#best friend phoenix

[saltsicklover]

Part Thirteen

This is a long chapter for this fic! It's most definitely a rollercoaster and I should probably just put a huge warning on this chapter because it's a lot! Hangman Sucks, Natasha Sucks, Bob sucks, hell even Sunny sucks towards the end. It's one giant suckfest, most definitely a whump at the end. That's to say, I'd love to know what you think about it!

ALSO This Fic has just surpassed 40k words with this chapter! Technically its over 43k but still! Thank you for reading so many of my words! I love and appreciate all of you!

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6300+

Rating: R

Warnings: Tobacco, Swearing, Fighting, Blood, Crying, Anger, so so much Anger. Bob being slightly obsessed with Sunny's perfume in what could be a low key creepy way.

Second Chance Romance!

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

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

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

---

The trilling of Natasha's cellphone does nothing to pull Sunny out of her dumbfounded state, her brain playing Nat's bombshell of a sentence over and over again on loop. A broken record minus the squeak of the vinyl. 

"It's about time, Bagman," Natasha answers the call with a swipe of her finger, her voice carrying an aggravated tone. She tucks her phone between her shoulder and her cheek, leaving her hands free to stir her coffee. 

"Phoenix," Hangman's voice comes through the phone a bit muffled, like his hand is covering his mouth, "I fucked up," 

If he fucked up, maybe he should sound a bit more remorseful, but Natasha doesn't point that fact out. It's really not important, and it's not like she plans on letting him forget about this any time soon. 

"Yeah, no shit," That much is obvious to her, and finally Jake realizes it too, "Glad you finally put that together, what, twelve hours later?" Natasha does nothing to hide her annoyance. If it wasn't for Jake storming from the Hard Deck, his phone going unanswered, then Natasha and Sunny could have been out on the town by now. They would be shopping until Sunny couldn't possibly stuff anything else in her duffel. What's paying for one more checked bag, right?

"Yeah- well, I remembered when I woke up an hour ago-"

"An hour ago?! And you're just returning my call now? Jesus, Bagman, how hung over are you?" Natasha rolls her eyes, her hand coming back up to grasp her phone, though Hangman won't be able to see either action. She hopes that he will hear it in her voice- how ticked off she is becoming. If anyone could make the vocal eye roll a thing, it would be Natasha Trace. 

Glancing over at Sunny, Natasha notices she still has the same bewildered expression painted on her features. She can see the gears in Sunny's head turning with the way her eyebrows are furrowed, lips pursed, the only thing missing is the steam that should be pouring out of her ears. Then, Hangman's sputtering from the other side of the phone drags her back to that conversation. 

"Spit it out Hangman,"

"I came out to my truck to grab her bag and bring it into my place so it would be safe until you got here, but, Phoenix, it's not here," Seresin's almost whispering the last bit, Natasha even hits her volume button with her thumb in a failed effort to hear him better.

"What?" 

Confusion. Natasha hopes she heard him wrong. 

"It's not here, Phoenix. Sunny's bag, it's not in the bed of my truck. It isn't in the cab either,"

"What?"

Anger. She hadn't. 

"I didn't even remember that I had it until I got my phone plugged in this morning. Damn thing has been dead all night," Jake swears to himself under his breath, feeling the tension growing over the dead space of the call.  

Pinching the bridge of your nose is supposed to help stop headaches. Nat has never believed that fact, yet she pinches the bridge of her nose hard with her fingertips. 

"I swear to God, Hangman, I am going to murder you if you don't find Sunny's duffle," That gets Sunny's attention, the wheels in her head slowing, expression changing, confusion visible on her face. But, as soon as she locks eyes with Nat, her eyebrows lift to her hairline in question. Natasha pulls the phone away from her ear, but makes zero to attempt to cover the microphone when she tells Sunny, "Hangman fucked up and if he doesn't fix it, I am going to kill him,"

The nod that comes from Sunny pleases Natasha, the trust the younger woman has for her is evident in her lack of concern. Hangman is almost humming through the phone, impatient. The sound of a slamming truck door accompanying the swearing he is failing to cover up. 

"Fix it, Hangman," Is the last thing Natasha threatens the man with before hanging up the phone. 

"What was all that about?" Sunny has laid herself back down in the sun, one arm under her head, the other coming up to shield her eyes. She still squints a bit, her whole expression wrinkling over. 

Natasha notices just how relaxed she is, even with all of the bullshit that has been going on, so she takes a moment to think of her next move. Sunny wriggles a bit in her chair, watching Nat closely, waiting impatiently for an answer. So, Phoenix huffs, releasing a large breath from her lungs. 

"Somewhere between last night and this morning your duffle bag disappeared from the back of Hangman's truck," Natasha tries to wave her hand as if to emphasize that this little bit of information is really no big deal. She doesn't necessarily believe this herself, but she doesn't want Sunny's trip to get any worse than it has been already. After all, this isn't exactly how Phoenix had imagined their first visit going. "He is going to find it, but until then, lets find you something to wear and we can use it as an excuse to get you a new outfit."

The wink that Natasha sends Sunny across the deck makes Sunny giggle. Though she knows she should be worried about her lost items, Sunny can't find it in her to care all that much. The biggest disappointment would be having to replace the bag itself. Everything else in that damn duffel bag could go up in cinders and there wouldn't be any big loss. After all, Sunny already abandoned the most important thing to her at Bob's feet, the night before at the Hard Deck. 

"Give me a cute shirt to put on over my dress and we can go shopping, how does that sound?" Sunny shoots her friend a smile.

"Deal,"

After Sunny manages to pull her day old clothes back onto her body, fighting off the way they feel tear stained and gritty from the sand, she combs her way though Nat's closet. Her fingers wonder over the hangers, one by one. Each piece is different, but all of them soft and well loved. 

"I'm surprised how many pieces ofclothing you have in here," Sunny teases, her voice light as it meets Nat's ears over the sound of running water. "So feminine, too, Nat. I thought you'd dress a little more, I don't know... President of the boy's club," 

Natasha tries to feign offense but the toothbrush that's set between her closed lips keeps her quiet. 

"I mean, half of this is still uniform pieces, I know that, but still so feminine," Sunny jokes, trying to ignore the way Nat hangs her upper body out of the bathroom, narrowing her eyes at the younger woman. 

"You're in a fucking dress, you yahoo," Phoenix speaks through a mouth of suds, her toothbrush in her hand. 

"I know that, and I'm trying not to be," Sunny shoots back, sticking her tongue out. 

"I know a few Aviators that would love to help you with that problem," Phoenix's voice sounds a little more muffled from her space in front of the sink, but definitely lacking in suds. 

"Bradley would never!" The gasp is fake, but the giggling coming from both women is all too real. 

"Maybe not, but I can think of one very deserving man, and one who is less so, who would both be equally thrilled."

