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scentedpepper · 5 months ago

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Missing | TWD

MALE READER X S5 GROUP

Summary: The group reverberates with a somberness upon your potential death

Content Warnings: Mention of Major Character Deaths from previous seasons, S5 and below spoilers

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Not too sure how I feel about this one

Could be read as GN for the most part (he/him used a few times, 'Father' used once, 'Brother' used once)

Was originally supposed to be centered around Daryl and Rick, but somewhere along the writing process, I devlled into just about every other member of the group

Ya'll know how many last names I had to look up for these tags

Enjoy?

_________________________________________

7 days.

Seven days of them searching for their found family member who went out to investigate and never came back.

Glenn thought for sure that maybe with all the shit they have been through, the apocalypse must have treated you a little kinder.

That was assuming you were already dead.

Which Rick, in all his glory, continued to remind everyone that until there is evidence, there are just as many possibilities as there are stars in the sky.

He thought it was a strange fit, all doom and gloom, it wasn't like Glenn to carry around the carcasses of such negative presumptions about his loved ones, but nonetheless, he had just the same.

An ever present reminder as the fire was stoked by Glenn's constant fidgets, his spaced-out breaths being released with the baggage of endless possibilities.

"Glenn's gonna lose it when he sees this one. "

Is what Daryl said to Rick on the night of day 5, your shirt clenched in hand, approaching the church with footsteps so heavy you could mistake them for Walkers.

The worst part, Rick thought, was how he had found it, which further fueled the possibility that couldn't help but arise.

A decaying Walker's den where there was a mass majority of bodies wearing clothes; Not Walker corpses.

Hopeless and without explanation Rick approached camp with a grim expression that took root in his features.

And when Daryl had handed the shirt to Glenn after he feverishly chanted let me see it, let me see it, over and over, Daryl observed the way his hand shook when he snatched it and how the same hand came up to rub his face after he confirmed in his own mind that, without a doubt, it was yours.

Maggie had to take the shirt from his hands and when she felt the dirt and grime ragged against her skin, she almost burst at the seams, Rick knew by the strain in her brows and the way her hands turned into fists at her side.

She was the first person Rick had questioned upon your missing presence, wanting to know who you had walked out with last night and who stayed behind, wanting to pinpoint possible places you might be, or routes you could've taken.

Her response was ridden with anxious adrenaline, her lips chewed raw in worry, bouncing on her toes before stomping off and pulling everyone together to go looking for you.

There was no conversation within the group but a mutual agreement.

Naturally, the first person they looked to for some account of wrongdoing was Gabriel.

You had always been so intuitive, like you were the one who could read minds not him.

The others felt so comforted by you, Gabriel assumed.

He was only too accustomed to the fact that everyone saw the good in you, the positive, and while that brought him a modicum of solace, there were times where he couldn't help but wallow in envy.

A man of God and yet, it was you who they looked to, as if you were Christ himself.

As if you were his light.

Gabriel couldn't understand this fascination.

When he had confronted you about it, rather presumptuously, Gabriel was too quick to gauge the situation and allow his ego to speak for him. Said confrontation also happened to occur right before Maggie and Sasha who shared pointed looks with each other as they watched the scene unfold before them.

You were quick on your toes, always had been. Back on the farm, when Shane had been more akin to a wild boar, you were always the first to confront him. Always calm, or whenever you spoke you at least had the appearance of it, always matter of fact. Even when your voice raised or when anger was seething through you, it seemed like everyone just stopped, and listened.

It was one of your redeeming traits, sharp tongue laced with facts that wouldn't hesitate to point out things that were missing, contradictions, positions and beliefs.

It left some satisfaction amongst the ton when Gabriel pushed out of Judith's designated room, nearly knocking Carl off his feet as the door came with his exit.

A flustered look had replaced him, no doubt having felt the embarrassment, as if he had been burning inside.

After a beat, he had apologized under his breath and carried himself in haste towards you.

Unfortunately, this incident occurred the last night anyone had seen you.

When everyone had risen that morning, one by one coming off the floors of the church and stirring awake those who remained sleeping, you were the only one who hadn't stirred. Because your body wasn't even of prescence.

Almost immediately, everybody went on an emotional and mental frenzy.

Even when the conversation with Gabriel didn't bode well for him. He refuted, if a little pathetically, that you weren't very friendly towards him.

Upon hearing of what had happened just hours before they woke, Daryl seemed to retreat back to the deepest of his old roots.

Begrudgingly, Rick knew this was what they called "fight or flight."

Luckily for everyone involved, Daryl never moved unless there was something to fight for. The man had gained some sort of control over the years of personal development but like a dog, he'd jumped on Gabriel the second tensions rose.

There was a knife pressed against Gabriel's throat when Drayl pushed him into the nearest wall and the preacher did nothing but pray to himself and accept his fate.

Minuets later of interrogation and threatening, Michonne and Tara intervenned, though Daryl seemed none too eager to back off the smaller man, not until he was physically being dragged back and Rick telling him to get a hold of himself.

"He's lucky I didn't slit his fuckin' throat! It was him!"

Because back in the day, with Merle at his side, he would've and to hell with anyone who said differently.

Rick saw Carol's lips part to say something, as did Abraham, but nothing came out. Not with Rick cutting through them like cloth to speak, clearing his throat, hands rising in demand to appease the tension in the church.

"We are going to look for Y/N. It's no secret that we're standing on a ticking time bomb. " His head turned sharply towards everyone, waiting a beat before he continued. "Everybody gets paired off. No one leaves each other's sides. "

His gaze softened upon the archer as he came around to see the anger and frustration but most of all, the pain in his eyes. He wanted to assure him, they were going to find you. But he couldn't find the words to, as his own fingertips surged with doubt and as the rest of the days proceeded, his whole body seemed to become encapsulated by it.

They all began out at once, weapons gathered, determination and grievance fused into them as they exited the church in pairs. The only 2 persons staying behind being Judith and Abraham.

Before the front doors fell, Rick sought out Gabriel, his fingers ghosting over the knob as his stomach tied in knots.

"If you so much as touch a hair on her head. "

He was referring to Michonne who'd gotten the unsavory job of catering to Gabriel, "I swear it'll be the last thing you do. "

His eyes followed Gabriels timley swallow as he spoke.

"And if I find out you had an inkling of any wrongdoing, God won't be able to save you. "

It wasn't just Daryl that was shaken by the fear of your abduction –or worse, there wasn't a moment where Rick could stop to inhale without thinking about you. How tightly you had embraced him 2 nights prior, when he'd confided that maybe he wasn't suited for this leader job anymore, that he didn't know where you all would go, or if you'd even make it past these religious grounds before succumbing to hunger.

There was warmth radiating off you like a furnace and he couldn't shake the soothing way your fingertips gilded against his forearm as you told him that things would fall into place in time, no matter how difficult it got.

But Daryl was a damn firecracker, this way of his to emote through hostility and intimidation was a way for him to cope with the potential loss of his brother.

You were not Shane.

There's so much Rick could rationalize before he no longer had the will to counter how much he wished you were there now to quell the savagery within his best friend.

Carl was as much of a mess as the archer, if not more. The rage within him seemed to blaze each step closer to the forest. It burned at his eyes, tearing his hands into fists that felt as if their own knuckles may shatter within the grasp.

Rosita had to stop him.

"What?" He initially sneered at her, pushing out of her grip and continuing to stomp forward until he could feel her nipping at his heels.

"Carl, now is not the time to get some kind of revenge, alright? We'll find the fucker, but getting ourselves killed is not going to help. "

In time, she got him to sit down and collect himself, which consisted of roughly pacing and rubbing his face with his palms in an attempt to scrub the hostility right out of him. He wanted to scream, to fucking yell the earth apart because this wasn't fair, none of this was.

Yet, he found it somewhat easier to sit there and allow his teeth to sink into his knuckles while he suppressed tears.

Eugene and Tara had wandered the farthest the fastest, the church began to slowly disappear the deeper they strayed into the density of the trees until there was no distinguishable church at all, or street or houses for that matter.

They were silent the entire way, like speaking would somehow shatter the chances of finding you, safe, sound and alive.

So then when Tara's voice did come, meek and soft, far from anything close to the tone she usually sported, Eugene nearly jumped.

He halted immediately, his body turning as he looked every which way as if you may suddenly appear behind a tree.

"We should turn around and just make our way back. " She whispered.

That was her biggest concern, because with the route they had taken, any further into the unknown, she knew there were no way to familiarize themselves with where they were.

"Rick said to keep searching til sun down and that's just what I intend to do. " There was an an irrtation in his expression and an agony to his voice that confirmed his intentions were anything but logical.

"Eugene. "

And again, his body suddenly felt like it wasn't his, or maybe his bones weren't aligned and he was a puppet, a stranger, someone entirely else.

"Eugene, we won't get anywhere trying to force out this search. Please. The sun is already setting, it's near impossible to see 10 feet ahead and even if we were to press further in the dark, they're-"

She didn't need to finish her sentence to know what she wanted to say, the image was still clear in her mind as if she had just watched the last interaction you'd had with her and Rosita. The absolute dejection you allowed her to see in your eyes, the hesitation and restraint you had felt in giving your hugs. She took one and wrapped herself around you and you didn't dare do more than reciprocate the tightness, afraid to hurt her. As if.

After some minuets, Eugene came to and they turned back.

When they got to the church, Abraham was doing circles around the confinements of the holy sanctuary with Judith in his arms.

"Where's Gabriel?" Eugene spoke cautiously, realizing the weight in his voice when he did so.

"He's locked in his office. Said to leave him to rot or somethin'. Not a bad idea, the bastards a fuckin killer. "

Abraham was just as convinced as Daryl. No one asked to elaborate because they somehow knew the moment he did, he'd lose his shit. Like a bomb that's set to a timer, ticking away until it explodes into your ears.

"Find anything?" He asked as Tara slid down the wall she had been leaning against since they returned and brought her legs to her chest. Eugene shook his head at him which made the soldier nod back bitterly.

By day two, Michonne decided to conduct a one man search party for the nights. When the moon came out, she snuck off to the woods and scouted the area she had previously searched, for any evidence that may have been missed on the 1st visitation. Which would prove to cause strife amongst the group when Carl found her out four days later.

"What are you doing?" He challenged harshly as he forced himself into the dark brush behind her with Michonne's body jolting at the abrupt arrival of company.

"Carl-"

"Are you crazy?”

The boy wasn't the only person who she'd receive these questions from, Tyrese had found himself wandering her way as well.

"Why would you come out here on your own? Have you lost it?" He griped under his breath, tone laced with disapproval as if the woods had just come to eat them alive.

"Well, what are you doing out here?" She retorted back in a whisper yell with a forceful gesture to the man who was just as armed, just as ready as her.

Her efforts were fruitless, though, and no response was heard, which left her walking the same way she came.

Rick wasn't happy about it.

At first, when Carl appeared through the door in the night, he thought his son was the culprit of the secret night searches, but soon realized what has transpired when he saw Michonne making her way inside.

"Everyone is on edge, alright? Everyone is doing exactly what is expected of them, they have been looking and looking and Michonne, it's about time you pulled your head from your ass and sat down for the night. " Rick had said 5 minuets after they'd settled in the privacy of Judiths room. Their voices were lowered considerably so as not to wake the others, but Rick's tone wasn't anything less than a demand.

"So we should just sit around?" She had, then, the urge to spit at him and remind him that you could be dead in the next second. Gone. Poof.

"We are not–" Rick's voice began to rise in octaves but he took a moment to lower the volume. "We are *not* just sitting around. "

There was an enervation in Rick's stance that Michonne could feel pricking her heart strings. He looked exhausted, absolutely strained.

"He could– he could be in trouble. " Michonne attempted to keep her voice leveled as she looked around in disdain, her lip trembling and Rick saw this, that she could not come to accept the way things were."I can't bury him." She hissed as clear glistens of wetness fell from the pools in her eyes.

Rick knew exactly the terror Michonne felt in the pit of her gut and he could almost see inside her head, the vision of a funeral and everyone in a heavy sweat of depression and rage, because it was the same one he saw every night before he closed his eyes.

A few dead bodies surrounding the fire pit in the woods while everyone circled around you and Daryl cried.

He had already envisioned it all, envisioned the way Glenn would crack at your loss. While Maggie was reduced to hiccups and broken speeches, she had somehow found the strength to collapse to the floor and refuse help.

Bobs face would fall, for once, it would fall and Sasha wouldn't be able to handle the breath leaving her body, clutching Tyrese, who looked just as devastated, to her to bring her solace.

Carol would gasp but it wouldn't matter because no one would hear her over Daryl's sobs, no one would see the way her lips pulled down at the corners and the lines in her face would tighten.

Rick didn't like to think about how he might react. He imagined it be something similar to crazed. But beyond that, he didn't want to picture it.

And what about his son? Carl who hadn't even fully grown yet. Rick couldn't stomach the thought, the sheer utter torment he'd experience watching his sons body begin to wither. He didn't want to know.

You'd been there while he was unconscious in that hospital bed, through every storm, everything, by his side. You were a father to Carl as much as he was and you'd been nothing short of a supporting role to Rick. There's been times when you just drove the both of them off in the car, taking trips to lakes and nearby parks, anywhere that offered a semblance of normalcy.

You'd scout the places out days before, cleaned it free of Walker's and set up a picnic on the cool greens of grass or near broken tables. Even once or twice when the fire smothered to ambers or if Carl's blood started to burn so hot, you'd give them a midnight rendezvous, all three of you climbing up a tree or anything that fit the current circumstances in which the group resided.

Rick had to run a hand through his hair and all he could do was grab Michonne by her shoulders, look her forcefully in the eyes and say:

"We are going to find him. And anyone who gets in the way of that will pay. "

Because he wasn't going to accept anything else.

Which is why he didn't stop Tyrese or Daryl or anybody who wanted a chunk out of Gabriel the morning of day eight when he suggested that they move on.

He even went as far as leaving the church entirely, not caring to put aside personal feelings, not caring how he may look. His expression was sour and drained and at this rate, the only thing he cared about was finding you.

He would have no problem burying his tomahawk right into the preachers skull.

Daryl kept watch most of the nights, refusing rest for the past week because every time he tried, he felt as if it were a ploy. He became distressed each time he was reminded you weren't going to walk in and slumber on the floor next to him or Carol. You weren't anywhere.

