really..."

"Of course. Here we are, Shane's elite electronics, Thunderbolts," Ava says with humour in her voice but with a stone-like facial expression. You smile weakly at her and Bob next to you shuffles closer to you, his hand making slight contact with yours. Bucky turns to her, and he looks kind of confused but smiles.

"It's not Shane!" Alexei mutters from where he is standing, stretching his arms out.

"Aha, okay. How—How do we get out of here?" John turns to the brown-haired man in corduroy pants and asks him the main question that lingers in everyone's head. You turn towards Bob too, staring up at him. He doesn't turn towards John, but turns his head at you, as if you had asked that question.

"As far as I know it's just... endless rooms," he looks down at you as he explains what he knows about this place.

"Wait. You said that this was the nicest room that you've found. The others were way worse, right?" you turned towards Bob with your whole body, thinking of his past words he told you when you were alone in this attic, sitting close on the worn-out rug.

"Yeah," Bob softly says, his eyes staring down at you.

"Okay, well..." Yelena says from beside you, also staring at the man in blue crewneck, "show us the worst."

You nod at Yelena and then you look at the man beside you. He's still staring down at you without turning his gaze at anyone else in the room. Your hand finds Bob’s, almost without thinking, "you've got to show us the worst one. We will all be there with you, Bob."

He swallows and looks at the others. At everyone in the attic. Then he nods a few times, "alright... I'll show you."

The attic's door creaks open when Bob opens it. Bob shows the stairs downstairs and you are the one to go first down. The others follow in close behind you, Bob on your feet, just a step away. Like he doesn't want to lose you. Again. His eyes constantly flickering to the back of your grey suit covered with the black tactical vest and on the back of your head. The steps creak loudly beneath your feet as you descend down the stairs, you once again hear the same repeated sound of dishes breaking and a man yelling. You don't stop as you reach the bottom and head for the kitchen where the yelling is coming from.

"Where do you think you're going, Robert?" the angred man, most likely Bob's father, yells at Bob, who is just a step behind you. John is the quickest to jump in and smashes his shield against the head of the man, knocking him out cold onto the floor. His reaction was immediate.

"Oh, he seems nice!" Ava commented sarcastically as she stepped over the unconscious body on the floor.

The room then starts breaking down and you're quick to follow Ava, who's moving for the way out. Plates rattled off the table, glass cracked from the windows and the walls started breaking and falling. You all jumped through a closet that you hadn't even caught sight of. Bob just suddenly shoved you into that closet.

You then felt yourself falling down. As if the closet had a hole in the floor. You hit the ground with a groan and clothes started flowing form the sky too. From the closet you came from.

Before you could even stand up and push yourself up, an unexpected object slammed right into the middle of your face. Sending you falling back down. You looked back up and squinted at the figure that hit you. You thought that you might have just gone insane.

A chicken.

Or rather, someone in a ridiculous, oversized chicken costume with his yellow ruffled skin of feathers. Its beak turned into a smile and its face was something that would make a child cry in fear. In the chicken's hand was a twirling sign with some advertisement of Alfredo's Bail Bonds. Whatever that was.

“What the fuck—” you gasped out, but before you could finish, the chicken suited person brought the sign down again, slapping it hard against your head and sending you back down on the floor.

The chicken caught Alexei with the sign, sending the Russian man tumbling away. Alexei crashed against the wall nearby. John stepped forward next, trying to block the chicken's chaotic, but violent swings wih an advertising sign. The chicken was quick to notice and hit the shielded-man with the sign.

Alexei, who was very quick to recover, charged at Bob who was helping you up from the ground. He grabbed Bob firmly by the shoulders, shaking him slightly as if he wanted to get some sense into him, “Bob, if you hit me with that sign one more time—”

Before he could finish, he turned around to charge at the chicken but the twirling sign whirled through the air and smacked him hard across the face. Alexei staggered back. Bob took a step backwards, almost hiding himself behind his own arms, "I was on meth!" he screamed out wildly.

The chicken raised the twirling sign up again, now aiming at Bob. Chicken-suited Bob now trying to attack normal Bob. It charged at Bob witht some wild,chaotic energy burst. Bob barely had time to turn his head away, but Bucky moved fast.

He lunged forward, sliding in front of Bob just in time to have his fist connected with the chicken’s face. The chicken crumpled backward, falling hard onto its back.

"This way!" sounds out from behind you from the Russian man. He is standing by opened basement-like doors. You all run towards him, going down into the hole while Alexei stands and urges you all to go. He is the last to enter, closing the door behind all of you. Off to the next room of Bob's memories. The way the man in corduroy pants shakes slightly when he enters tells you that the next room may be the worst one.

The final chapter of Bob's memories is waiting just in front of you. But this time, Bob isn't alone. He isn't alone to fight his own fears. Together, you’re ready for whatever may come. Whatever the room before you holds. You all will face it as one. Because you’re here for each other. Just like Alexei said, you're here together and that's what matters.

You’ll get out of this nightmare alive. You have to.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated! <3

this chapter is definitely one of my favourite ones!!!! i put my whole imagination into work when i thought of some sad :( memories that twenty-two could've had. also oooh the backtoback-past-to-future-destined-to-be-together card i pulled out??? IM PROUD OF THIS sorraaay for yapping bye

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