"And who exactly is the deserving one, Nash?" Sunny inquires, yanking a t-shirt off of a hanger before tugging it over her head. She ties it in a knot at her waist, allowing the skirt to peak out below it. 

Natasha is leaning out from the bathroom once more, grinning at Sunny as she fixes her clothes in the mirror. The shirt reads FORD is large blue letters across the front. It clashes a bit with Sunny's dress, but the fabric is so soft she can't help but claim it for the day. She chuckles to herself, thinking it's most definitely something Bob might have owned once upon a time, and that thought warms her a bit on the inside.

Natasha is grinning because she knows that shirt wasn't hers, once upon a time. It had been stolen from Bob one day when she came home from a night out and found it discarded on the hardwood by the front door. It was intended to be a little piece of blackmail, but this, this was better. She wants to let Sunny know that little tidbit of information, but decides to keep it to herself, enjoying the joy on her friend's face. Maybe Bob will see her in it and say something, or maybe he will enjoy getting to see her in it too. 

"Behave while I am in the shower, would you?" Natasha's voice is muffled by the now closing bathroom door, the sound of water coming through the pipes erupts a moment later, giving Sunny zero time to actually form an answer. With a mumble of "not likely" to herself, Sunny runs her hand over a garment bag that's hung towards the back of the closet. After a chance look back towards the bathroom to insure the door is still shut, she pulls the zipper on the garment bag down, revealing Natasha's stark white Dress Uniform in all of it's official glory. The damn thing is almost blinding in person between the pristine fabric and the shining of the buttons. 

An idea that hits Sunny almost makes her laugh out loud. With nimble fingers, Sunny pulls the entirely too white jacket off of the hanger. She pulls it on, carefully easing the stiff fabric up over her shoulders. With one gentle finger, Sunny feels the coldness of the nametag pinned to the chest. 

The plate reads the wrong name, Trace, filled in with white paint. 

Sunny takes in the sight of herself in the full length mirror Nat has propped up against the wall in the front of her bedroom. She attempts to ignore the tight feeling in her chest. 

The bright red of Sunny's dress, and the gray shirt she had just pulled over her body a few moments before, now partially obscured by the bright uniform top. It looks funny on her, from the way her eyes look to innocent against the hardness of the uniform to the way her fingers dance along the stiffness of the fabric. 

The urge to see Bob in is own uniform tangles in her chest along with the tight feeling- there is not enough space for both and she wants nothing more than to rip the fabric from her body. But, as she moves to pull it from her shoulders, she catches a glance of herself in the mirror one last time, pain in her expression, loneliness in the spaces of darkness below her eyes and suddenly, the uniform looks a little bit more correct. 

---

When Bob pulls his truck into the driveway later that morning, he carefully shifts down into park, shutting off his truck with a feeling of defeat clawing at his chest. He knows he shouldn't be tiptoeing around his own home, or holding his breath over the fact that Natasha's car is still parked out front. Yet, he can't shake that feeling from his bones. Both women still have to be home, not that Bob really expected anything different. After all, Sunny'sduffle is sitting in the passenger seat of his truck and he didn't expect her to wear her day old clothes out of the house. 

It's not like Bob thought she would mind, exactly. Sunny grew up on a ranch after all, and day old clothes worn in the city are still cleaner than any workwear found on a ranch. But, it's the principal. At least, that's what Bob has been telling himself. 

The fact that Hangman took off with Sunny's bag last night in the first place ticked Bob off, and so Bob went over to Jake's place to get it himself. Bob told himself when he pulled into Jake's driveway that he was doing the right thing- fixing his wingman's problem. He planned to call him later and let him know that the bag had been picked it up. Jake was bound to be sleeping off some sort of monster hangover, right? And there was no selfish motivation behind it, right? 

Bob lays his head against the steering wheel, forcing a couple of deep breaths into his system. It's getting increasingly more difficult to lie to himself about Sunny, now that she had walked back into his life, looking like everything he had ever wanted. Hell, she looked better, if that was even possible. She looked like his future, and up until she opened her mouth and the pieces fell into place, Bob thought he might break out his rusty moves and flirt the night away with her. 

That certainly didn't happen. 

Now that he has Sunny's bag, he's going to have to face her, right? After all, he can't exactly avoid her the whole time she is here, that wouldn't make him a very good host. Even if all of this history is stuck between them like some sort of unconquerable dividing force. Bob put himself in this situation, twice now. First when he abandoned her all those years ago, and again just this morning when he drove himself to Hangman's house and pilfered the bag from the back of his truck. 

The urge to unzip the bag and let the smell of Sunny's perfume flood the cab of the old Ford is almost too tempting. He can smell the faintest bit of left over fragrance on the bag itself, the smell all wood smoke and cedar under the lightest brush of vanilla that seems to be fading faster than the rest. Bob can't help the way the corner of his lip curls up at the scent. Sunny has never been a flowers and sweets kind of girl, those scents all too feminine and soft for a woman like her, at least, that's how Bob saw it. Hell, the damn burnt woodsmoke smell reminds him of home and it just makes sense that Sunny would wear it. 

Sunny has always been the worlds strongest girl in Bob's eyes. Maybe that's what allowed him to be so mean to her during school, and why he stood there and took her verbal beating in front of the crowd at the bar. Growing up in a Man's world, on a ranch in Florence, no doubt forced her into being strong- and if she couldn't punch her way out, she could sure as hell use her words. All Bob cared about was the fact that those words were directed at him, even if they hurt as he replays them over and over in his mind. 

There's that old saying, you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl. Bob assumes the same thing can be said about Montana. After all, Duchenne- Sunny is a Montana girl through and through and he can't separate them in his head. 

Hell, even if Bob has to remind himself over and over again that Duchenne isn't the one sitting in his house, it's Sunny now, all grown up, Bob still looks at her and sees, strength, sees home. He can see the clear of the sky in the smoothness of her skin. The wind plays through her messy hair, now in metaphor but still all there, fresh and crisp, bringing goosebumps to his skin. 

The damn smell of cedar and woodsmoke just completes the picture in his head; it leaves him yearning, which in a way feels just like home too.  

There isn't a way he can put it off anymore without a fear that he will throw the car into reverse and not come back until dark, so Bob pulls the bag over his shoulder and heads into the house. The sound of water running through the pipes hits his ears as soon as he walks in, and a deep breath he has been holding makes its way out of his lungs. 

Maybe he'll get lucky, he thinks, maybe she's in the shower and he can give the bag to Phoenix, delay talking to Sunny for another day, maybe two. Bob stalks up the stairs, the weight of Sunny's duffle threatening to collapse him at any second. 

It's not the weight, not really. 

It's the impending doom of it all. The bomb just a few seconds before it goes off, fragile and ticking down with each step he takes. 