It pissed Daryl off beyond belief to know there was an actual possibility that you weren't breathing anymore, weren't thinking, feeling.

His anger had to be one of the few things driving him into the same track less search the next day as he pushed through the forest ahead of Rick.

Things were starting to feel all too familiar and he thought he might find you in a barn just the same as Sofia. But you didn't pop out the doors in any walkers veil, you weren't bloodied nor torn apart. There were no traces of anyone or anything in those forests.

You simply disappeared.

And it left them in another night of quiet.

Spoons scraping agaisnt cans, the faint sound of chewing. A tiny droplet of rain hitting a window pane or two.

That was all.

No one spoke, yet they all sat around a room cramped with anxious bodies.

Sasha's leg brushed against her guns outline, her boots rubbed together, her tongue flicked at her teeth and she felt as if her thoughts were vibrating the inside of her skull, riling her from the depths. There was an eerily absence of anything positive, because at this point no one was expecting good news.

Gabriel's execution was more or less inevitable as each of the nights rolled by. There'd be the lingering aura of danger and anticipation due to the preachers remaining presence. But no one ever mentioned it, let alone had the will to.

It was hard to digest the concept of your loss because not a single one of them wanted to bury you, the group preferred to be broken and you had become like an integral part of what bound them.

Food was beginning to dwindle down the line of low and low to nonexistent.

And as they sat there, in silence, there was collective knowing resonating around them that this would be the last night they spent in the church.

Not that anyone dared to speak it, not even Rick, who gazed afar into the burning light of a candle and contemplated.

Carol noticed first, maybe it was her nose, fine tuned for the scent of trouble and like a dog trailing a rabbit, she jumped up with a clatter and darted towards the front door.

But she didn't even get halfway across the church, with Rick trailing closely behind her, along with the others who were all clammering to their feet, when the doors burst open on their own, the cool whip of wind entering the room as the room itself seemed to rise up in temperature.

There, with a trail of blood drops, a scarily dehydrated and filthy body fell into her arms.

It was you.

And the sigh of relief felt as if you breathed the air back into everyones lungs. It reanimated the whole church.

276 notes · View notes

imbadatwrighting · 7 months ago

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*Curtis!reader hearing someone in the kitchen*

Curtis!reader: I should let you know, I’ve read a book on Jiu-Jitsu, and I’m prepared to throw it at you

#Johnny in the kitchen just trying to get water: 😧#source: bob's burgers #x reader #x female reader #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #x male reader #curtis sister #platonic #curtis brothers #johnny cade x reader #darry curtis x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #ponyboy x reader

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redcoralpot · 1 year ago

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Can you do Daryl finding out reader is trans? Early season 4, perhaps? :3

Attentu - Daryl Dixon x FTM Reader

Your wish is my command!!

Warnings: Gore, murder, violence, blood, cussing, mentions of transphobia and death, and addictions.

Word Count: 2.6K

You eagerly join in on the medical supply run, despite the group's awful luck. A confession from Bob has you feeling quite guilty about a personal matter...

It was dead.

You threw the car battery to the side, sick of the luck your supply group had. Daryl was on the other side of the room, shuffling through drawers in an attempt to obtain the right part. For an auto repair shop, it was horribly disorganized.

“Got anything?” you called over, impatient.

A grin took over your face as he tossed the find at you, catching it in a firm grip, “Nah.”

The car was not in terrible shape, not really. Some rust here and there, with paint scratched off from long road adventures before the outbreak. Your father had a similar car when you were just a child, and he was insistent that he passed on his knowledge, despite your mother’s constant objections. It was not fit for someone like you; that your hands should never be calloused from the tough ground nor covered in grease, she said. He always ended up laughing in her face.

So as he would have it, the two of you got in all sorts of trouble. Hijacking cars, picking locks, prying cabinets open with a pocket knife; all things he said would come in handy one day. Daryl seemed like he had the same type of upbringing, all rough and tumble, and perhaps that’s what drew you to him. That, or he was just really damn good with surviving.

Daryl’s footsteps creaked as he led the way out of the building, shining his flashlight on any possible threats around. Someone had to, as you weren’t keen to look after Bob found an old walker stuck under a desk, ending that misery. It was the only one left. One by one, you circled out of the building, with Bob’s silent trepidation behind you as you arrived back at the car. Daryl opened its hood again, and you both set to work.

His voice was muffled around his cigarette, “You never told us about the group you were with, before.”

You glanced up as Bob replied, “Which one?”

“You know,” he continued, when Daryl gave him a look, “when you found me out on that road, I almost kept walking.”

“Why’s that?’

“I was done being a witness. It happened two times, two different groups.”

…

“I was the last one standing, like God intended for me to see it over and over; a curse,” he shook his head, pursing his lips, “but, when it’s just you out there with the quiet, I used to drink a bottle of just 'bout anything just so I could sleep at night.”

“The run to the big spot, I only did it for me.”

You froze, a jug of clear liquid still in your hands. Daryl took it from you, completely unfazed, and managed to get a swig out of it.

He licked his lips, “You gotta keep busy somehow.”

“No, I did it so I could get me a bottle, a bottle of anything. That’s what got Zack killed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Daryl peered at him, “why don’t you get in there and try the engine? Should be the red and green wires, it ain’t rocket science.”

Even as Bob walked away, you stayed silent. Your fingers burned as you rigged the working car battery back in, but never as much as your thoughts. The other man nudged you, urging you to take your hands off as the engine roared in front of you. He clapped his hands and brought them up to his mouth; a sharp whistle rang through the air. Bob’s alcohol troubles seemed to be forgotten by Daryl, since he gave you a rusty smile while you slammed down the hood.

“Nobody coulda’ known, and you ain’t gonna be standing alone. Not anymore,” he reassured Bob.

You huffed, swinging a few plastic bags of gas in the back seats, ducking to join them. Tyreese and Michonne got the rest and the three of you squeezed together with the luggage, closing the door. With that, you left the burdensome place behind.

The ride to the college was short, but Bob still parked a little ways out, and the group set off to walk the rest of the distance. You passed most of the buildings on campus; dull brick that plants jumped at the opportunity to outgrow after a year of inactivity.

“Looks like the building we want is up ahead,” Tyreese stated.

For the first time since Bob’s confession, you spoke, “Are we splitting up? We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“Is that safe?” Michonne questioned, and Daryl eyed you.

“I know I can cover myself, if I end up alone.”

The brunette scoffed, and you shifted a glare at him, “You know I can, too. You’ve seen me.”

“I think,” Bob uttered, “it’s a good idea.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, I’ll shoot if I run into any trouble. Meet me back at the car.”

Outside of the Learning Resource Center, you split from the group, sneaking close to the ground. You heard the rest shuffle in the opposite direction with a soft “C’mon, c’mon.”, and let out a shaky breath. Two pairs, then three pairs of footsteps faded away.

The lights of the wing flickered and let out fading sparks as you padded along, dust pillowing up from wherever you stepped. God, the outbreak sure did a number on this place. Shadows grew as abundantly as the plants, but never dulled the smears of blood along the walls, floor, and shattered glass. It cracked and snapped under you, somewhere behind you, and you hissed as you looked at the walls alongside you. There were several doorways leading to different rooms, most likely supply closets or classrooms. Carefully, you dipped yourself into the nearest doorway, a heavy feeling on your back. Your heart pumped wildly in your chest and your stomach had a sick pit of anxiety as you thumbed through the biggest drawers. There were plenty of jars, containers, and vials, but none of them had what you needed. You read all the labels once, twice, the text in messy handwriting or tiny fonts.

Testosterone, in its liquid form made for injections, should be a clear liquid. You knew that much from what your provider told you, and from your own studies. Any colored liquids, or any with particles floating inside, you discarded from your search immediately. You were taking too long, you started to think, or were you? You didn’t know if you were gone for ten or if you have been here for thirty.

Once again, you slid back into the trashed hallway, trying to make your way towards the next doorway. The only things you could hear were your quick breaths and a creak, most likely from the forgotten building. A set pattern was in your mind as you dove into the room, and the haze of adrenaline made it hard to think. Walkers, as the prison liked to call them, were not your biggest concern. Even before the outbreak, it was dangerous for you to step outside; to live your life. If you passed by the wrong person, your face would be on the hot topic of the community for the week after. Getting caught was not an option.

You blinked, trying to clear the thumping in your ears. The vial’s label looked like a foreign language, though you knew it wasn’t, so you peered closer at it. A gust of hot air hit your neck, and again. Hot air. This place was cold.

Your fingers scrambled for the knife at your side, it was there, wasn’t it? You slashed before you could think. Hair scratched your fingers; your knife dug into a warm crevice. The hot air turned into a raw, groaning noise. The hot air stopped.

You pushed the body to the ground and your blade was released. The blood trickled hot down your wrist. Instead of the red you expected, it was a sludgy, filthy brown. It dripped in slow droplets on the floor beside your shoes. This was the first opportunity to look at the thing, and what a sight it was.

The knife had caved in a part of its skull, which itself was like a rotten, stomped on pumpkin. It oozed and dripped the same muck over the tile, muddying the disfigured face underneath. It made Osbourne’s stage trick look like simple child’s play to anyone who witnessed the act. Its eyes were still open; bulging out in that manic, hungry way only a madman got before the outbreak. You looked away from the mess, your breakfast seizing in your throat, and you busied yourself with getting more testosterone vials in your bag. The most important thing was that it was not human, not anymore.

Stuffing your full hand in your bag, you made a beeline for the doorway.

You should have learned your lesson.

A weight tumbled over you and knocked you to the floor, breathless. It screeched, rabid, like some sort of fucked up dog. If a dog hadn’t eaten for a month, that is. It stunk, too. It stunk so bad that you thought you might die from suffocation first.

It clawed at you, gnashing its yellow teeth. Your hands were pinned underneath the mass and you heard your knife land across the floor with a clang. This was going to be it. The end. It’s funny, isn’t it? Dying searching for your lifeline. You almost giggled at the irony.

The teeth were close to your neck, aiming to kill. To eat until you were nothing but an unrecognizable pile of flesh and bones. You had to do something, and soon. The only part of your body you could move were your legs, and you tensed them up. You were going to survive this, you were going to get back to that car.

Three.

You struggled to prop your shoulder up, knocking the danger away from your neck. Its eyes were bloodshot and cloudy. As empty as a corpse.

Two.

The walker got more desperate to bite you, wiggling around harshly on top of you. You tried your best to keep your face far away from its own, but it successfully nipped the edge of your nose. This was going to hurt.

One.

Its final noise was a gurgling one, close to your ear. The weight flopped to your right side, stilling its frugal attempt to destroy you.

“You got yourself covered, huh,” a voice remarked.

You wheezed, “Christ.”

“What were you doin’?”

“Shit.”

Daryl stepped over you, pulling his arrow out of the corpse, “I’m serious.”

You finally got your legs under you, and the first thing you did was back a good distance away from him. There was no getting out of this, you both knew that Daryl would know if you lied to him. Yet, he was one of the last people in the prison you felt comfortable telling. Daryl was a classic redneck, with a bigot older brother and a taste for mysteriousness. There was so much you didn’t know about him, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up like a wildfire. You would have much rather told Carol or even Michonne, if you had to choose.

“You know what Bob said.”

“Yeah,” he stated, “but you ain’t an alcoholic. I know that much.”

“I’m not, but that wasn’t the point. I only came on this run for one thing, and it isn’t medicine. It’s testosterone.”

“Why do you need that? You’re strong enough without that steroid shit.”

“I don’t get as much as you do naturally.”

“So a medical condition?”

“Kind of.”

“Even if it was, that don’t explain why you had to sneak away from the group to get it. What’re you hiding?”

“I’m transgender, Daryl. I wasn’t born a boy like you,” you murmured.

There was a parade of footsteps down the hallway, and Tyreese burst through the door, the others close behind. He looked spooked, with sweat dripping down his disheveled face. Michonne and, speaking of the devil, Bob looked no better off.

He exclaimed, “Jesus, there you two are. We gotta go, now.”

“What, why?”

“Walkers. Tons of ‘em. Let’s go!”

You gladly took this chance, shoving past Daryl to dart out into the hallway with the others. Everyone else was rushing, but it was a minute before you also heard footsteps behind you. The infected corpses swarmed the building, even though it wasn’t like that before, and it made you wonder what the hell released them. Your group ran up the stairs with walkers not too far behind, and those trapped banged on whatever surface they could reach.

“There was a ledge near the fire escape,” Michonne hissed, “we can go through there.”

No one responded unless a quick nod could be considered one, and you were off. Michonne went first, then Tyreese, you, and finally Daryl. Your legs were shaking, and you paid Bob a glance. He tensed up, seemingly trying to gauge the distance, before jumping. He was barely right, and landed a little too close to the edge, teetering off. His arms flailed and an army of bodies from below swarmed up to grab his heavy bag. You rushed to catch him, attempting to pull the man up, but he refused to let his backpack go.

Finally, you ripped both the man and his bag away from the grasp of the walkers, panting, “What the fuck were you doing? What’s in that bag that could possibly be so important?”

“He’s right.” Daryl took the bag from Bob, zipping it open.

Bob rushed to stop him, but it was too late. Daryl dropped the backpack as quick as he picked it up, and he seized Bob by the collar.

“If I ever catch you puttin’ a bottle before a need, I’ll feed you to the walkers myself. You hear me?”

You froze as Daryl let the shorter man down, pushing him as he did so. Everyone else shot him a disappointed look or a glare, and Michonne waved her hand. You were all to keep moving; the run was over, and on an especially sour note.

The group arrived back to the prison safe and sound, the most daring of injuries being bruises, or small cuts. Tyreese and Michonne left to do their own activities, while Bob left to lick his wounds. This retired Daryl and yourself alone, to an awkward silence. With nothing else to do, you picked at a particularly nasty cut on your forearm. It was starting to look infected.

You cleared your throat, “Do you have anything left in your bag?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I use some?”

“Nah.” Daryl tossed you his bag.

Carefully, you peeked inside. There wasn’t much left, some disinfectant spray and vials of a clear liquid. No, that couldn’t be, could it?

Testosterone. At least three good vials of it.

You raised them up to your face, not believing your eyes, “Daryl, where the hell did you get these?”

“Grabbed them from that drawer you found the others in,” he refused to make eye contact, “after you left.”