The floor board creak beneath him, and it's a fitting sound, really, the groaning of the house matching the aching of his bones as he fights against the gravity pulling him down; pulling him in. It's the dizzying smell of woodsmoke that is flooding his senses that really seals the deal. It is stuck in his nose, much like the scent of jet fuel used to be. A part of him hopes that it also takes weeks to fade, to become something he no longer notices, that way, he can drown it while she is here, but then it will disappear our the door with Sunny. 

There is a moment where, just for a second, Bob wants to turn right around and head back out to the truck. Maybe not to leave, but to just exist in that scent for a little while longer without the fear of losing it. He hopes that it will stick around, that it will have embed itself into his upholstery. 

Hell, he hopes Sunny will stick around too, but that thought is fleeting and too far fetched to entertain for more than a second. After all, what's worth sticking around Miramar for, anyway?

The flash of stark white in his peripheral stops Bob in his tracks at the top of the stairs. There are few things in this house he knows to be that color, that bright, and none of them even come close to making his blood rush through his ears like the sight before him does. Sunny stands twisting her body in the mirror in Phoenix's room, the older woman's dress uniform jacket pulled carefully over her shoulders. Bob can't help but watch her, his mouth slightly agape has he takes in her form, clad in stark white, his Ford t-shirt speaking out between the open buttons. 

Suddenly, Bob is fighting against his own body to drag some sort of breath into his lungs. 

There is a wave of jealousy that snakes through Bob at his core. If she's in anyone's dress whites, she should be in his. Bob knows Natasha poses no threat, and hell, he is acting like Sunny is his to protect when in reality she is almost the furthest thing from that. From him and his love and his hands. But still, there is a part of him that's thankful that the jacket is hers, if Sunny has to be in someone else's. For a moment, the thought of Sunny is Hangman's uniform flashes through the forefront of his mind, but he doesn't entertain it any longer than it takes for the anger to drift out to his fingertips. 

The anger sits there, in his hands, beating under his fingernails and in the densest part of his palms. It's hot, searing, burning. 

Bob is not a stranger to the feeling, to the yearning. No, it's second nature by now. 

He is fighting for another breath, the ache somewhere between swallowed salt water and broken ribs.

Anger will not ruin this moment, Bob won't let it. Instead, he watches as Sunny's polished nails run over the pristine fabric, the lacquer only making the jacket look brighter. Bob takes in the subtle gleam in her eyes as she adjusts one of the cuffs. The wave of jealousy rolls through him again, this time, though, Bob wishes it was him under her well polished fingertips, so he could see the way the red of them pops out against his skin as she adjusts his cuffs. 

He almost lets himself imagine it- Sunny helping him into his dress whites. Bob has been in the Navy long enough to not need help with a uniform, he can pin his own ribbon racks on and make sure his name plate is sitting straight on his chest. Bob doesn't need the help. Yet, he can almost feel the gentleness that would be Sunny's touch, buttoning up those tacky gold buttons. He swears, if he closes his eyes he can see Sunny smiling up at him, the bright white of the uniform shining in her eyes like sunlight and it would be beautiful. 

And so he does. Bob closes his eyes right there, on the top landing of the staircase and lets himself imagine the way her fingers would bush over his uniform, too delicately, and how he would have to practice the upmost level of self control to keep himself from kissing all of that gentleness out of her. 

He takes the image of Sunny, smiling up at him on Prom night, under the stars, and lets himself remember how she felt under his hands. How it felt to kiss her. The feelings ebb and flow through him, his imagination pulled completely out to sea. He can feel the way her rings would dig into his skin, like they had years before. That feeling has never been forgotten. He wants to know how it would feel for Sunny to run her hands down the fabric of his uniform- or how it might feel for her to unzip the impossibly long zipper of his flight suit. 

Bob stops himself before his mind wanders too far- before he's unable to reign it in. 

When Bob finally cracks his eyes back open, Sunny is standing there, her hands still on the crisp white fabric near the bottom of the coat, eyes meeting, gaze tangling with Bob's own. Her gaze is a bit more sad, or maybe grief stricken, but she no longer looks angry as she stares at him. His breath hitches, the strangled breath caught in the denseness of his chest, and like a deer caught in the headlights, he has nowhere to go. The only thing left for him to do is squeeze his eyes shut and wait for the impact. And yet, he can't even  get himself to  squeeze his fucking eyes shut. Not when Sunny's finally looking at him with such kindness in her eyes. 

God, how Bob missed that look. 

The way Sunny looks at him is like a rush of blood straight to his head; like turning three-sixty in the cockpit a few thousand feet in the air. But that he was trained for- this? Nothing could have prepared him for this. For the softness behind her eyes where he has only been met with sadness in meetings past. Then, Sunny quirks an awkwardly shy expression, the whole thing coming out a little bit sideways and so very guilty.  

Neither of the pair is willing to speak first. Just the night before, Sunny couldn't keep her mouth shut and Bob wanted nothing more than to speak to her. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness. But now, they both stand in the cross fire of silence and desperate stares and it's not as heavy as either expected it to be. 

The sick swarming feeling of anxiety is back in Bob's stomach, still raging but less sour than before. 

When hasn't this girl, this woman before him, not made him anxious?

Maybe it's the softness of her eyes that quells it, or that guilty little grin that hasn't left her face even as the tinge of crushed raspberries takes over her skin. Bob tastes blood, the crimson invading his mouth from how hard he is biting his cheek. 

His heart hits against the backside of his ribs, calling out to her hands once more, the feeling threatening to make him as dizzy as her perfume. 

Silently, Bob slips her bag from his shoulder, taking a few steps closer to the bedroom door. He stops just outside of the jamb, still in the safety of the hallway. He brings a hand up to the jamb, leaning in just a little bit, just to get a little closer to her. Bob is chancing everything with this, as he leans, but he's do anything right in this moment if it meant he could be just that much closer with her eyes on him. Hell, he'd do anything to keep her smiling at him like that, even if it looks so damn guilty as it does nothing to cover up the sadness in her eyes. 

Then, Sunny is moving towards him, still clad in that damn white coat, sad eyes, and guilty smile. 

Bob's heart almost stops. The closer she gets, the more irradic it beats. He can see his Ford t-shirt under the open jacket and that's almost kills him. 

But, his heart keeps beating, he keeps living, so he holds the bag out to her like a peace offering, though he could never use it as one. It dangles between them, the muscles in his arm flexing to keep the heavy duffle from meeting the floor. The look Sunny gives him almost brings him to his knees, a fit place for him to beg for forgiveness, though his tongue is dry and still in the prison of his mouth. 

Then, her hand is reaching. Inch by inch, second by second, until her fingertips run over the back of his hand, so soft but still there, before grasping the strap in her own fist. He can't believe the moment that has just transpired between them; how soft her touch was or the fact that it was really her who touched him.

And again, Bob's heart calls to her hands like the moon calls to the waves and he is left wishing that it could be strong enough to pull them closer; until he is gifted with something just as sweet. 

"Thank you, Bobby," The words leave Sunny's tongue as no more than a mere whisper, but Bob wouldn't have missed it. He couldn't have. Not when it was her words- not when it's her. 

Words fail him again, but instinct kicks in and he is bringing his free hand up to his hat, nodding at her with a gentle touch to it's brim. Bob lets his fingertips graze over the brim just as soft as Sunny's touch grazed over his hand. The smile he is given lights his nervous system up, sending pin prick sparks dancing across the expanse of his body. Then, he is backing away, back towards the stairs.

Bob knows he has to get out of there, he just has to. There needs to be just one moment between them that isn't tainted. And Sunny smiled at him, in that fucking jacket that she had zero business wearing with his t-shirt underneath and it sent his mind reeling the closer she stood. So, he has to go. 

The takes the first two backwards before finally turning his back to her, unable to fight the smile trying to claw its way into his face. In that moment he knew he finally murdered Dr. Jekyll, and the feeling of standing over the metaphorical corpse of a twisted doctor is almost as good as that smile of hers when it's directed right towards him. 

When Natasha finally exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel in her hand as soaks up the water droplets that still fall from her hair, she is met with the sight of Sunny. She is still clad in Nat's coat, her duffle in her hand, staring out the doorway into an empty hallway. She stands so still, so quiet, Natasha thinks something might be wrong from the way the younger woman is just standing there. That is until she notices the smile on Sunny's lips and the doe eyed look that has taken over her features. 

That makes Phoenix smile too, her expression filled with a little too much knowing. She can almost picture the way Bob must look, leaning up against something, with that damn cowboy hat in his hand, or maybe held against his chest to cage in the beating of his heart. He's wearing that same fucking smile, that same doe eyed, hopelessly, head over heels in love look. 

Natasha want's to scream "go after him, you idiot!" but it's too soon, they need more time. Bob needs more time to figure out just how to make up for it all, and Sunny needs more time to trust again, to trust him again. Phoenix then notices the bit of sadness in the depts of Sunny's eyes. 

"Sunny," Natasha's voice is quiet, in attempt to not spook the lovesick look of of her friends face. Sunny doesn't turn from the door, still staring hopelessly into the hallway. She mutters a "Yeah?" in response. "Did he walk away from you again?" 

There is anger spiking through Natasha now, her fists balled, knuckles white. 

"Yes," 

That's all Natasha needs to hear. Suddenly, she is pushing past Sunny, rage taking over her in an instant. Nat is already down the hall, leaving her standing there sputtering. 

"Robert Floyd!" Natasha comes crashing into the living room. There is no answer from inside the house, so she turns, heading right for the front door. Sunny is clamoring down the stairs behind her, confusion and fear laced over her features. 

"Nash!" Sunny is hot on her friend's heels, her duffle bag now thrown over her shoulder, as the door swings shut with a loud slam. The walls shake, the nob still vibrating as Sunny pulls the door open. 

By the time Sunny makes it out to the driveway, Natasha is pulling Bob close by the collar of his shirt. Then, she is throwing him to the ground. His body hits the pavement hard; he winces, his glasses falling from the bridge of his nose. Bob opens his mouth to speak, but is met with a sharp right hook to the jaw. Then, a fist meets his nose. 

It's not clear which is louder in Bob's ears, the crunching of cartridge or the small scream that manages to escape from Sunny. He can taste the blood, metallic and sharp in his mouth, leaking into the paces between his lips and gums. 

"I told you not to hurt her again, Floyd," Bob is groaning, not in response but out of pain. He makes no effort to fight back as Phoenix drops on top of him, ready to hit him again.

But the punch never comes. 

And then her weight is being dragged off of him, Phoenix protesting the whole time. Bob carefully brings his hands to his face, blood smearing all over his skin. It's already dripping from his chin, collecting in dark, angry patches on his shirt. 

"What the fuck was that, Natasha?!" It's Sunny's voice that cuts through Bob's bleary state, his whole face wet. Sunny is still holding Natasha back, her hands pulling Phoenix's elbows together behind her back. He was just standing there, smoking, thinking about how fucking pretty Sunny looked in his shirt, and the way she touched him, and the next thing he knew, Natasha had him, and now he couldn't be more confused. This's an answer he wants to hear, too. 

"He had one more chance, Sunny, and he fucking hurt you! What else did you expect me to do?" This is the most angry Bob had seen her, even after yesterday. Sunny doesn't exactly look surprised, but God, she looks hurt. 

"No," The word is so stern it get's Phoenix to stop fighting against her grip. The anger is slowly simmering out of Natasha, and Sunny may as well have been absorbing it because she is fucking livid now. 

"But he hurt you, Sun-"

"No," She starts again, letting go of Nat's elbows, only to put herself between her friend and Bob. Suddenly the aviators are wearing equally confused expressions, but neither dare interrupt Sunny's angry tirade. "First of all, Natasha, you do not get to come out here, acting like a goddamn fucking fool then turn around and use that nickname with me. When I told you to call me that, I thought we had an understanding. Be there for each other, not fight each other's battles," Sunny's pointing a finger in Natasha's face. She is inching closer and closer, and it's taking all of Nat's will not to slink away. 

"Second, Bobby didn't do a goddamn thing. If you would've stuck around instead of going all Rambo, you might have found out what happened. We actually came to an understanding," Sunny's not sure if that's really what happened, or if an understanding is really something that could be reached between them, but it seems to be the best word to describe the complicated situation right now. 

Natasha looks at the blindingly bright jacket on Sunny, now decorated with Bob's blood. The coat is ruined now, stained with anger and lines crossed. She glances down to her hands, taking in the bright crimson decorating her knuckles. Natasha feels sick. 

"Third," Sunny takes her outstretched finger and tips up Natasha's chin with it, making the older woman look her in the eyes. Sunny pays no attention to the tears threatening to flood over her waterlines. "Look me in the eyes when I'm speaking to you. Even if he did hurt me, that doesn't give you the excuse to punch him, let alone break his nose! What the hell were you thinking?" 

Tears are slipping from Natasha's eyes now, her lower lip quivering. She chances a look over Sunny's shoulder to Bob, who is still bleeding profusely from his nose. He doesn't try and stop the blood, instead to focused on the women in front of him and the way Sunny is defending his honor. Then, she is shaking her head, sidestepping Natasha and heading back for the front door. 

Both Bob and Natasha watch her go. Nat is doing the best she can to hold in her tears, push them back down as she sniffles. Bob wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, already too coated in blood to really help anything. It just smears the blood further over the expanse of his rapidly bruising face. 

When Sunny returns a moment later, she has two purses slung over her shoulder, an ice pack and a set of keys in her hand. She approaches Natasha, she is shoving the keys and the smaller of the two purses into the older woman's hands. Natasha sniffles again, taking the items from Sunny's hands without a word. Hell, even if Natasha knew what to say, she wouldn't have been able to peel the words from he tongue. 