“Why?”

“You might’ve needed more than you got.”

That… meant a lot to you. You had expected him to at the very least ignore you, or even worse, disgusted by you. What were the chances he would grab extras for you, just in case? Instead of yelling or hitting or kicking you out of his life, Daryl did that. If you were being honest, this was one of the weirdest coming out stories to date, but nothing can really beat zombies being included.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Nah. I’m a little confused, though.”

“On the topic?”

Daryl sighed, “Yeah. Wasn’t educated that much.”

“Well, if you want, I could help with that.”

Just for a second, he looked you in the eyes. In that moment, you didn’t see hate, anger, or anything negative. Only a sharp, beautiful glimpse of curiosity.

“Yeah.”

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marksbear · 1 year ago

Text

MULTI FANDOM MALE READER SCENARIOS

It’s been a while since I done one of these, but I think it’ll be good for me to practice more at writing different characters and such so enjoy!

The fact is I had more tags to share 😭

-Miguel O’Hara biting your neck harshly to get your attention when he feeling jealous. Or marking you as his.

-Izzy Hands always lightly taking your hand and helping you either up the steps or down the steps. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it most time. Everyone in the ship always notices it but doesn’t say anything.

^^Ofmd

-Bob taking off his glasses and putting them on you then starts to compliment you how good and cute you look.

^^Top gun!

-Matt Murdock tracing your face in morning when he thinks your still sleep. He also traces your face anytime your two are arguing because he wants to see your emotions.

^^Marvel

-You and The Corinthian driving around during late nights with his hand on your thigh as he drives you around.

^^DC

-Tony stark buying you whatever you want or even dream of. It can be jewelry all the way to new houses and cars.

^^Marvel

-Bruce Wayne and you being a power couple throughout Gotham. Lots of magazines and headline about you two.

^^DC

-Teaching Adam Warlock about feelings about like having a crush or being in love.

^^Marvel

-You and Doom head being an unstoppable duo anytime you two are paired up in a game.

^^Rob Zombie movie 31

-You and Richard Madden making fun of each other accents in interviews for the newest movie you two are in.

^^Actor

-You and Hobie Brown making out in a middle of Miguel’s rant.

^^Marvel

-Homelander wrapping his arms around you as you two makeout and he slowly rises from the ground bringing you in the air with him.

^^The Boys

-You we’re very close with Love to the point all lot of people thought you two were dating. Joe was furious so he started to stalk you planing to murder, but all that stalking for weeks slowly became to months and he slowly started to catch feelings.

^^YOU

-Benedict Bridgeton being so in love with you, but he so scared that his family would disown him as well as everyone around town.

^^Bridgeton

-You and Benedict sneaking off during ball’s and random events to be with each other alone.

^^Bridgeton

-Imagine sitting down in the bleachers waiting for Mark to be done with his track meet.

^^Author/ Me

-Playing with Dutch Van der linde hair during a camp meeting and he tries to stay focus but he can’t.

^^RD2

-You and Larry smoking as you two listen to Sal play the guitar.

^^Sally Face

-Ted feeling ashamed after he realized that he caugt feelings for you even though your a player.

^^Ted Lasso

-When Dean first met you y’all both were very young. You were reckless and carefree while Dean was taking care of Sam and brought him along while you two hanged out. And he caught feelings, but he was confused about why he had feelings for a man so he kept it to himself.

^^SPN

-Helping Mark walk without his leg brace or crutches.

^^Author/Me

-Stu Marcher giving you neck kisses in the middle of class. And most of the time teachers sees him and gives you both detention.

^^Slashers

-Hannibal Lecter leaving bite marks all over your neck and shoulders.

^^Slashers

-Roy Kent being soft spoken and quiet anytime he’s with you.

^^Ted Lasso

-Larry Trainor slowly warmed up to you being his boyfriend so he lets you touch his skin underneath the bandages.

^^DC

-Anytime before a fight Arthur asks you to hold his hands. He says it’s for a good luck, but he’s just really stressed and tense.

^^Peaky blinders

-Steven Grant still being so shy and quiet with you even though you two has been dating for years.

^^Marvel

-Bringing Namor gifts like flowers, jewelry and even little things like a picture of yourself or a padlock necklace. He cherishes all of them and keeps them safe.

^^Marvel

-Meeting Namor on the beach at night almost every night.

^^Marvel

-Bobby and Athena inviting you into their relationship. They both didn’t cheat on each other to find about their feelings for you they just kinda knew one day and talked it out and for a while and a lot of thought they asked would you be willing to date them.

^^9-1-1

-Being a rich man while Steven is your trophy husband.

^^Marvel

-Dying your hair with mark.

^^Author/Me

-Watching Mark stay up all night writing just for him to randomly stop to watch a movie.

^^Author/Me

-Lee and Maren catching you eating a person right in the middle of a dark and empty road.

^^Bones and All

-Being a different love interest for Elio and being heartbroken once he chose Oliver over you.

^^Call me by your name

-Imagine rejecting Derek Shepheard after finding out he has a wife.

^^Greys anatomy

-Rue hugging and crying on you tight after she relapsed.And you being her favorite person ever since what happened with Jules and Elliot.

^^Euphoria

-Being a father figure to Rue.

^^Euphoria

-Imagine being Maddy Perez brother and finding out Nate pulled a gun on her so you pulled up to his house barged in and looked for him and beat the shit out of him.

^^Euphoria

-Billy Hargrove acting like he hates the nickname “Curls.” Or “Curly.” But when you say it he loves it.

^^Stranger things

THE END

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theres-a-body-here · 10 months ago

Note

Can I request Bob Velseb x Reader with some biting and blood? If you don’t mind ofc.

And yes I’m being completely Fr and yes he’s from Spooky Month. Give the crazy cannibal some love 🥺

-Pillow Prince anon (If I’m sending too many requests btw don’t feel bad to say so! And btw make this a top priority (Of my requests, not all of them obviously.))

Bob Velseb x Male!reader

Letting your friends dare you into entering the abandoned house on Halloween was probably the worst mistake you made tonight

TW: Non-con, bondage, blood, biting

"Now now, sweetheart, don't make any sudden moves," Bob whispered softly into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as you lie on the old couch. Your hands were tied behind your back, making it impossible for you to defend yourself against him. As his fingers traced the curve of your jawline, you couldn't help but tremble.

He leaned closer, his mask brushing against your face as he spoke. "You smell so good… just like candy."

As you squirmed beneath him, struggling against your restraints, Bob tightened his grip around your arms. The knife's tip scraped across your skin, leaving a thin line of blood on your cheek.

He shook his head disapprovingly and muttered under his breath, "Tsk, tsk… You should really learn to behave better than that."

Without warning, he suddenly yanked off his devil mask, revealing eyes that sent shivers down your spine. His gaze seemed to pierce right through you as he studied every inch of your face. "I love seeing fear in people's eyes," he said almost tenderly before bringing the knife even closer to your throat.

You could feel his breath on your neck as he leaned closer to examine the shallow cut on your cheek. His eyes gleamed with hunger as he lowered his mouth towards the wound.

You feel as his tongue slowly licks a stripe across your cheek, savoring the taste of your fresh blood. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes in satisfaction.

"Mmmm… such delicious flavor," he whispered seductively while taking another lick. His breath tickled your neck, causing goosebumps to rise all over your body. His tongue traced the line of blood along your cheek, teasingly running circles around the wound.

Without warning, Bob abruptly raised the knife above your head, its glinting edge reflecting the dim light of the room. Time seemed to slow down as you held your breath, terrified of what was coming next. Your life flashed before your eyes as a cold grip tightened around your heart.

But instead of feeling pain, you watched helplessly as he drove the knife into the cushion beside your head, laughing maniacally.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he chuckled, "I wouldn't dare hurt you – not yet anyway!" He leaned close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your neck again, sending chills down your spine. "I bet you thought that was it for you, didn't you?"

You refuse to answer him as you look away from his gaze, hands still trying to loosen the bindings behind your back.

Ignoring your silence, Bob grabbed your face firmly with both hands and pressed his lips against your wounded cheek, greedily drinking in every drop of blood flowing from the wound.

Your cries echoed throughout the room as he continued to suckle, his fingers digging deeper into your flesh. He pulled away slightly after a few moments, inspecting the damage he caused.

"You taste yummy," he murmured, his tone dripping with desire. His tongue darted out to lap up the remaining traces of blood seeping from your cheek. He then grabs at the knife and yanks it out of the couch.

With a twisted grin, Bob placed the blade against your neck once more, enjoying the way you froze in terror. Slowly, he began to slice open your shirt, revealing your vulnerable skin beneath. As the fabric fell away, he ran his finger down the length of the newly exposed skin, causing you to shiver involuntarily.

Despite your attempts to push him away using your legs, Bob managed to hold you down effortlessly. Leaning forward, he brought his mouth closer to your chest, his teeth grazing your skin playfully.

"I could just devour you whole," he teased, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "You taste so delicious already," he whispered huskily

Unable to resist his urges anymore, Bob clamped down on the soft skin on your side, eliciting a loud yelp from you. The sound of your protests only seemed to fuel his desires further, prompting him to bite harder.

Struggling against his strength, you cried out for him to stop, but his grip only tightened in response. "Stop that!" you cried, trying to buck him off of you.

"Aww, come on now…it's just a little nibble," he crooned in response to your pleas, clearly amused by your discomfort.

Bob continued to leave a trail of teeth marks along your chest, each one accompanied by a whimper from you. As he moved further down your torso, his hands traveled lower, leaving bruising fingerprints on your waist.

He suddenly bites down on a particularly sensitive spot on the side of your lower stomach. You mentally curse not being able to clamp your hands over your mouth as a loud moan slips out of you.

Hearing your unexpected reaction, Bob chuckled darkly. "Oh? Are you starting to enjoy this?" he asked mockingly, taunting you with a wicked smile. He then proceeded to sink his teeth into the same spot once more, drawing another moan from you.

"You're one sick fuck if you're into this," he mocked, his eyes filled with amusement as he saw the flush rising on your face.

Moving downward, Bob found another enticing spot near your navel and sunk his teeth into it without mercy. You let out a surprised gasp as the sensation shot through your entire body.

"Not bad, huh?" he asked with a lecherous grin, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Maybe I should continue this somewhere else…" His hands started reaching for your waistband suggestively.

Despite your kicking and thrashing, Bob managed to pull down your pants to reveal black boxers adorned with bright orange jack-o'-lanterns, much to his delight.

"Awww, these are adorable!" he cooed appreciatively, eyeing your bulge growing beneath them.

Seeing your annoyed expression, he teased you further by running his fingers along the hem of your underwear, threatening to rip them apart completely.

To your absolute relief, your ears pick up on the faint sound of police sirens in the distance.

As distant sirens grew louder outside, Bob swore under his breath and quickly grabbed his mask lying nearby. "Looks like our fun time is over for tonight," he snapped before hastily putting on his mask.

Before leaving, he teased, "I'll be keeping an eye on you. You'll remember our fun time together, won't you?"

With that, he exited the house swiftly through the backdoor, leaving you to be rescued by the police.

#spooky month #bob velseb #bob velseb x reader #male!reader #male reader #noncon cw #devil guy #marking #blood play #blood kink #spooky month x reader

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greenpolicelight · 4 months ago

Text

"Currahee"

: ̗̀´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒OC's ̗̀´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒

Prt 1 - Prt 2

WORD COUNT: 6K

June 1942 – Camp Toccoa, Georgia

The humid Georgia air is thick as Easy Company stands in formation with all of their gear. Rene is standing in the back attempting to discreetly move his left leg to scratch his right calf without making it obvious. He brings his foot down, standing straight, at attention, as Captain Sobel walks up, moving in front of the company, "you people are at the position of attention!" Sobel walks between the men, stopping in front of Perconte who moves his gun, getting it ready for inspection. Sobel looks down at Perconte, "Private Perconte, have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a paratrooper?"

"No, sir."

"Then explain the creases at the bottom."

Rene's eyebrows crease slightly, wondering how Sobel could have been able to see creases, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel looks up, looking around at the other men, "volunteering for the parachute infantry is one thing, Perconte," Sobel looks back at Perconte, "but you've got a long way to prove that you belong here. Your weekend pass is revoked." Sobel turns, walking off, looking for someone else to stop in front of. He stops in front of Luz, "name?"

"Luz, George."

Luz moves, getting his gun ready for inspection before Sobel grabs it, barely looking at it before tossing it back to Luz, "dirt in the rear side aperture. Pass revoked." Sobel moves on, looking over the other men again, before turning around, only to stop next to Lipton. Sobel moves closer, grabbing onto a piece of string from Lipton's sleeve, holding it up to him, "when did you sew on these chevrons, Sergeant Lipton?"

"Yesterday, sir."

"Long enough to notice this." Sobel brings his hand up next to Lipton's face, "revoked."

"Sir."

Sobel moves on, standing in front of Malarkey, "name?"

Malarkey moves, getting his gun ready for inspection, "Malarkey, Donald G."

Sobel grabs the gun, raising an eyebrow slightly, "Malarkey? Malarkey's slang for bullshit, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Rust on the butt plate hinge spring, Private Bullshit." Sobel toss's the gun back at Malarkey, "revoked." He moves on, "name?"

"Liebgott, Joseph D., sir."

Sobel looks down, reaching to grab Liebgott's bayonet. He holds it up, looking at it for a moment before speaking, "rusty bayonet, Liebgott. You wanna kill Germans?"

"Yes, sir."

Sobel smacks the bayonet against Liebgott's helmet, causing him to flinch lightly, "not with this." Sobel walks away, moving to stand in front of the company, yelling now to speak to the whole company, "I wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war, and I will not take you to war in your condition." Sobel throws Liebgott's bayonet down to the ground, pointing towards the company, "now, thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the Company who had a weekend pass, has lost it." Sobel pauses for a moment, "change into your PT gear, we're running Currahee."

Sobel turns, walking away and leaving the men to their platoon leaders. Winters turns towards Second Platoon, "Second Platoon fall out. You have two minutes."

"Fall out!" Rene grabs his gun up, turning to jog to his barracks with the rest of the company moving towards their own barracks.