Then, Sunny is moving towards Bob. She kneels down, grabbing his now bent glasses from the pavement. Folding them up as best as she can, she places them on Bob's thigh. She is shucking the once crisp white coat from her shoulders a second later, wrapping the icepack in it before offering it to him as a sort of rag to help with all the blood. Bob takes it with a shaky hand. She guides it in his hand up to his nose. Sunny attempts to give him a reassuring smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. 

"Natasha is going to take you to the hospital," The words are sharp and loud, loud enough for Nat to hear. They are meant for her anyway. If Sunny's tone of voice didn't make him feel sick, the completely crushed expression on Phoenix's face would have. 

With a quick squeeze of Bob's thigh, Sunny is moving away. As she stands, she swipes the still smoldering cigarillo from the ground, bringing it up to her lips. The look Sunny sends Natasha as she grabs her duffle bag from the grass sends chills down both her and Bob's spines. Then, Sunny's back is turned to the pair as she heads down the driveway. 

The Aviators watch as she goes, turning down the street and slowly disappearing into the distance. Neither dare to move, dare to speak. After all, there is nothing to say, not when there is so much understanding between them now. Natasha knows now, how Bob felt at the Hard Deck as he watched Sunny walk away. Her anger clouded her eyes before, too focused on getting answers. But, she knows now, too, having watched Sunny walk away in a cloud of stolen smoke. 

When Nat finally turns back to Bob, he looks at her with such empathy, and that fucking breaks her. 

A strangled sob wracks through her from deep in her chest, clawing its way out of her throat as hot tears all but burn trails down her face. Then, Bob is holding a bloody hand out to her, beckoning her closer, to sit with him. So she does, the tears coming hard and fast, almost choking her. Bob wraps a comforting arm around Phoenix's shoulders, pulling her into him, a makeshift way to ground the both. She buries her face into the now crimson jacket as Bob rubs her back, letting her cry. As the sun gets higher in the sky, and the tears slow, neither attempt to move from their space on the concrete. Both are too weighed down from the day, from the fight, from watching Sunny walk away from their fucking mess. 

And so, the pair sit on the pavement, up against Bob's truck, covered in slowly drying blood; watching the road that their girl disappeared down, just hoping, praying that she might turn back around. 

[hebidem]

two ends on a spectrum (^:

@amphibimations made the OG post !!!! im so sorry i knew i was inspired by something but i just couldn’t remember !!!!

[gumdefense]

We have moved past Maya and Franziska wingmanning narumitsu as a society. They would not fucking do that. We need to realise the truth which is that Larry and Gumshoe would try to wingman them and only succeed through failure

[niabarnat]

someones got a sweet tooth :3

(aka molars cake)

[toffee32]

Vulpes Inculta and Aurelius of Phoenix

[clockworkvampyre]

today i realized that the wrightworth molars picture turns a decade old

happy 10th anniversary to the best thing ever drawn

[nortsauce]

Hey best friend, lets see those molars

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

🎉 they kept the 'best friend' lines!!!!!! 🎉

[doctorsiren]

I saw an interesting post a while back that said “Capcom made us [Miles and Diego/Godot] only have like two(?) interactions because they knew we would be unstoppable with a brother dynamic” and tbh it stuck with me bc it was intriguing.

So yeah that potential brotherhood, but that Godot/Diego AU I made (that I still need a name for)

Also I bet Gregory Edgeworth would have smelled like a bit like coffee, and so Diego just reminds Miles of that comforting presence 😭 (the von Karma estate was a tea household, so he didn’t smell much coffee after DL-6 and didn’t realize how much he missed it/reminded him of his father)

[khairosclerosis]

💘 ' you're my sunshine, and i want you to know

that my feelings are true;

i really love you ! '

...

...

y'know it's kinda funny i didn't like bratfeen at first because i thought bratworth was too mean for feenie and that thought made me kinda sad, but thats when i realised there's like nothing bratworth can actually say to affect him because as we've seen feenie is so fatally Silly it makes him immune to everything else, therefore they are actually hilarious instead.

well, if you ignore the horrors, by which i mean the possibility feenie was so unlucky that neither of the "friends" he would have made here actually liked him (bar iris, but iris isn't dahlia) and being naïve as he was he'd cling to anyone who showed him any genuine interest (or in this case, who he remembers as having done so) regardless of how they treated him — which i will ! anyway ,

🎐 bonus :]

-🌿

[saltsicklover]

Part Six

Here it is, and let me just say, I am so sorry in advance! My heart hurt writing this one...

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4600+

Rating: R

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, Cigars and Smoking, Crying, Angst, Pining, Robert Floyd (A warning).

Second Chance Romance!

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

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

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

---

The group, Sunny included, make themselves comfortable at the tables near the pool table. It's their usual hangout spot, so they slip into their groove quickly. Nat and Hangman are now going head-to-head in a cut throat game of pool while Sunny and Rooster chat, acting as peanut gallery when the game requires it. Sunny basically had to push Nat into playing, convincing her that they will have two weeks together and more than enough time for everyone. Natasha grumbles as the game gets started but slowly put her game face on, not ready to loose to Hangman. 

"So, Sunshine, where are you from?" Rooster asks before taking a long swig of his beer. 

"Originally? Or do you mean where I live now?" Sunny shoots back, a twinkle in her eye that Rooster can't help but notice. Sunny brings a hand up to her necklace, playing with the small pendent between the tips of her fingers. 

There is something about her that reminds him of his Mom. Maybe its the way she instantly fills the room around her with light, like it's pouring straight from her soul. Maybe it's her carefree nature, or the way her bangs have come loose from her pins, the delicate curls falling into her eyes. Somewhere between the first sight of her, as he and Natasha barreled into the parking lot of the Hard Deck, and now, his soul decided that Sunny is exactly who his sister would have been if he had been fortunate enough to have one while growing up. They may not look alike, share parents, be from the same place, or even know each other, but his heart knows she is going to be a part of his life. Damnit if he isn't going to treat her exactly like the little sister he has always wanted. 

"I live in Colorado Springs now, I work at a book publishers office there. I'm actually hoping that they will take me on as a permanent novelist as soon as my first full length book is actually finished being written. I thought by now it would be done, you know? But life get in the way I guess, huh? I can't live off of publishing poetry for the rest of my life, that's for sure," Sunny tries to tuck the loose pieces of hair back into her clips but they keep slipping through her fingers. "I'm from Montana, originally, though!" 

"Oh! That's where that accent is from!" The pieces fall into place for Rooster, "I was thinking you were from somewhere down south but I couldn't place it!" Sunny is thankful Rooster grazed over the published books thing. Though she loves work, and she is proud of all that she has accomplished, its a real relief to not have to talk about work. 

"Oh yeah," A blush creeps over Sunny's features, her chest flooding with a color akin to her dress.  "Other direction!" 

"Where in Montana?"

"No where you've heard of," She tries to dismiss it with a wave of her hand, her other still toying with the pendent on her necklace. 

"Try me!" Bradley is confident, really, even though he knows he isn't going to have a damn clue. He couldn't name a city in Montana if he tried. 

"I grew up outside of Wibaux, south of I94, in Florence," Sunny's voice is quiet, the quietest it's been since she got into Hangman's pickup. She is still trying to pin her hair back, the frustration she is feeling making it increasingly difficult. "It's a little nowhere town, really. It was mostly school sports and lots of ranching. Not much to write home about," 

"Isn't Bob from Montana?" Natasha asks the boys, but they both shrug. "Maybe he was from Wyoming. Somewhere tiny, that I know for sure," 

Sunny laughs a bit, finding Natasha's lapse in memory amusing. For as long as they have known each other, Sunny has always been convinced that Natasha has a fantastic memory. She would have to, to fly that damn jet, right? 

"Did you guys have a big football following?" He questions, trying to keep the conversation going. Rooster wants to know her like the back of his hand, the yearning to add another person to his small patchwork family itching at his palms. 

Sunny drops her hands in defeat, the battle with her hair useless without a mirror. She rolls her eyes at herself, a thick sign falling from her lips. She takes a quick sip from her drink before putting her attention back on Rooster. 

"We didn't have a football team," Bradley looks at Sunny like she is crazy, the whole idea seeming nuts to him, "Big ones were swimming and basketball, actually," Bradley goes quiet for a second and so Sunny adds a small "Go Pronghorns!" with little to no actual pep to her voice. She waves her fist half heartedly in the air, the movement strange. 

They sit there for a moment longer, both of their faces twisting to awkward grimaces before they burst into fits of giggles, all of the awkwardness that begun enveloping them bursting in on itself and disappearing. 

"Were you a basketball or a swimming fan?" Bradley inquires from behind his beer can. 

"Are we talking the sport or the members?" The question earns Sunny a look from Natasha. She leans against the side of the pool table, Hangman behind her, lining up his next shot. 

"Don't even get her started, Roos," Natasha jabs playfully.

"What, I cared about sports!" Sunny attempts to defend herself, but the blush enveloping her skin tells otherwise. 

"You didn't care about sports, don't try and kid yourself," Nat winks, "You only went to the swim meets because you were just in love with-"

"Alright!" Sunny almost jumps out of her skin, holding her hands out in defeat, "I am going to run to the restroom, then hit the bar for another drink, does anyone need anything?" 

Sunny sends a glare to Natasha as she slides down off of her stool. She mouths 'I hate you' to her friend, her eyes holding no malice. 

"A round of beers please, my beautiful Sunny," Natasha speaks, trying to butter her up, "But hurry back! Bob just texted, he said he's five minutes out!" Sunny gives her a thumbs up before heading for the bathroom. 

She doesn't actually have to use the bathroom, just the mirror. She makes quick work of pulling the pins from her hair, the pieces falling down to their natural place. She picks up one by one, French twisting them back out of her face. After a couple on each side, secured with pins she washes her hands and heads out the door, her next stop, the bar. 

As she made her way through the crowd, she couldn't keep her mind from wandering. She thought of the Ranch back home and the world she left behind. She spots a young Airman, belly up to the bar, his blond hair pushed back out of his face. He can't be older than twenty two, his young features and baby face make him look about eighteen. He reminds her of Robert Floyd and her heart aches for just a second, but she  tries to shake that thought from her head as quickly as it came. 

If Natasha hadn't opened her mouth, maybe she wouldn't be thinking about him again. Maybe she wouldn't be feeling that pang of stale hurt in her chest, reliving that conversation over and over again. 'I didn't work my ass off to throw it all away over a girl like you,'  it still hurts, though it's different now. The pain isn't sharp as daggers and all consuming. Instead, it is wrapped tightly around her ribs and sometimes, it squeezes, constricting, reminding her that it's still there. 

She catches herself missing the smell of cherry tobacco, the scent still stuck in her nose. 

"You must be Sunny," A warm voice greets her from behind the bar. "I'm Penny," the dark haired woman greets, a kind smile spread over her lips. Penny looks like the personification of home. The warmth that emanates from her is almost stifling, but Sunny can't help but bask in it anyway. 

"I like your nametag, much better than the ones we usually get in here," The words are said with a wink, then blush spreads across Sunny's cheeks. Her hand comes up to feel the crinkle of the sticky nametag stuck to the front of her dress. 

"Yeah, that's me," Sunny smiles at her, the blush darkening on her cheeks,  "Can I please order a round of-"

"Beers for those two knuckleheads and the lovely Phoenix?" Penny finishes for her, already pulling the beers out of the cooler. "I've also got a Pepsi for you and a glass of water for Bob. He walked in a minute ago," Penny has everything down to a science, one that surprises and delights Sunny in equal measure. 

"How'd you know?" Sunny giggles, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"I have the pleasure of being engaged to the Dagger Squad's captain, so I know those guys pretty well, plus they are pretty much the only reason I stock beer in cans anymore," Penny puts the last of the drinks onto a tray with a chuckle. Sunny moves towards the tray, her fingertips grazing over the edge. 

"Phoenix has been talking about you coming since the moment she found out. Then Hangman gave me the rundown when he came in with Rooster," She explains, her hands working quickly as she wipes down the bar. Then, she grabs a cup of peanuts from behind the bar top, placing it on the tray, "It's all yours, take the tray with you, I'll be by to pick it up in a few minutes,"

"Thank you," Sunny speaks, pulling the tray up off of the counter, balancing it near her shoulder. Thank god for the muscle memory of her long forgotten waitressing skills.

"You've got one hell of a memory, Penny," Sunny compliments, shooting the older woman a bright smile. 

"Thank you, Sunshine," Penny winks. Sunny nods her head towards Penny one last time before turning on her heel, headed back towards the back of the bar. She dodges a couple of young Marines, both too caught up in their own conversation to see her coming. Sunny turns back to Penny, rolling her eyes playfully as she gestures to the Marines with a tilt of her head. 

"Oh, and Sunny," Penny yells after her, a light giggle laced though her words, "Welcome to Fighter Town!" 

Sunny navigates through the ever growing crowd, making her way back to the Daggers. She can't help but let her eyes wonder over the many uniforms that adorn the crowd. From flight suits and Peanut-Butters to BDU's and Veteran hats. It felt like everyone in the bar was wearing something to signify that they were Military affiliated. 

She feels like an outsider, someone from the wrong side of town, the wrong state, the wrong part of the country. Her world has always been quiet, from the sprawling plains of the family ranch to the stillness of her office. Her world is soft, made up of cricket sounds and book pages. This world is hardened exteriors and no fear. 

The world around her is bustling, sticky with stale beer and sweat. There is a constant underlying smell of jet fuel and saltwater across Fighter Town. It's all new and she can't help but wish Natasha would have prepared her better. 