Rene takes his O.D's off, already having his PT gear on underneath it, having learned from previous experience it's the most efficient way to live in Toccoa with Sobel. Rene folds his O.D's, setting them on his cot as he sits down, leaning down to tie his boots back up. He pauses as he hears Perconte speak, "I ain't going up that hill."

Rene rolls his eyes as the door slams open, Martin walking in, a small glare on his face, "hey, Perconte, what are you thinking of, blousin' your pants?"

Rene looks up at Martin as he walks by, Perconte responding, "shut up, Martin, alright? He gigged everybody."

Rene looks back down at his shoes, as Martin scoffs, "yeah, well, you should know better. Don't give him no excuses."

"Excuses? Why don't you come here, look at these trousers, get down and tell me there's a crease in 'em." Rene looks up again as Perconte stands up before he notices White still in his O.D's.

Rene stands up, looking between Martin and Perconte, "guys, c'mon, this is bullshit, and you know it. But, that ain't any reason to argue with each other about it."

The two look at Rene, and Perconte is about to say something back to Rene when Lipton's voice comes through the barracks, "alright, let's go, on the road in PT formation. Let's move, move, move." Rene and Perconte hold eye contact, having a small staring contest, neither giving in as the men around them quickly make their way out the door. Lipton sighs as he looks between the two, "Perconte, let's go, Perconte." Rene stays where he is as he watches Perconte aggressively undo his jacket and takes it off. "Flores, c'mon, that means you too." Rene glances at White before looking back at Lipton and walking out the door, jogging to catch up to the others.

Sobel's voice is loud and grating, as he yells at the men, causing Rene to wince lightly, "where do we run?"

The men yell back as they run, "Currahee!"

"What does Currahee mean?"

"We stand alone!"

"How far up, how far down?"

"Three miles up, three miles down!"

"And what company is this?"

"Easy Company!"

"And what do we do?"

Rene rolls his eyes, "stand alone!"

Rene hears someone yell out, before hearing Sobel yell, "do not help that man! Do not help that man. We do not stop. You've got thirteen minutes to get to the top of this mountain if you wanna serve in the paratroopers. Hi-ho, Silver!"

Luz, who's running next to Rene glances over at him before glancing at the others around him he can see. Luz looks back at Rene, wondering how Rene doesn't seem affected by Currahee the same way everyone else is. The men around them are struggling to breathe, struggling to even run anymore, and Rene, it looks like he makes Currahee seem like the easiest thing in the world.

Rene runs behind Bull, following Perconte, and Luz as they run up to the stone at the top of the mountain. Rene rolls his eyes as he hears Sobel's voice yell out, "we are coming on twenty-three minutes. That may be good enough for the rest of the Five-O-Six, but that is not good enough for Easy Company."

Rene pushes his food around with his fork, not actually eating anything as he looks around, observing the men around him as they eat their food. Rene watches as the men become quickly acquainted, acting as if they hadn't just recently met each other. He internally grimaces, beginning to hate his lack of social skills even more than he had growing up.

Rene looks up, being brought out of his thoughts as someone sits in front of him. Joe Toye. Rene never talked to the man, only saw him around camp and heard others talk about him. The two sit in silence, both discreetly glancing at the other until Joe speaks up, "I'm Joe Toye."

Rene looks over at him, slightly surprised he broke the silence. Rene stares at him for a moment, blinking, before responding, "Rene Flores."

"Where are you from?"

Rene gives him a confused look, "uh, San Diego. You?"

"Houghestown. It's in Pennsylvania."

"Pennsylvania?"

"Yeah, you've been there?"

Rene chuckles, shaking his head, with a soft smile on his face, "no. Never met anyone from there either."

"Yeah? Well, now you can't say that."

Rene shrugs, "I guess." The two sit in silence again, only this time it isn't awkward. It's relatively comfortable for the two, until Rene breaks the silence, "what did you do before this? I mean like for work."

"I was a coal miner. Then I enlisted before deciding to join the paratroopers."

"So you were already in the army?"

"Yeah, went through training and everything, but I wanted some more money so," Joe shrugs, "I figured why not."

Rene smiles at him, "yeah, a double volunteer?" Joe nods slowly, as Rene tilts his head, shrugging a shoulder, "why not, right?"

Joe gives him a smirk, before he nods towards Rene, "what did you do?"

"I worked for anyone who would give me the time of day. Newspaper boy, construction, delivery."

"You go to school?"

Rene shakes his head, "no, I went when I was younger, but I stopped after my mom died."

"My dad made me drop out in Junior high, so I could work in the coal mines."

Rene purses his lips, "damn."

Joe looks Rene over, "you got any hobbies?"

Rene squints his eyes at Joe, "I like drawing."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you can show me someday, Re?"

Rene makes a confused face, breathing out, "Re?" He looks up, grinning at Joe, "yeah. Maybe, Joey." Joe smirks at Rene as silence comes over the two again, neither minding it. The two know a bond formed between the two, one that didn't need words spoken to be true. The two quickly understood each other, both knowing this was the start of something neither of them had felt before, the start of a friendship that would make them closer to each other, than the brothers they were surrounded by.

Rene is laying on his cot, messing around with his lighter, listening to the men as they play poker. Luz continues glancing over at Rene, before leaning into the men and speaking quietly, "we should ask him to join."

Rene glances over, noticing they had become quiet. Perconte looks over at Luz, giving him a look, "why would we do that?"

Luz shrugs, "I don't know, we can't hate the kid forever."

"We don't hate the kid. We just don't like 'im."

Hoobler shakes his head, as he looks over at Perconte, "why? It's not like he's all that bad. He really helps when we run Currahee."

Luz nods, "he's pretty good at giving us motivation."

Randleman looks over at Rene, catching his eye. Rene smiles softly at him, which Randleman returns before gesturing with his head to the open seat next to him. Rene scrunches his face before shaking his head and returning to messing around with his lighter. He takes a deep breath before looking back over at the group, I can't just expect them to accept me. I've got to put my own energy into it too. He nods to himself as a way of reassuring himself, before standing up, moving towards the group. Randleman grins at Rene as he walks up, "can I join?"

The men look up at Rene, not expecting him to come over. Randleman chuckles, gesturing to the spot between him and Martin, "there's an open seat for you right here."

Rene sits down fidgeting with his hands as he looks over the cards. Luz looks over at him, "you know how to play?"

Rene shakes his head, "my dad tried to teach me. I got so confused, so I became the only one in the family that doesn't know how to play."

Randleman chuckles, "we'll teach you." Rene thanks him, as he begins to tell Rene the rules, explaining what was happening as the men around them played.

"Flores?" Rene's head snaps up, looking at Luz, "where you from?"

"San Diego."

"You got any siblings?"

Rene tightens his lips before pursuing them and shaking his head, "I have a brother and a sister, both of 'em enlisted in the Marines."

"You got any hobbies?"

Rene furrows his eyebrows, "what's all the questions for? This some kind of interrogation?"

Martin shakes his head, turning to Rene, "we just want to get to know you, Flores."

Rene shakes his head with a confused face, tilting his head slightly, "why? I ain't anythin' special." Rene doesn't know it, but his words are what tells the men around him exactly what they need to know.

The game is over, and the men decided to call it quits on cards for the night. Rene is still sitting with Luz, Martin, Randleman, and Perconte all of them sitting in silence for a bit, none knowing what to say. Rene clears his throat, as he shuffles the deck of cards for something to do, "my whole life, my family called me Bean."

The four men exchange looks, not expecting Rene to say that. Luz shakes his head, "why?"

Rene shrugs before Martin shakes his head, "why are you tellin us that?"

"I don't know. You were the ones who wanted to know more about me. I figured it was somethin' interesting. We can forget I said it though if it ain't helpful."

Perconte smirks, "nah, Bean, it was plenty helpful." Rene looks up, surprised as he stares at Perconte for a moment before grinning at him. Perconte returns the grin, something the others around them never expected as they knew whatever Perconte had against Rene, is gone.

The company is on their usual Friday night march in their full gear. Rene's marching next to Bull who speaks up, "I'm gonna say somethin'."

Luz looks over, "to who?"

Rene shakes his head and looks back forward after glancing at Bull, "besides, what do you think is gonna happen?"

Bull ignores the two, calling out, "Lieutenant Winters."

"What is it?"

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Permission granted."

"Sir, we got nine companies, sir."

"That we do."

"Well, how come we're the only company marching every Friday night, twelve miles, full pack, in the pitch dark?"

"Why do you think, Private Randleman?"

"Lieutenant Sobel hates us, sir." Rene snickers, his eyes widening slightly, not expecting someone to say that, especially Bull.

"Lieutenant Sobel does not hate Easy Company, Private Randleman." There's a pause, "he just hates you."

There's scattered laughter from the company, as Bull nods, "thank you, sir." Rene snickers, smiling slightly, grateful to have Winters in their company who knows exactly what to say to the men.

After finishing the march, the men are standing in formation in front of Sobel. Rene stands next to Bull, beginning to get a chill from the cool air and rain hitting his sweaty skin. Sobel's voice is shrill as he speaks from where he stands next to Winters, "Lieutenant Winters, I want canteens out of belts with the caps unscrewed."

"Easy Company, canteens out and open." Rene reaches to his hip, grabbing his canteen, opening it.

"On my command, they will pour the contents onto the ground."

"On the CO's order, you will upend your canteen."

"Now, Lieutenant."

"Pour 'em." Rene flips his canteen over, the water flowing out. Rene moves his eyes, watching the water come out of the canteen, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as his thirst hits him with full force. Rene takes a deep breath before bringing his eyes back to the front.

Rene cringes lightly as Sobel quickly moves between the men, yelling, "who is this?" There is a slight pause before Sobel begins yelling again, " Christensen! Why is there no water in your canteen? You drank from your canteen, didn't you?"

"Sir, I—"

Sobel cuts Christensen off, "Lieutenant Winters."

Winters speaks from where he's standing in front of the company, "yes, sir."

"Was this man ordered to not drink from his canteen during the Friday night march?"

"He was, sir."

"Private Christensen, you have disobeyed a direct order. You will fill your canteen and repeat all twelve miles of the march immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Fall out!" Rene winces as Sobel screams before watching Sobel move back to the front and bring Winters aside, talking quietly with him, before walking away.

Rene stands in front of Sobel in his full gear, as Sobel glares down at him, "why are you here, Private Flores."

Rene's voice is louder than normal, not wanting Sobel to think he's intimidated by him, "I'm gonna be in the airborne, sir."

Sobel nods, "then prove it. You have forty-five minutes to the top and back. I will be watching you."

Rene nods once, "yes, sir." He steps around Sobel and begins running towards Currahee.

After running up and back down Currahhe, Rene stops, standing face to face with Sobel, his breathing slightly uneven from the run. Rene's surprised to see Sobel standing there, actually timing him, but soon his surprise turns to annoyance as Sobel stares at the stopwatch in his hand. He looks at Rene, his eyebrows scrunched together, "forty-six minutes and fifty-one seconds, Private Flores. Again."

Rene takes a deep breath before he gives Sobel a nod, "yes, sir." He turns around, rolling his eyes as soon as he knows Sobel can't see him and begins to run up Currahee again.

When Rene makes it back down in front of Sobel, his breathing is heavier than it ever had been after running Currahee. Sobel's voice shows his annoyance as he speaks again, "forty-six minutes and three seconds. Private Flores, this is not good. I thought you could run fast, however, this is a disgrace. Again. How can you think you can become a paratrooper if you can't even run in the right amount of time."

Rene nods again, sniffling lightly as his nose runs from the drizzle falling, "sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir."

"It better not, I can't stay out here all night, Private Flores. Again."

"Yes, sir." Rene turns around again, his eyes widening in annoyance as he forces his body to move. The exhaustion begins to flow through his body as he tries to run again, but he pushes himself, not wanting to prove Sobel right.

The third time Rene finishes running Currahee, he believes he may never catch his breath. As he comes to a stop in front of Sobel, he struggles to calm himself down as he pants loudly while Sobel gives him a nod, "forty-three minutes and seventeen seconds. Private Flores, why didn't you do that the first time, instead of wasting my time like this?"

Rene takes a deep breath before he coughs and gulps, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel nods, looking Rene over, "you will run Currahee once more for wasting my time, then you are dismissed, Private Flores."

"Thank you, sir." Rene watches as Sobel walks away before turning and staring up at Currahee, breathing out as his body seems to deflate from disappointment. He takes a deep breath, before slowly starting up the hill, at least this one isn't timed.

Rene takes a deep breath before he coughs and gulps, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel nods, looking Rene over, "you will run Currahee once more for wasting my time, then you are dismissed, Private Flores."

Luz looks at Rene's cot, not seeing anything on it like he usually would. He turns to look at the other men, pointing at the cot, "where's Bean?" After the night of poker, the men started calling Rene, Bean, which seemed to have caught on with the men from other platoons as well. Even for the men who haven't really interacted with him, Bean became the way people referred to him.

Martin looks at the cot before looking at Luz, shrugging, "I didn't see him in the mess hall."

Perconte turns, "someone said they saw him talking with Sobel."

"Shit, really?"

Suddenly, the door opens and Rene walks in, his gear muddy from tripping on his run and the rain with his helmet in his hand. The men take him in, seeing how he looks dead on his feet, with his face pale, his eyes squinting, and drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain. "Jesus Christ," Luz breathes out. Rene takes a deep breath, keeping his gaze on the floor as he makes his way to his cot, tossing his gun and helmet onto his cot before falling face first onto it.

Luz gulps, his worry for his friends skyrocketing as Perconte speaks, "the fuck happened to you?"

Rene turns his head, to face Martin who's in the cot next to him, "I hope jumping out of an airplane is fun."

Martin gives him a look mixed between amusement and concern, "what happened?"

Rene sighs before he turns his head to face his cot again, letting out a loud groan before he turns and begins to slowly stand up. His movements are slow as he begins taking his gear off, showing the men around him just how exhausted he is.

"Bean, what did you just do?"

Rene takes his jacket off, turning to Luz, "George, I just ran Currahee four fucking times."

"Why?"

Rene puts his helmet on the shelf, hanging his jacket up, before moving his gun. As he begins to get undressed, he turns to the men, "I don't know, apparently I had to prove that I could run and that I wanted to be in the airborne. Pretty much the same thing he did to Gordon. Apparently, we don't work hard enough to show that we want to be here." Rene moves, sliding into his cot and immediately falling asleep. The others look at each other, extremely concerned for Rene. He's proven he deserved to be there on many occasions, he hasn't been the best at PT, but he does extra work to ensure he can show Sobel up by not giving him a reason to call Rene out. There were many instances where some of the men would wake up in the middle of the night and spot Rene doing push ups on the ground in front of his cot, just to be able to keep up with everyone during PT.