She knew Natasha was in the Navy, of course she did. Natasha clued her into that fact when they first started talking, but what really secured that fact for Sunny was when a couple of Naval Officers showed up on her doorstep to interview her about her involvement with Natasha. Something about clearing those closest to her before she could be rewarded her Top Secret clearance. 

Sunny never did tell Nat of the men who knocked on her door, dressed in uniform. She felt her world slow down at the sight of them, like it does in the movies when a Soldier dies; the world spun unbelievably fast the moment she found out Natasha was okay. Whatever she told them must have worked out; two months later she received an email from Natasha, boasting about her new clearance. Sunny couldn't have been happier if she tried. 

Still, Sunny feels that she is standing on the outside looking in, the way she has felt most of her life, until she catches sight of Hangman and Rooster. They are bumping shoulders with each other, both wearing smiles that light up their eyes. She can hear Natasha's laugh through the bustle, the sound makes her heart swell. The world feels just a little bit smaller, or maybe she is just a little bit closer. 

Her eyes catch Natasha through the crowd as she makes it to the pool table where Hangman and Rooster have begun a new game. Rooster is leaning over the table, lining up a shot to the corner pocket. That's when she sees him. 

Everything around her feels impossibly slow, her heart beat echoing throughout her body. She can feel it in her hands, fingers pulsing as she opens and closes her fists. Sunny takes in the sight before her, trying to concentrate over the whooshing of her heart in her ears. 

Robert Floyd is sitting next to Natasha, his blond hair cut shorter than Sunny had ever seen it before. It was cropped short on the sides, the longest parts at the top of his head gelled back out of his bright eyes. He had aged, of course he had, but instead of looking older, he just looked like a more mature version of the boy she had always known. Slightly bent, gold framed glasses sit slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose and he reaches up to adjust them often, trying to get to bent metal to sit correctly on his face. 

Sunny had never seen him so quiet; he sat leaning in towards Natasha, his ear in her direction, his hands laced together in his lap as he listens to whatever story she is telling him. The smile on his face is exactly the way she remembers it, slightly crooked as it lights up his entire face. 

The medals pinned to the chest of his uniform are perfect; from their color to their placement, hell, they are even lint rolled to perfection. They make her a bit nauseous, too akin to his letterman jacket in her eyes. It is strange to see him like his, so gentle, so pristine. There's no cowboy hat clutched loosely in his hand, his usual boots swapped out for well polished dress shoes. From where she stands, she can't catch even a hint of the tobacco that typically permeates from his clothes.

Her heart aches a bit for the loose, unkempt guy she used to know. From the lack of distinct cherry scent down to the missing pearl that usually cover his now plain buttons. Yet, it's the hair she misses the most. She loved his long locks, specifically the way her fingers felt threaded through them. He looks so much like a man now. 

Initially, Sunny feels the urge to run over to him and wrap her arms around his torso. She wants to press her ear against his chest and listen to his heart beat, just like all the women do in all of the books she reads. She wants that second chance romance moment- the one where the leading man takes the leading woman's face in his hands, looking deep into her eyes as he confesses all of his wrong doings. She wants to feel his hands on her bare skin again. 

Then she remembers that conversation again. It plays over in her mind once more. 'I didn't work my ass off to throw it all away over a girl like you,'.

Now, she can feel the anger bubbling up from deep in her. She wants to throw a beer at him, cover his pristine uniform in amber liquid, letting the tan fabric go dark and wet. Sunny imagines the pleasure she would feel watching the liquid fall from his frame onto the well polished leather of his shoes. She wants the revenge, the shouting match, the bared feelings of hurt and aguish. Sunny wants to yell at him in the way Miss Bennet yelled at Mr. Darcy, all anger and justified hurt. Maybe then, they would both be fraught with pain, just as she had been since the moment he walked away from her. 

But before she can do either, her body is moving on it's own accord. Sunny sets the tray of drinks down on the pool table, interrupting the game. Hangman and Rooster look at her with 'what-the-fuck' expressions, but she ignores them, instead stepping around to the other side of the table. Her movement catches Bob and Natasha's attention, drawing them out of their conversation. 

Bob looks at Sunny, his eyes darting from her eyes to her lips then back again, triangulating her features. He takes her in like she is his reason for breathing. She is stunning, that much he will admit to himself, from the way her hair is pulled back from her face, to the slight blotchiness of her skin, no doubt from all the crying Phoenix had been telling him about. 

Bob takes in a deep breath, letting Sunny's face fill in all of the blank spaces in the stories Phoenix has shared with him. He lets the image of her features paint each memory, bringing them to completion. 

He lets his gaze trail down her body, taking in the gentle pattern of her dress, the little yellow flowers spiraling around the bright red fabric. Bob has always been one for details. His eyes hit her boots next, his heart stuttering a bit at the sight. God, he has missed seeing people in boots, and a beautiful woman in boots? That might just do him in. 

When his eyes trail back up her body, they lock in on the pendent of her necklace. The distinct outline of Montana hangs from the delicate chain around her neck. Bob fights the quirking corner of his mouth, attempting to keep the large grin threatening his features at bay. Finally, he thinks, someone from home, someone he might just have something in common with.

That thought causes a wave of anxiety laced excitement to roll through him, his heart cresting over the wave of emotion as it rolls from his head down his torso. He tries to push the feeling down, the further away from his chest the easier it is to focus. 

Bob stands quickly, holding his hand out to her in greeting, ignoring the obvious look of bewilderment on her face, "Hi, I'm Robert Floyd, you must be Sunny! I've heard so much about you. It's wonderful to meet you!" His tone is light, friendly even. It squeezes her chest, her heart aching. 

This is not the Bob she knows. 

Her expression doesn't change and the wave of anxiety rolls back up Bob's body, taking his heart under the swell again. 

Sunny doesn't even move, she doesn't speak, instead, she stands two feet in front of him and her best friend, her head cocked slightly to one side. Her eyebrows are deeply furrowed, mouth slightly agape. Her eyes slowly move from Bob to Natasha and back again, all of the pieces connecting. She narrows her gaze to a pinpoint. 

"Sunny, what's wrong?" Natasha's voice is filled with nerves, her own anxiety peaking. Natasha could almost feel the confusion coming off of Sunny in waves that crest into pure negative. There is silence between the everyone for a minute before Natasha asks again, a little more force behind her voice this time, "Sunny, what's wrong?" 

Bob still hasn't retracted his hand. Sunny shakes her head at the sight. Everything finally understood. 

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Sunny's voice is almost silent, pointed, until she turns her attention to Natasha, "Robert Wayne Floyd, the 'sweetest guy you've ever met', your goddamn back seater is Floyd!"

Nat's eyebrows are furrowed and she looks at Bob for some sort of a clue as to what's going on. All he can do is shrug, having awkwardly retracted his hand after his name came flying from Sunny's lips. He was taken aback by the use of his full name and the venom Sunny's voice possessed as she spoke them. 