Rene sits between Joe and Malarkey in the mess hall, playing with his food as he struggles to stay awake. Luz, Perconte, and Guarnere sit across from the three when Luz looks up from his tray, giving Rene a confused look, "hey, Re, how—"

Joe cuts Luz off, his voice low with annoyance, "what did you just call him?" Joe stares at Luz, as the men sitting around them, turn to watch them.

Rene's eyes widen as he looks down awkwardly at his tray, clearly not expecting Joe to respond like that. Luz looks between the two, his face crinkling in confusion, "I, uh, I called him 'Re'."

Joe shakes his head, "you don't get to call him Re, only I do."

Rene's head comes up, looking at Joe with a small smile, as his voice is teasing, "aw, Joey, you make me feel so special."

Joe's hand comes up, pushing Rene's head away, "no I don't, you're loosin' your mind, Re."

Rene's head hits Malarkey's shoulder, causing Rene to look up at him, shaking his head, "sorry." Malarkey shrugs, looking over at Guarnere who's looking between Joe and Rene. No one really knew when they got close enough to have their own nicknames, but, apparently, no one was gonna use them but each other. Rene looks up to Luz, "what were you gonna ask me?"

Luz shrugs, "I was gonna ask how you managed to get so good at running?"

Rene nods, taking a bite of food, "my brother was on the track team in school. I didn't have too many friends and since I stopped going to school, I would get super bored, so I would always run with him. My dad and my sister would make bets about whether I could keep up with him." Rene smiles lightly as he takes a bite of the peaches, before scrunching his face as he swallows hard, "fuck, those are gross." Joe chuckles, reaching over to grab the rest of the peaches from Rene's tray.

Rene is sitting on his cot, still in his muddy O. D's, not having a chance to shower yet. He grabs a cigarette, lighting it before grabbing his notebook and a pencil. Rene opens his notebook, beginning to draw parts of the barracks, as Martin walks in, sitting on his cot next to Rene's. He sits there for a moment, watching Rene, before finally speaking up, "what are you doin'?"

Rene looks up at Martin, talking slowly, "I'm drawing?"

Martin raises an eyebrow, "are you asking me?"

Rene's eyebrows crinkle, still talking slowly, "no?"

Martin purses his lips, his voice going monotoned, "really?"

Rene gulps, looking back down at his notebook, "sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Flores? You ain't done nothing wrong. What are you drawing?" Martin pauses as he looks around the barracks, "there ain't really anything to draw in here."

Rene shrugs, "just things. A mix of things." Rene flips the page of his notebook, turning it to face Martin who looks surprised Rene is showing a drawing to him.

Martin looks at the drawing, seeing different parts of the barracks put together, almost like a collage. Martin looks the drawing over, seeing how Rene manages to get the barracks to look so different yet so real. Martin's eyes widened, "shit. Bean, this is amazing."

Rene smiles sheepishly, looking down again, "thanks, Mar."

"Mar?" Rene looks up, shrugging, as the two share a smile. Martin clears his throat, glancing around the barracks, "when, uh, when did you and Toye get so close?"

Rene makes a face, "what d'you mean?"

"I mean, I heard about what happened the other day in the mess hall. When Toye pretty much told the whole company that he was the only one to call you Re."

Rene shrugs, "honestly, that surprised me. I don't really know when we got close. I mean, I guess if I had called one of you my best friend, it would be Joe." Rene looks over at George, who's listening in on their conversation while laying on his cot, "no offense."

Luz shrugs, "eh, I understand, we all see it. It was like you guys just instantly understood each other."

Rene stands in line to get his food, only for his face to scrunch up as he looks down the line, seeing what's getting put onto the plates of the other men. Rene moves up, watching as the noodles are put on his plate, the sauce following after. He looks up meeting the eyes of Winters in the kitchen, causing Rene to raise an eyebrow, to which Winters shrugs back. Rene grimaces before turning and walking away towards the table. He sits down next to Dittrich, grabbing his fork, taking a bite, before making a face and putting the fork down, speaking in Spanish, "fuck, I don't like spaghetti, then you add ketchup to the mix."

George turns to look at Rene from his spot next to Perconte, "Bean, we have no idea what you just said."

Rene looks at George before he shrugs, clearly not caring. Dittrich speaks up, his voice annoyed, "this stuff is orange. Spaghetti ain't supposed to be orange."

Rene scrunches his face, "this ain't spaghetti."

Perconte nods, "yeah, this is Army noodles with ketchup."

Guarnere walks over, sliding into the seat across from Rene, "you ain't gotta eat it."

Rene nods, taking a bite of his bread, "I know, I ain't gonna."

Perconte and Guarnere look at Rene before Perconte looks at Guarnere, "oh, c'mon, Gonorrhea, as a fellow Italian, you should know that calling this crap spaghetti is a mortal sin."

Hoobler turns around from the table behind them, reaching for Perconte's plate, "you don't want it, I'll have it."

He makes a move to grab Perconte's plate, but Perconte grabs it up and takes it out of Hoobler's reach, "no, no, no, I'm eating here."

Guarnere nudges Hoobler, "hey, get outta here." Hoobler turns and sits back down causing Rene to snicker as he takes another bite of his bread.

The sound of a whistle blowing causes all movement and sound in the mess hall to cease. Rene looks up to see Sobel walking in, "orders changed, get up!" Rene and the rest of the company stand up at attention, Rene continuing to chew the bread in his mouth, "lectures are canceled." Sobel begins to walk between the tables, "Easy Company is running up Currahee." Rene and Guarnere give each other a look of annoyance before Guarnere brings his head down to his chest, "move, move!" The company begins to rush out, "three miles up, three miles down. Hi-ho, Silver! Let's go, let's go."

After running for a little bit, the men of Easy are feeling the effects of running after eating spaghetti. Hoobler pukes next to Rene, who scrunches his face up from the sight of the orange puke. Rene glances over at Hoobler, "you're okay, Hoob. You got this. We gotta prove to him nothing can stop us."

Rene makes a face as Sobel runs up behind them, not at all hiding his feeling as Sobel yells, "you're a washout, Private Hoobler! You should pack up both your ears and go home." Rene takes a deep breath, catching Sobel's attention causing him to move and yell in Rene's ear, "Private Flores, can you run Currahee now? You want to quit, don't you? You can quit anytime you want, Flores." Rene closes his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them back up. Sobel moves towards the back, "looks like Gordon's done. Aren't you, Gordon? You finished? You do not deserve to get your wings." Sobel moves forward again, this time running in front, yelling at Bull, "Private Randleman, you look tired. There's an ambulance waiting for you at the bottom of the hill. It can all be over right now. No more pain, no more Currahee. No more Captain Sobel."

Rene takes a deep breath before opening his mouth, beginning to call out, hearing George do the same, "we pull upon the risers," the rest of the company joins in, "we fall upon the grass, we never land upon our feet, we always hit out ass." Sobel runs in front of George for a moment, surprised he would get the men to start chanting, before moving to run along the side of the company, slowing down as he watches them all running through their pain. "Hidee hidee, Christ almighty, who the hell are we? Zim-Zam, godddamn we're Airborne Infantry." Rene glances over, seeing how Sobel stopped, watching them run by before continuing, "we pull upon the risers, we fall upon the grass, we never land upon our feet, we always hit our ass. Hidee tidee, Christ almighty, who the hell are we?" Rene yells out louder, hoping to motivate some of the men, "zim-Zam, god damn, we're Airborne Infantry. Hey!"

"So, do we feel like we're ready to be army paratroopers?" Rene sits in between Bill and Popeye, the parachute on his back pulling him down, closer to the ground as he squints up at the instructor standing in front of the group.

The men speak in sync, "yes, Sergeant."

"I hope so. This'll be the first of five exits from a C-47 aircraft scheduled for today. Upon the successful completion of your fifth and final jump, you'll be certified Army Paratroopers. There'll be a lot of men dropping from the sky today. Hopefully, under deployed canopies." Rene snickers slightly, yeah, hopefully. The Sergent gestures to the chalkboard behind him, "jumping from one-thousand feet AGL, in sticks of twelve jumpers per aircraft. All you have to do is remember what you were taught," he pauses for a moment, "and I will guarantee you gravity will take care of the rest. And, gentlemen, rest assured, any refusals in the aircraft or at the door and I guarantee you, you will be out of the Airborne."

Rene takes a deep breath, picking at his fingers as he sits on the plane. He looks over towards the door, seeing the light turn red and his heart stops for a moment as the jump sergeant stands up, calling out, "get ready!" Rene grabs his clip in his shaky hand, sitting forward in his seat as he gulps. "Stand up." Rene stands up with everyone else, turning to face the front of the plane. "Hook up." Rene brings the hook up to the wire running through the middle of the plane, hooking onto it, struggling lightly as he tries to get his hand to stop shaking. "Check equipment!" Rene moves, checking the equipment for Martin, who's in front of him, his mind racing at the possibility of Martin's equipment not being good and being the reason something goes wrong. "Sound-off for equipment check!"

"Nine okay!"

"Eight okay!"

"Seven okay!"

Rene feels the tap from Hoobler on his shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly before patting Martin on the shoulder, "Six okay!"

"Five okay!"

"Four okay!"

"Three okay!"

"Two okay!"

"One okay!"

"Stand in the door!" Rene moves up with the line, as the first person, Lipton, stands at the door. The light turns green, and the jumpmaster calls out, "go, go, go!" Rene moves up with the line as more of the men jump out of the plane for their first time, "go, go, go, go, go!" Rene breathes out, standing at the door, bringing his hands to hold onto the outside of the door, just as he was taught, his heart beating loudly in his ears, his stomach rolling as he looks out below him, the jumpmaster's voice echoing in his head as he waits to hear his signal. "Go," Rene jumps, not thinking twice about it, knowing if he did, he wouldn't get out the door and he would prove Sobel right. Rene looks around as much as he can as he descends from the plane, how the hell was I so scared of this? Once he lands, he immediately reaches up and grabs the parachute, wrapping it up as quickly as possible, not wanting to get hit by other falling men.

Rene jogs to catch up to Ramirez as they make their way to the bar to celebrate, "oye, Ramirez."

Rene puts his hand onto Ramirez's shoulder, causing Ramirez to stop walking and turn to look at Rene, "what's up Bean?"

Rene smiles at the use of his nickname, slightly surprised it spread so quickly, before speaking in Spanish, "I heard what happened."

Ramirez gives him a confused look, "what happened?"

Rene nods, "in the airplane."

Ramirez nods, making a face, showing he understands what Rene is talking about now, "ah, sí. Going to tell me that I failed?"

Rene smiles at him as he glances at the group behind Ramirez, watching the two, before looking back at Ramirez. He shakes his head, "I just wanted to tell you, I think you have a lot more courage than the rest of us and you should be proud of yourself."

Ramirez's eyes widen, "seriously?"

Rene nods, "jumping the first time is one thing, but jumping after refusing is completely different."

Ramirez squints his eyes at Rene, trying to decide if he can trust him, before he grins at Rene, "gracias, Bean. I was nervous you guys would think I shouldn't be here or something."

Rene crinkles his eyebrows as he begins moving towards the group waiting for them, speaking with a scoff, "please, what kind of brothers would we be if we felt that way. If anyone gives you trouble, send them to me."

Ramirez laughs following Rene to the group, as he shakes his head, "not too good I guess. And I will." Rene laughs as they make it to the group, all of them making their way to the bar.

Rene is standing next to Joe at the bar, leaning with his back against it, watching the men around them celebrate with a small smile on his face. Rene turns his head, looking at Joe who has his head down as he faces the bar, causing Rene to chuckle, "too much to drink, Joey?"

Joe looks up at him, "fuck off, Re."

Rene smiles before he turns, facing the bar at the sound of their names, "Corporal Toye, Corporal Flores." The two look up at George who's impersonating Sobel as Joe stands straighter, "there will be no leaning in my company." George leans against the bar on the other side, getting a closer look at Joe's jump wings, "are those dusty jump wings?" Rene snickers as Joe brings his hand up, rubbing them, "how do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?"

Joe leans forward, grabbing onto the front of Luz's uniform, bringing him closer, before he shakes his head, "Luz, just get me a drink."

George grins at him, "hell of an idea, Joe." He looks over at Rene who shakes his head, picking up the beer he's still drinking. George nods as he reaches down, grabbing Joe a beer, setting it down on the bar, "here you go." Rene smiles as George grabs his own beer, holding it up, causing Rene and Joe to grab theirs, bringing it to meet Luz's, "three miles up, three miles down."

The three take a drink after the cheers, Rene almost choking as Sobel yells out, "ten-hut." Rene sets his glass down, quickly swallowing, turning to stand at attention.

Colonel Sink walks up to the small stage, looking over the men, "well, at ease, paratroopers." Rene moves, spreading his legs out, bringing his hands behind his back. "Good evening, Easy Company."

The men call out in sync, "evening, sir."

"Now, Parachute Infantry is a brand new concept in American military history. But by God, the Five-O-Six is gonna forge that brand new concept into victory."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to know that I'm damned proud of each and every one of you." Rene grabs a beer, moving to hand it to Grant, "now, you deserve this party." Grant hands Sink the beer, "thank you, Sergeant Grant."

Grant gives him a nod, "sir."

"So, I want you to have fun, and remember our motto. Currahee!"

The men hold their drinks up, calling out, "Currahee!" Rene laughs before finishing his beer off, setting the now empty glass on the bar.

Joe turns, wrapping an arm around Rene's shoulder, "we did it, Re. We're fucking paratroopers."

"What is it, Re?"

Rene glances at George who leans back against the bar, listening in as Rene lowers his voice lightly, "I, uh, when I joined, I was scared of heights."

Joe looks surprised, glancing at George, who's also surprised before looking back at Rene, raising an eyebrow, "really?" Rene nods, causing Joe to shake his head, "why the hell did you join?"

Rene shrugs, "I ain't too sure, I just know that when I looked out the door, I had no idea what I was so scared of."