Rooster and Hangman are standing closer now, further from the pool table, their game and drinks long forgotten. The men behind Sunny are each on edge, unsure of the situation but ready to jump into action at a moments notice. 

Sunny turns her attention back to Bob, heat overtaking her skin and disbelief bubbles through her. Her eyes hold a distinct look of hurt as Bob scans over them, taking in the features of her face. 

"You have no idea who I am," There is no fluctuation to her tone. It was not a question. She wants to scoff, but really, she knows she shouldn't be surprised. This is Bob Floyd, after all. 

It was in this moment that Sunny realized just how much of a hold Bob still had on her heart. There was no room left to wonder as he stood in front of her, a kind but confused look written over the plains of his face. Somewhere in her subconscious she knows the wants to kiss him. Kiss that dumb look off his face, thread her hands through his too neat hair, and remind him exactly of what he walked away from. She doesn't move, instead, she clenches her fists, the feeling of her pulse thrumming thickly through her tightly curled fingers. Sunny wants to hate him, that feeling tangling in her chest, still so familiar after ten years. She should hate him, but she doesn't.  

Bob swears he can almost see the gears turning in her head, almost hear her thinking. Her expression is hard, concentrated. He wants to help her, to know what about his presence in this bar has got her all tangled up. He feels like he was left soaking wet under the hot sun, uncomfortable in the way his skin is almost burning under her gaze. 

Sunny brings her hands up to her face and Bob almost tenses at the movement. Sunny breathes deeply behind her palms before running her hands over her hair. Pieces come out of the twists, falling into her eyes. That sparks a bit of familiarity deep within Bob's brain. 

"Of course you don't," Sunny's tone is dry, un-humored and scratchy against her throat- she holds back tears. She draws her lips into a line, shaking her head. 

"What's going on, Sunny?" Natasha is standing now, positioning herself in between her best friend and her WSO. She shoots a lightly panicked look to the Pilots standing behind Sunny, her eyes almost shouting for help, like they might know something she doesn't. 

Hangman moves to step closer, answering Nat's panicked look with action. Bradley stops him with a firm hand on Hangman's chest. 

"Not yet," His voice is barely above a whisper, almost getting lost in the loud atmosphere of the bar. If the two men hadn't been standing so close together, Jake would've missed the words. With a grumble, he pushed Bradley's hand from his chest but stays put, heeding the warning. 

Maybe if Sunny hadn't been so upset she could've told Natasha that the man standing in front of her was the same man she had told her about so shortly after they began emailing- her first real heartbreak, the man who she had never really gotten over. Maybe she could have told her that she was literally teasing about Bob a few minutes before, talking about the one person on the swim team that she was in love with. Maybe she could have clued Nat in, but she doesn't say a word. 

Instead of getting over him, she ran. She ran from the family ranch, from her small town, from anything and everything that reminded her of Robert Floyd, because that was the only thing she could do to keep from breaking her own heart again and again and again. Sunny told herself she left to go to school, to become a writer, that she was doing it for herself. In reality, that desire got pushed to the back burner for a while, the need to be as far away from Florence had been forefront in her mind. 

So, in leu of offering any sort of verbal answer, instead of clearing things up, Sunny pulls her knee up, reaching into her boot, pulling a small pocket knife loose form the inside of the leather. There is a warn patch on the leather, where the knife has been kept there for some time, the brown now discolored form the many times the knife has been pulled from and put back into that specific place. It has been kept there for years.

Natasha and Sunny share eye contact as Sunny pulls the knife from her boot. Natasha's eyes are pleading, the creases on the corners visible. Her brows are furrowed, lips pursed. The whole expression screams 'tell me what's wrong, let me help'. Sunny, on the other hand, has her brows is raised giving Phoenix a clear look into her eyes. They swim with hurt and turmoil, something she usually sees in the eyes of new Seamen on the backends of deployment. Nothing could have prepared Natasha for seeing that look in her friend's eyes. 

The knife is hidden in Sunny's grasp before any of the Daggers can see it. She holds it with too tight a grip, her hands trembling, one around the folding knife, the other down at her side. 

This isn't her Bobby, that much she is sure of. The man in front of her is not the man she had kissed her and left her, the man who broke her heart. Hell, there isn't a smoke tucked behind his ear, there should be, there is always one. He doesn't smell like cherry tobacco. He doesn't smell right, and that makes Sunny's heart clench tighter. That's what decides it for her, the lack of distinct tobacco that usually clings to his clothes. 

This really isn't her Bob Floyd. This man in a stranger. But, she knows one thing for sure. 

Sunny throws the closed pocket knife at him, the object making hard contact with the center of his chest, thudding against him before clanking to the ground. It bounces unceremoniously under the table. Bob brings his hand up to rub over the area the metal came in contact with, but his eyes never leave her form. 

The moment that old pocket knife left Sunny's grasp, she wanted it back. She curses herself for letting the emotion take over her thoughts- the fact that she is still clinging onto any sort of hope that the man in front of her might remember her twists up her insides. She wants Bob back but she has settles for the only part of Bobby she had been able to hold on to She wants to carry it with her like she has been for the last ten years. She wants it the knife back, but it's too late for that now. It sits face down on the ground, discarded like she had been all those years ago.  

Sunny turns to walk away, tears threatening her eyes again. Before she goes, she is throwing one last sentence over her shoulder, directed right at him.

"Oh Bobby, once an asshole, always an asshole," 

[rendevok]

Still a trio after all this time 💗

[ID: A drawing of Miles Edgeworth, Larry Butz, and Phoenix Wright; both from the present and past. Near the top of the image the trio is posing for a photo; Larry, in the middle, is grinning widely, and leaning his elbows on the shoulders of the other two. Miles crosses his arms, looking toward his friends and scowling over the contact, Phoenix smiles fondly while observing the interaction. In the middle and lower half of the image, and superimposed over their older figures, is a picture of their younger selves in a very similar position. Young Larry is once again in the middle, leaning his arms on his friends’ shoulders, while young Miles opens his mouth in protest, and young Phoenix is again observing his friends and laughing with a open smile. End ID]

[theshenaniganoli]

To anyone at the Ricky Montgomery concert who saw this. That was me. My bad

[bemydeathcult]

strangelove (will you give it to me?)

my best friend phoenix wright loosely inspired by this lovely piece !! in love with how this turned out <3

[hitoshi-yuuto]

Pov : Midnight talks in the infirmary.

Marco : So.

Marco : I'm in love.

Marco : with Ace.

Deuce :

Marco : I'm in love with Ace.

Deuce : My Ace?

Marco : Yes.

Marco : Thoughts?

Deuce : And prayers your gonna need them.

[tracegf]

You're looking at the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill. Stop. Mind you, the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War.

Jake 'HANGMAN' Seresin and Natasha 'PHOENIX' Trace in Top Gun: Maverick (2022) dir. Joseph Kosinski