The three laugh as Joe shakes his head, "only you would join the airborne even though you're scared of heights."

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supercap2319 · 1 year ago

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"Mr. Barnard, would you please put your shirt back on? I have a boyfriend and I don't think he'd appreciate you being shirtless for me." Y/N said.

Bob Barnard looks at him and smiles. "Ain't nothing wrong with this. I'm sure Brick will understand."

"Sorry, no thanks. I'm actually late for meeting Brick at the gym. See ya!'"

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #bob Barnard #christopher gorham #michael provost #brick armstrong #Brick Armstrong x male reader #Insatiable

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decadentworld · 11 months ago

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Umm it’s kind of a travesty that I don’t have a hot nerdy guy who’s secretly a bit of a slut on my lap right now tbh.

#This is about Bob btw #top male reader #dom male reader #mlm #male x male #Oh this could be about Skippy too

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ablobwhowrites · 2 years ago

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(THE FIRST PART IS NOW OUT! Please go check it out, I don’t want to have wasted my friends time with this series or soon to be if everyone wants this to be a Yandere spooky series so please go see it if you haven’t) I have a dream...like.....yandere spooky month but the whole town is yandere the kids are platonic of course and shit why not have m/n be chased by the cult for...reasons, like kevin and streber are together but want m/n in the relationship and shit and bob will be yandere as shit. I'm wanna do it but I don't think people will like it so if you want me to do it just send me in the indox cause I really want people to enjoy the stuff I write and you can request how gorey or something in the story can get.

plus I’m working on the first spooky month that’s the 2 spooky month with eyes, so that leaves 3, 4 and 5. The three last available to do a full story requests

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aliorsboxostuff · 1 year ago

Note

bob Floyd x male reader who is quiet and intimidating, only to silently become a guard dog to him

idk I haven't slept, hope this makes sense

OOOOOH THIS TURNED OUT SO NICE TBH I love grumpy x sunshine sm :(( it's such a cute trope uGHHH and writing this was such a trip lmao I loved how it turned out tbh thanks so much for the idea!! so I hope you all do too!

Note: Reader is regarded as Panther for his callsign. The fic is in a 3rd POV.

Stone-Cold

Tags: Robert Floyd/Male Reader, Bob x Male-aviator!Reader, sunshine x grumpy!!, Robert Floyd, Natasha Trace, Bradley Bradshaw, Jake Seresin, Halo, Fritz, Yale, Rest of the Dagger Squad, Maverick, Iceman, Penny, Meet-cute, First meeting, Fluff, Implied smut, kissing, making out, getting together, separation, slight angst, time skips, NOT TOO MUCH THO!, No use of Y/N, slight OOC, Background Icemav, Background Sereshaw, Background relationships, i don't know shit about fighter pilots, only did small research lmao

Bob met Panther, a dark-eyed individual who never even glanced in his direction. But that soon changes when he finally gains his friendship and the two hit it off, flying through a healthy relationship, a falling out, and a reunion.

—

The first time Bob met Panther was in basics. Panther stood a foot taller than him, with dark eyes that were only focused on the board whenever they were in class. Due to his height, Panther was situated in the back, just two rows behind where Bob usually sits. A suffocating dark air seems to always follow the man, making his classmates, including Bob, avoid him most of the time. It doesn't help that the man barely talks, it's a miracle they even knew his Callsign.

They say he got it after someone from his old crew saw him in the middle of the night, outside of the building, with glowing golden eyes. Paired with his big build, Bob hopes the Callsign story is nothing but a rumor of some drunken crew that stumbled his way and saw Panther that night.

It was a usual Wednesday. His class has departed to spend their lunchtime while Bob makes his way to the cafeteria, reviewing the lesson plan inside his head. While he was too engrossed in his little ramblings, he hadn't realized he bumped into someone waiting in the line in front of him. Bob immediately stops and rubs his nose which took the burn of the bump.

“Sorry!” He quickly musters, realizing he had to incline his head in order to meet the person's eyes, and much to his surprise, it was Panther. The man raised a brow and fixed Bob with a stare that made the shorter pilot gulp. Suddenly, Panther shrugs and turns back around, as if to brush off an insignificant bug. Now that is a treatment Bob is familiar with, so he’s back to looking down into his binder while waiting for his turn.

After obtaining his lunch, he looks around for his usual table, on the far end of the large room. He smiles to himself as he spots it vacant and makes his way to his place. As he sets his tray down, a similar noise follows. Bob raises his head to find Panther, he was the one placing his tray in front of Bob. His eyes widen, panic settling in before he hears the tall man in front of him speak. “Is… this seat taken?”

To hear Panther's voice was a rarity, the man only spoke in class if their instructor specifically asked him to answer. He sounded… Timid—Far from what Bob’s expectation was. The brunette stumbles on his words, finding his voice to answer the man in front of him.

“N-no, go ahead,” Bob manages a welcoming smile, well, he hopes it was welcoming. Panther nods, and takes his seat and so does Bob. He puts aside his binders and readjusts his glasses, a nervous habit. He finds himself looking at his tray of food, then back to his books, then to the blank table. Bob doesn't know what to do with his hands. Awkwardness surrounds both of them.

“I see you took notes of today's class,” Panther was the one who broke it.

Bob perks, before he sheepishly nods. “Yeah its, uh- good for review,”

“Do you think… You can explain some stuff to me? I didn't really catch today's lesson…” The taller man looks to his side, then scratches the back of his neck. Behind his glasses, Bob’s eyes lit up, before he smiled and nodded, his hands already on their way to open one of his many binders.

That was the start of Bob's and Panther's friendship. He admits, he never had the best experience with his peers. Most of the time he’s left alone or is only noticed whenever they have a question, no one ever truly became close with Bob. No one’s ever picked on him, that would be childish, but then again—If you pile some humans filled with testosterone in one shower room, there's bound to be some name-calling or stink eyes. Bob has had his fair share of it, never taken it to heart, even if some days it hurts more than it looks.

But ever since Panther spends his lunch with Bob, the other guys have chosen to leave him alone, even in the shower rooms. No one ever laughed behind his back again, those whispers whenever he was in class or passing by has also disappeared. Panther has spent the better half of his day sticking to Bob, being by his side, going where Bob is going, and only separates when they have different schedules or if he was waiting for his own turn in the rec room while Bob is in training.

It’s been a couple of months since their initial meeting now. Bob and Panther are well into their flight training program, and are currently leading in their class grade. Two of the best in their class, with Bob having a couple of scores above Panther.

The clock barely touched 8 PM. Panther was lounging about in Bob’s room, with his roommate being somewhere in the city, no doubt getting drunk between girls, Panther was free to roam in his best friend's room. Bob is currently on his bed, reading something from a textbook while Panther was doing nothing in particular on the floor, his long limbs strewn about. The only thing illuminating the room is the stripes of moonlight and the dim light of Bob's bedside lamp.

“Hey Bob,” Panther calls from the floor. Bob hums. “Ever thought of getting into Top Gun?”

Bob tilts his head slightly. He closes the textbook, putting his glasses aside before leaning on the edge of his mattress. “Maybe. Why?”

“Nah, just thought if you wanted to, you could,” Panther grins up to a confused Bob.

“What's that supposed to mean?” The brunette smiles, strands of his fringe falling into his eyes.

“You’re smart. Smarter than all of us in class, not to mention you’re a half-decent pilot,” Bob chuckles at that, now fully leaning down to meet his friend's eyes. Panther smiles up at him. “I think you’d make it into Top Gun.”

While Bob doesn't have his glasses on, Panther's smile is just as warm, feeling it seeping into his skin. “You smile more around me,”

Panther’s smile faltered slightly, before he suddenly sat up, supported by his arms behind him, and then they were inches apart. Bob’s eyes widen, finding how close his friend is sitting, he can practically breathe him in. The brunette blinks, swallowing a lump. “That day, the first time we talked, why did you choose to sit with me?”

Panther’s lips are parted slightly. “I just… I knew you weren't as shit as the others,”

Bob huffs a laugh and Panther mimics it. “Really?”

“Yeah, plus…” Panther leans closer, his voice drops into a whisper. “You were the only one worth talking to,”

It happened so slowly. Bob closes his eyes before he feels the man's lips on his, trusting himself wholly to Panther. He feels himself being pushed, his hands scrambling to wrap around Panther's shoulders before he pushes Bob onto the bed and he climbs in himself, lips never parting. He presses and presses, until Bob's lips part and he feels Panther's tongue slips in, which makes Bob groan between their breath and pants. Bob finds himself laid beneath Panther, feeling his friend's hair between his fingers, the solid weight on top of him calms his pestering anxiety. He’s shared a kiss or two, and dated some girls and one boy, but has never gone as far as making out. But despite it all, Panther's mere existence on top of him, caging him in, soothes his worries, and is willing to follow Panther into the long night.

He’s lucky his roommate came back late because he had to kiss Panther goodbye as he sneaked back into his room, not before he heard the man groan from outside his doors; something about his roommate asking questions about last night, which made Bob laugh.

Before Panther left, they had woken up in each other's arms, Bob had the best sleep he’s had in years. Panther was playing with Bob’s curly morning hair, before the more petite man groans and reaches numbly for his glasses, at which Panther laughs and hands it to him. Once he situated his glasses, he finds himself looking at the man on top of him, a soft smile between those addicted lips. “Morning,” He said.

“Mornin’” Bob drawls, turning to face Panther. He smiles, before pressing a kiss to Bob's temple, which Bob closes his eyes upon feeling it. Instead of pulling back, Panther stays there.

“I hope this isn't a one-time thing,” He mumbles into Bob's curls. The brunette blinks, before he pulls back to meet Panther's eyes.

“It isn't.” So serious, so sure of his words. Bob was famous for his hesitation, for his timidness in front of his peers, but this. This, he’s confident about.

Pather’s blank stare breaks into a smile, before he dives back in and smothers Bob with kisses, pulling him right back into his arms, and they spend the rest of the dawn just like that.

—

Bob graduated on top of his class. Pather follows just behind him, but despite it, they’re both worthy of their wings of gold.

After their graduation ceremony, after the pictures and congratulations from instructors and family members, and awkwardly meeting Bob’s cheerful parents and myriads of siblings, after meeting Panther's own family, the two finally manage to sneak away. Panther pulls Bob into the back of his Land Rover, the shorter male giggling as his boyfriend smothers him in kisses.

“I’m so proud of you,” Panther smiles, pulling back from his grinning boyfriend. Bob's glasses are askew, a wide smile on his lips. He can feel himself blushing, the steady heat spreading through his cheeks, which makes Panther lean back in to kiss him again.

They both ended up in the back seat of Panthers Rover, entwined with each other, breathing in lungfuls, a smile on both of their lips. Bob leans to bury himself deeper into Panther's chest, feeling the warm skin beneath his fingertips. Panther hums, his arm pulling Bob closer. His other hand examines the small wing, it reflects the night's shine.

“What now?” Panther sighs, pocketing the golden wings then turns to his boyfriend. Bob's brown eyes shine with the moonlight.

“I don't know,” The brunette looks out of the car’s window. “Get assigned a squadron,”

It would be the next step in their career. Panther has learned that Bob would be aiming to get into Top Gun, and he would be following Bob if he could, always one step behind him.

Panther turns to face Bob, the aviator picking at his finger. He slowly entwines his fingers with Bob’s, making him glance up to meet Panther's eyes. The taller male softly smiles, moving a stray hair from Bob's eyes. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,”

—

Two weeks after their Uranium mission, the crew has decided to hang out in the Hard Deck before some of them get shipped out into another deployment. Rooster was busy with Hangman, the two have been getting along ever since Hangman saved Rooster and Mav’s lives. They hung at one of the back tables of the Hard Deck, a bottle of beer in each other's hand. They’re standing awfully close, which makes Phoenix raise a brow.

“Let’s hope they don't break each other's heart again,” Bob snickers, picking at his cashews.

“You don't want to take care of Roo?”

“God no, you're lucky you weren't there for the first time,” Phoenix’s face scrunches in disgust, which makes Bob laugh. The WSO has been sticking with his pilot for most of their leisure time, mostly because he didn't know where else to go. Bob supposed he’ll follow where his next mission took him, or hope Cyclone is merciful and put him and Phoenix on the same crew.

Coyote and Payback are playing pool, along with the others, sometimes cheering one of them on or laughing at a joke or quip the group would say. Maverick said he couldn't join the crew, something about spending his day with Iceman, which they all completely understood and cheered in their group chat. It's a particularly slow day for the Hard Deck, not a lot of patrons on this sunny Wednesday. Penny was conversing with another patron, and overall calming noon washing over Fightertown.

The doors of Hard Deck chimes open. Bob and Phoenix are engrossed in their conversation, and despite standing on the other side of the bar, they did not recognize the customer that came in. A tall man on his peripherals is the only thing Bob notices before Phee makes him laugh and he’s back to ducking.

“Hey there, I'm looking for a Bob Floyd?”

The familiar voice almost gave Bob whiplash as he turned his head. And he thought he'd lost him…

“Panther?”

The man in question walks past the bar and finds the familiar and comforting blue of Bob’s eyes. The pilot stands from his stool, taking shaky steps toward Panther.

The last Bob ever heard of Panther was years ago, before his first deployment as they were assigned their own squadron. Bob was devastated that he wouldn't be getting the same squadron as Panther did, but with reassuring parting words, Panther promised the younger pilot that they’d meet again, one way or another. Since then, Bob has been moving from one deployment to another, meeting new people and squadrons, and experiencing different pain and happiness in his life. He got into the Top Gun program, and he met his current friends. He met Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy and the others, but despite it all he had hoped to somehow see Panther again.

He never considered the man to find him.

“Hey,” Panther's smile is just as blinding as he remembers it. He gives Bob a once over, spotting the outfit Bob is wearing, before he chuckles. “Never changed, huh?”

Bob follows his laugh, finding the courage to reach out to hold Panther's wrist, which makes a steady blush rise to his cheeks. Panthers laugh stutters before he clears his throat and scratches at the back of his neck.

“And you never changed too,” Panther's eyes widen a bit, before he breaks into a smile, which makes Bob grin. He brings himself to stand closer to Panther, having to crane his neck to meet the man's eyes.

“How did…” Bob's question falters, but luckily still understood Panther.

“I found you? Well, word travels fast when you are on the same mission as Captain Maverick,” Panther smirks. Bob laughs, realizing the recent fame the crew got ever since they spent their time with Mav. If you were taught by the legendary Maverick and were on a successful mission alongside him, the story definitely travels fast.

Though, Bob's brow furrows again. ��But how did you know I was here?”

“I have my sources,” Panther shrugs, making Bob pat his arm. He's still supporting those muscles that made Bob’s head spin. Bob blinks, trying to hide away his blush by suddenly pulling Panther into a hug, which makes the man laugh and wrap his arms around the shorter pilot. Panther shakes from the laughter as he rests his chin on Bob's head. Bob melts at the sound of the familiar heartbeat, the warmth Panther exudes.

The two move apart when they suddenly hear the sound of clapping, only to find Hangman walking towards them. “Is that the Panther I see?”

Bob tilts his head, before he feels himself being shifted to stand beside the taller man. “Hangman,”

His jaw slackens. He has never seen Panther revert back to the stone-cold gaze he once wore back in basics, not even when Bob made a mistake that Panther rightfully got angry about. Yet, right now, he has that exact face while facing Hangman.

“I never thought I’d see the day when you're back in Fightertown,”

“Never thought I'd see your douchey-ass here again,” Panther retorts. He stands much taller than Jake, though he still has his bite despite the height difference, seemingly unbothered. Jake leans over to look behind Panther's broad shoulders, finding a confused Bob.

“You knew him?” Jake smirks.

“We were in basics together,” Bob nods, his hand slowly reaching for Panther's arm, patting it softly. “He’s my friend,”

Panther takes a breath, before sighing and moving aside, turning towards Bob with a frown. “Sorry, my bad,”

“It’s alright, I'm fine, Panther,” Bob smiles, pushing stray strands behind Panther's ear affectionately.

Unbeknownst to them, the rest of the crew, including Jake, is currently looking at the two with wide eyes and jaws on the floor. Bob wasn't particularly open to touch, in fact—The only people that ever hugged him were the selected few in the Dagger Squad. Phoenix was normally seen with him, and even then she kept her distance with the backseater. And to the extent of Hangman's knowledge, the Panther he knew back in his Fighter Squadron days was a reserved and quiet guy, mostly intimidating with his height and build, but usually kept it to himself. To see the usually scary man being so touchy with a usually not touchy-feely guy is, to say the least, odd.

The two spent the rest of the day catching up. Bob has learned that Panther took a different route than aiming for Top Gun, and instead got deployed at some places to teach classes, the main reason why he hasn't been able to visit Fightertown. He also learned the second that he got a whiff of information that a squadron, led by Maverick, has done a successful mission and is still in Miramar, Panther booked the first flight to San Diego. He wasn't expecting to find Bob, he was hoping.

Panther ended up listening to everything his friend dumped on him. He knows Bob doesn't easily talk, only in short replies, so he’s happy to find him still so accepting to share his life with Panther. He learns about the Dagger Squad, how he's apparently close with Maverick now, and his experience throughout the death-defying mission. Panther, regardless of it all, was glad he had Bob in one piece instead of being invited to the aviator's honorable funeral. He’s proud to hear Bob making new friends, meeting new people, and is especially interested in meeting Phoenix.

“Oh wait, let me use the toilet, be back in a bit,” Panther places his Whiskey down, patting Bob's back as he heads to the toilets.

Phoenix immediately corners her WSO, sliding up next to him. She stares him down, bewildering Bob. “Who’s that guy and what's his deal?”

Bob takes a second to blink. “Im- Panthers my friend,”

“He seems more than a friend, Bob,” He knew he was safe with Phoenix. He knew he was safe with everyone, because they aren't like the old folks who glare at any two guys standing too close for comfort. Hell, they have Rooster and Hangman who are currently dancing around each other. But for Bob to tell Pheonix his ‘once boyfriend’ was a bit challenging for him. But he trusts her, and she worries for him.

“He’s my… Old Boyfriend? We never broke up, but-”

“He left you?”

“No! Phee please,” Bob sighs, readjusting his glasses. “ We got different squadrons and went our separate ways, honestly, it's a miracle he ever found me,”

The aviator looks down at his glass, the water reflecting his longing gaze. Bob smiles. “I never stopped loving him,”

Phoenix leans back, away from her backseater. Her eyes find the deep pools of Bob’s blues, having known him well enough to see past his usual awkward demeanor. The pilot huffs, before she looks past Bob and then stands. “I’m sure he feels the same,”

She passes Bob then, not before patting his shoulder, then walking away. Panther passes by the pilot, the shorter lady giving him a knowing look which makes Panther's brows crease, but he takes his seat again, already turning to face Bob.

“That’s Phoenix?”

“Heh, yeah,” Bob answers into his glass as he sips. Panthers swivel back around, finding Phoenix next to Hangman and an unknown man who supports a great porn stache. Panther manages a small smile, to which Phoenix responds with a nod.

“I like her,” Bob laughs.

—

It was well over closing hour when Penny finally pushed the crew out of the Hard Deck door, saying something about reporting them to Maverick if she had to, which made all of the squad rush out and into San Diego’s cool evening.

Some piled into Fitz’s car, Halo went with Phoenix on her bike, Hangman is already in Roosters Bronco, which left Bob alone with Panther. The two stay on the bar's porch, watching their friends stumble into their respectful vehicle. Bob spotted the guys fighting over who drives Fitz’s car even though the only sober one was Yale at that point, which made him laugh. Halo was already clinging to a sober Phoenix, clearly babbling about something.

Throughout the night, Panther has gotten into conversations with the squad. Hangman even offered him a match at pool, which he demolished, leaving Jake to wallow his way to Rooster, so he learned the name of the pilot with the sick stache. Panther felt welcomed amongst them, their sense of family palpable. He finds himself smiling most of the time, which freaked Jake out. And it seems they're on a first-name basis now, which Bob greatly appreciates.

They watch as their friends pull out of the parking lot, some blasting music, others oddly calm which bothered Bob. He hopes Rooster won't actually break Jake.

After the dust has settled and their rear lights are far off into the distance, Bob releases a sigh, smiling to himself.

“So, Bob,” Panther turns to him, making Bob tilt his head to match. “I have my Range Rover,”

“Still the same old?”

“The one my aunt gifted me, yeah,” Panther laughs, which makes Bob grins. He suddenly grew quiet, looking down into Miramar’s sand instead of meeting Bob. The shorter man furrows his brow, something churns in his gut. Before Panther opens his mouth, Bob beats him to it.

“I don't-” Bob takes a breath. “...What are we?”

At that, Panther smiles easily. He reaches for Bob's hand, holding them, drawing small circles on the back of the pilot's hands. “I’m your boyfriend, if you’ll take me,”

Then he brings Bob’s chin close, pressing his lips against him, and it’s back to basics. Back to the old dorms where Bob felt a surge of euphoria. Where he could finally let his walls be undone by the man he trusted the most. He’s missed this. Missed the easy slide of their lips, the comforting scent of Panther, the way his hand slots between the man's broad chest, how Panther pulls him closer by his hips and suddenly he’s weightless. Bob smiles into their kiss, happy to finally regain his spot between Panther's arms.

Requests are opened! Reminder to reblog!

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auroracalisto · 2 years ago

Text

good enough

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x gn!reader, 8k words tw: MAJOR MISCOMMUNICATION TROPE. divorce, cussing (lots of f bombs at some point), lots of arguing, angst, at one point, reader is said to have had depression before. the reader and bradley are both idiots and neither one of them can properly deal with shit. macho man rooster ends up letting fear gets the best of him and he literally ruins his own life bc of it LMAO, possibly ooc if you squint, possibly questionable actions when it comes to friends, this is dramatic as hell (and i loved every minute of it), self-doubt, angry characters, regret is strong here, rooster fears death and makes it a personality trait™ a/n: based on the song "good enough" by maisie peters. sorry for all of the tws, but i just wanted to try and mark all the boxes. but fr i love bradley. this is purely a play on the song i named, and is just a piece of fiction. a dramatic piece of fiction. like literally take rooster and place him in some angsty romance novel, but cut out the smut. that's this. i am also so sorry for the length of this. i just... started going and i couldn't stop. LMAO

Your heart lurched to your throat as you stood there, his head turned away from your lips—he was avoiding your touch. He didn’t have to say it for you to realize it.

You hesitantly smiled, backing down. Maybe he just had a bad day. It happened pretty often, so taking it personally wouldn’t have benefited you in any way.

He was your favorite person, and you knew you were his. You two were best friends until the end of time. That’s how it had been since even before you two got married—that’s how it would stay.

The television that sat in the living room had long since been turned off. The fan perched in the corner of the room silently hummed along, providing little relief to the California heat that plagued your home.

"Rooster," you began, rubbing the back of your neck. Sweat stuck to the palm of your hand, and you grimaced as you quickly wiped your hand off on the seat of your pants. "How was your day? I know it's been busy—"

"—we need to talk," he said, cutting you off.

He didn't even give you a chance to question things as he walked past you, sitting down on the sofa in your shared condominium. You blinked slowly at your husband, but you gave a small nod. Your feet moved on their own accord as you sat beside him. You placed a hand on his knee, and he only pulled himself away from you.

You swallowed thickly, nerves getting the best of you. Had you done something to offend him recently? Did something happen with Maverick again? You had thought they were doing well—the videos Natasha had sent you were proof enough of that. It warmed your heart to know that he was finally finding himself in this crazy world.

Maybe it was just hot. Yes, that’s it. The heat was getting to him. It had been getting to everyone on base, and at work. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was the same thing here.

"Bradley…?" You said nothing more than his name, watching him with nothing but pure adoration behind your eyes. He meant the world to you. There was nothing he could say or do to change this, even if he was avoiding you.

The man looked at anything but you. His dark brown eyes stared at the black television, and then they moved to the grey carpet just beneath his boot-clad feet.

You must have just vacuumed. He could see the indentations, and that’s what he chose to focus on as he searched for the right words to say. But they never came.

"I want a divorce," he said.

It was so simple. Those four words.

And just like that, your world came crashing around you.

Where was this coming from? Did you do something to upset him?

The words swirled around in your brain, repeating over and over until it hit you like a freight train, knocking the air from your chest. He wants a divorce.

You sat on the edge of the black sofa, eyes fluttering shut as you took in a deep breath. Your hands rested in fists on top of your thighs as you wracked your mind for an explanation. You couldn't find one.

There was nothing that could justify whatever this was.

How long had he been thinking about this?

"Where… where is this coming from?" you asked. You just had to know.

"I don't want to talk about it. Just… please."

"What?" You looked up at him in disbelief. "You—you want to divorce me but you won't even give me a reason?" you asked. Your eyes burned as you held back your tears. You couldn't cry. Not now. If you cried that first tear, then surely, they would never stop.

"I have never asked you for anything, Y/n. Please, just say yes.”

"I don't understand where this is coming from, Bradley," you said, reaching forward to take ahold of his hand. "Please. Talk to me. I want to understand what's going on."

Rooster clenched his jaw, looking down at your hands. Your wedding band glinted in the soft glow of the light overhead. The beautiful piece glared at him as he fought to find the right words to say—but nothing he could say would make this better. Not now.

The words left him without a second thought.

"I don't love you."

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be telling you the truth right now. He did love you. He married you! Why would he ever ask you to marry him if he didn't love you?

Why would you plan your life together if he didn’t love you?

But even though you could create more and more questions in your mind, trying to placate every emotion coursing through your veins, nothing made sense.

You pulled your hand away as your tears finally began to fall. If he didn't love you, you wouldn't force him to be with you any more than he wanted.

Rooster inwardly grimaced, but he wasn’t about to let you see that. He needed to be strong—he needed to save face and keep on digging in the same grave he had started.

"Just… just tell me when."

"When what?"

"When did this happen? When did you fall out of love? I—I thought you loved me, Bradley. I love you."

He pursed his lips. He seemed to hesitate as he allowed his eyes to meet yours. Rooster's blood rushed to his ears, and his fingers itched to grab onto something. To grab onto you. But he couldn’t. He couldn't even look at you properly when you looked so sad, but he forced himself to do so anyway. You deserved that, at least. You deserved to be looked at when he was ending the relationship you fought so hard to keep.

"I don't know. It just… happened."

He was lying. He had to be lying. There was no way he was being honest—he loves you. He loves you, and this was all just some bad dream. Some bad joke that Hangman put him up to. Maybe Fanboy was in on it, too. Surely, someone put him up to this. They had money in a bowl somewhere, waiting for your reaction so they would know who won. He’d whip out his phone soon and text them the result.

But the way he looked at you… you knew he was telling you the truth. He wanted a divorce. This was happening, whether you wanted it to or not. There was no cruel bet, no ulterior motive.

This was happening.

Every moment of the past three years pierced your brain—Bradley asking you out in the middle of the Hard Deck. Meeting his friends. Picking out your wedding rings. Becoming Y/n Bradshaw. The kisses you shared. The whispered conversations, the happy smiles, the—

He was your life. He is your life. You love him more than life itself.

But he loved you.

Loved. Past-tense.

He did love you. Something changed. What had changed?

You abruptly stood up, roughly wiping your tears away. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t be near him right now. Your heart was far too heavy, weighed down by the immense burden of his confession.

"Alright," you said. "I… I won't force you to stay with me. I would never do that to you, Bradley. I would… I would never, ever want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” You held back a sob, fists balled at your sides. “We can get a divorce."

Relief spread across his face. He couldn't smile, though. This ended up being a lot harder than he expected it to be.

"Thank you," he said. He stood up, towering over you like usual. "I appreciate it."

You gave a curt nod, averting your gaze. Your tongue poked out, nervously wetting your lips as you cleared your throat. He appreciated it.

Were you just a joke to him?

"I will… I will make arrangements. I will leave by next week."

"What? You don't have to do that. There's no rush—"

"—I'll leave by next week," you cut him off, no longer looking at him.

What was he doing? You didn’t need this. You didn’t need him. As you took a step forward, the tears began to fall. Your husband forced himself to stay put as you rushed off to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You found little comfort in the blankets that now surrounded you, tears wetting the pillow on which you rested your head night after night. You found little comfort in the place you spent with your husband, time after time, lamenting how much you loved each other. Planning the future of your life—of your family. Of your relationship that should have only grown in love.

The memories of this bed burned in the back of your mind. You could hardly breathe as the sobs plowed through your body.

This wasn’t fair.

This couldn’t be real.

Rooster slowly sat back down, burying his face in his hands. His elbows dug into his thighs, a choked sob catching in the back of his throat. He couldn’t believe he allowed himself to say that to you. It was far from the truth. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

This was for the best.

This would keep you safe.

As the sun peered through the grey curtains, setting just beyond the horizon, Rooster stood up. He wiped his tears away, instantly hardening. He had done this time and time again. He would hide, folding back into himself like a metal chair—he’d be there for people when he was needed, but he would be just out of the way until then. He wouldn’t bother you any longer than he needed to.

This was for the best—you wouldn’t have to live your life wondering what could have been.

If he died, that was that. You would move on, and he could rest peacefully in the afterlife.

His father hadn’t ever given his mother a chance to do something like that. He wouldn’t be making the same mistake.

Three years had passed.

Three, long and grueling years had inched by, taking your misery along with you. The New Year would pass over and over, and the only thing you would write on your resolution list was: Move on.

But you never could. That list ended up in the garbage only weeks after drafting it up.

How could you when the love of your life left as he did? How could you when you knew he was the only thing that kept you going, even if you were hundreds of miles away?

They would never say it out loud, but your friends never quite said anything about why he divorced you—why he fell out of love. But why would he tell them something like that? Rooster generally kept to himself. It wasn't something that he would have been very honest about, to begin with.

You knew they knew something more, but they never said anything. You never expected them to, either. They were your friends as much as they were his, and they had been his friend for far longer. You couldn't blame them. Whatever they knew—that was his business. But you kept silent, allowing yourself to wallow in self-pity for more than you should have.

But just like you couldn't blame them for keeping his secrets… who could blame you?

You had your own life before Rooster, yes, you did. You didn’t depend on him. You were independent, and you had your own interests and everything. You didn’t need him. But with his confession, it was as if everything you had ever known had been tossed out of the window of a speeding car in an instant, shattering against the run-down pavement. Pieces flew everywhere—you'd never be able to find them again, let alone put them back together.

You'd never have enough glue for something like that.

You would never be able to repair the gaping hole that was in your heart.

And you knew it was silly. You shouldn’t have ever let yourself trust someone so completely. But you never thought something like that would happen. Rooster was so easy to love.

He was such a happy person—he exuded confidence. He was the epitome of an amazing human being. And yet, he still fell out of love with you.

You never believed someone could just fall out of love so easily.

So, instead of remaining in the very place you felt like you were sinking in, you did what you thought was best. You packed your things and moved to Virginia. At least there, you'd be far enough away that he'd never find you. The mileage did little to comfort you, but it was something.

At least here, you felt like you could breathe.

Changing from the west coast to the east coast was drastic—but you adapted. You had to. You couldn't continue living in the very place that was threatening you at every given minute. You couldn’t continue on in a place where at every corner, something reminded you of him. It was driving you into a familiar depression—one that you had known before Rooster, and one that you would now know after Rooster.

When you left, Phoenix was devastated. Other than Bob, you were her closest friend. She never stopped talking to you—she never stopped being friends with you, even when you moved across the country. When Phoenix asked you to come in to visit, you hesitated. But then she promised you that Rooster wouldn't be there. That he would be visiting some family he had up north—his girlfriend's family. He would be using this free time to get to know them better.

You wouldn't say you were happy for him. Hell, that was far from the truth. Despite the fact you no longer wore your ring on your finger, it was always on a chain around your neck. Your heart still beats for him, no matter how many times you had tried to move on. And you did it all. You tried everything that Google said to do. One night stands, going out with strangers, having people set you up, hell, you even tried therapy. But it never worked.

Why would it? Rooster was the love of your life. He was the one you had seen yourself dying with—he was the one you wanted to grow old with. And he didn't want that in you. He didn't see the same things.

He didn’t see your relationship as a rising sun just beyond the mountain tops. He was already there with the setting sun, disappearing beyond the horizon. He had been there, at the end of your relationship, far before you even had a chance to find the middle. He had made peace with the end. You couldn’t even find peace in the beginning.

After much pestering and a FaceTime call from both Phoenix and Bob, you were convinced to join them back in California for a week. But your only condition was that Phoenix would be paying half for your plane ticket. She agreed in a heartbeat.

So that's why you stood here now, in front of the old dormitory in which you used to visit your friends in. You had already been to the hotel you'd be staying at, and you took a taxi to the base.

The grey building towered over you, making you feel far smaller than you actually were. Memories sat behind those walls, waiting for you to relive them, even if you didn’t want to.

It only took one text message to Natasha before she came barreling down the sidewalk, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. Bob was not far behind, and Hangman was taking his sweet ole time. You didn't know he'd be around, but you felt better knowing he was—you had been close before Rooster sent in the papers. He helped you pack and get your things to Virginia.

You hugged Phoenix tightly, smiling up at her.

"It's been too long!" she nearly shouted, excitement running through her body. As she pulled away, Bob pulled you into a hug. He greeted you as he had so many times, with a hug and a simple ‘hello.’

Last but not least, Hangman sent you a smile. He pulled you into a hug, despite the fact he used to be one of the last people you would expect it from. You melted into the hug, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"It's… it's good to be back. I'm glad to see you guys."

"Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy are already at the bar. Said they'd just meet us there. You ready?" Phoenix grinned.

You were as ready as you would ever be. You gave a small nod to your friend, and before you knew it, you were on your way to the very place you met your ex-husband. The Hard Deck.

It was suffocating, standing in that corner all alone. Your friends played pool, and you watched as the different colored balls sunk into the pockets that lined the edge. Hangman stood off to the side, beating some stranger in darts.

Rooster had always been good at that.

Lost in your mind like you had been so many times before, the sound of a glass falling at the bar made you jump.

And then you saw him. Your own glass slipped through your fingertips, crashing onto the floor. Shards littered the wood floor. Phoenix yelped your name in surprise, coming to your side immediately.

"What's wrong?" she asked, placing a hand on your arm to try and comfort you. You continued to stare, and she eventually looked in the direction of your gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise, lips parting as she tried to find something to say.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near you.

And he was looking right at you.

"Y/n, it's okay, he's not—"

You pulled your arm away from Phoenix, taking a couple of steps back before you took off running in the direction of the restrooms. It was as good of a hiding spot as anywhere, and you'd be able to collect yourself before going back out there. You couldn’t possibly run past him—he’d stop you. Or at least, try to follow you. Phoenix would make him leave. Surely, she wouldn't just let him stay.

You locked yourself in a stall, sitting down on the toilet seat. You took in a deep, releasing a shaky breath as tears clouded your vision. A hand pressed to your mouth, elbows digging into the meat of your thighs as you tried to keep yourself calm.

This wasn't happening! She promised he wasn't here. Why would she lie?

Maybe she didn't know.

The bright light in the bathroom was far too much.

The dripping water from the sink struck the porcelain—plip, plip, plip.

The noise from the bar was deafening as you sat there, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Loud voices echoed through the building, striking your ears in an instant. But the more you cried, the more your sobs became the only thing you heard.

It had been ages since you cried over him, so why now? Why were you so triggered by just seeing him?

You tried to calm yourself down but to no avail.

You loved him. You love him. You never stopped. You couldn't just stop.

You tried so hard. You spent years trying to forget the man who ripped your heart in two with four simple words.

But the universe had a funny way of working. It seemed to work against you in every way possible, no matter what.

You could never win.

You would never win.

No matter what, you were never good enough.

You hadn't been good enough in school. You weren't good enough at work. And you hadn't been good enough for Rooster, even when you were married. You weren't good enough for him, now, either.

There was a knock at the bathroom door before you heard it creak open. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to keep quiet, choked sobs caught in your chest.

Worn shoes popped up underneath the stall door you found refuge in. Those same damn shoes you bought him once for Christmas, four years ago. He had been so excited—they were almost the exact same pair his mother had bought him one year for his birthday. His father's favorite brand—his favorite style of shoe.

God, you searched everywhere for those damn shoes.

And he kept them.

Silence enveloped the bathroom, save for your stifled sobs. You rested your shoulder against the old paneled walls, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore him. But he knew you were there. It was far too late, now.

Rooster stood there, fist raised to knock on the stall door. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. What would he even say? What would have been good enough?

Three years had come and gone without you. Three long years in which he felt as if he was drowning, just existing. He would have been better off launching himself into that ocean, the same as his father. His wedding band was stuffed away in some kind of pocket, always near him or on his person in some way. He tried to get over you—one-night stands, blind dates, even going as far as asking Hangman to find him a girl.

It worked, for a while.

He started dating Kristie—a sweet woman who worked as a nurse on base. But she saw right through him. She knew who he was, and what was going on in that head of his.

She wasn't mad—a bit disappointed, yes, but it didn't stop her from breaking up with him and canceling their planned vacation up north together.

She wasn’t you. She would never be you.

And he didn’t think he would ever see you again.

Rooster found himself in the middle of the Hard Deck, never once expecting you to be there. None of the Dagger Squad had said anything about you. He didn't know you were even going to be in town.

He felt like he couldn't breathe when he laid eyes on you.

The yellow lighting cast a soft glow on your skin. You were beautiful. You had always been beautiful, but damn, you looked even more beautiful now. Maybe it was just the years that had passed him by.

The walls of his small corner of the world couldn’t fall on him sooner.

The glass that crunched under your shoes became the only thing he heard until he watched as you ran back into the hallway.

In a split second, Hangman was beside him, obviously pissed.

"What the hell, man? Why aren't you with Kristie?"

"She broke it off."

Hangman clenched his jaw. He couldn't believe this was happening, but then again, Rooster had his head far up his ass more often than not. Hangman punched him in the arm, just enough for it to hurt.

"You need to leave," he said, watching as Rooster recoiled in pain.

"What?" Rooster looked at him in surprise. "No."

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Was this idiot really that much of an asshole?

This time, Phoenix spoke up, her arms crossed over her chest. "We promised you wouldn't be here. You're supposed to be up north. You're supposed to be far away from here!"

"You promised?" Rooster stared her down.

"Well, yeah, you asshole! You broke their heart. They didn't even want to come here in the first place. God, I should've just gone to see them instead of dragging them out here," Phoenix groaned, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.

Rooster hesitantly took a step forward.

"Rooster, get out," Hangman said, voice low.

He shook his head. He needed to talk to you.

"Rooster!"

He broke out into a run, and before Hangman could follow, Phoenix grabbed his arm.

"What the hell?" he stared at her in disbelief.

"Just let it happen," she said.

"Let what happen? Watch Y/n get their heart stepped on all over again?"

"Just… just let it happen."

Phoenix would wait for you to berate her, later. But for now, she could only wish her friends would try to make up. She could only wish that Rooster would gain a pair and grow up. Her heart ached for you as she watched Rooster run back to the bathrooms, knowing that she couldn’t ever take the pain away from you. The only one who could do that was Rooster, himself, and even then, she wasn’t sure if that would happen.

And now, he found himself standing there, the silence deafening in the small space. The light was bright in the enclosure—brighter than he remembered. His hand was still hovering, his arm growing heavy as he debated on knocking.

Should he just leave? Should he do as Hangman said and walk out? But he couldn't just leave. Not now. Not when he knew he made the biggest mistake of his life, telling you all that bullshit.

You used your sleeves to wipe your tears away as you shakily got to your feet. Your fingers struggled to even unlock the stall door, but when you did, you swung it open. Rooster had to back up just to avoid being hit with the metal.

The two of you just stood there, bright light casting shadows onto the old tile floor. Not a word was said as Rooster stared at you.

You were exactly as he remembered, if not better. You had changed your hair since the last time he saw you. He kept the mustache, and his hair was still cut the same. You kept the same style and the same makeup (or lack thereof).

You still looked at him the same… even if it quickly changed into one of anger.

You were still so beautiful.

His voice caught in his throat. He wanted to talk to you, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to you. Nothing he could say would make things better.

He was such an idiot.

You stepped forward, walking to the stark white sink. You grabbed a few paper towels and wet them before carefully wiping the remnants of your tears. You stared at your reflection in the rounded mirror, your lip caught between your teeth as you hiccuped.

"Y/n?" Rooster tentatively began. He raised a hand to touch your shoulder.

You immediately moved away from his touch, glaring in his direction.

His fist clenched beside him as he watched you.

You tossed the paper towels in the trash and pushed past him, quickly leaving the bathroom.

"Y/n," he repeated.

As you walked, he followed.

Your friends stood in their respective corner, knowing they should intervene. Yet they stayed, hoping that somehow, Rooster would fix his fuck up. They couldn’t keep watching the two of you fight some imaginary battle—they couldn’t watch the two of you wish your life away for something that was quite literally at the tips of your fingers.

Phoenix wasn't too sure if he'd be able to fix this. Hangman honestly wanted to hang a man.

You shoved the doors open, walking into the cool California night. It wasn’t like the cold in Virginia. Virginia’s winters were unforgiving—the snow that would fall would chill you to your very core. Virginia winters would put southern California to shame in an instant. At this very moment, you wished you were there, standing in the chilling wind, begging for some kind of relief—at least then, your body would become numb even if your mind was still running a mile a minute.

Nothing could have prepared you for what had transpired. Nothing could have prepared you for seeing the man you fought so hard to forget.

With no car, you continued walking. You'd call a taxi at some point. Right now, you just needed to breathe.

But you had yet to realize Rooster was still following you.

The man grabbed ahold of your wrist, making you stop in the middle of the damn parking lot. Cars and trucks alike littered the parking spots. A few people walked past you as they went into the bar, ignoring the tension that stood in the middle of it all.

You whipped around, jerking your arm away from him with wide eyes. "What's your fucking problem?!"

Rooster paused, body going rigid as he waited for you to continue.

You had never yelled at him, even when he asked for a divorce.

"Why the fuck are you even here? You're not supposed to be here! You have a fucking girlfriend. Get away from me. I don't ever want to see you again."

Tears sprung to your eyes once more. You tilted your head back, wishing they would just stop. The stars stared down at you, mocking you where you stood. The sky was so close, and yet so far away.

God, would this man ever make you stop crying?

"Y/n—"

"—just go away! I don't want you here!"

"Please," he began, "I need to talk to you. I need to apologize."

"Apologize?! Oh, that's rich! Just leave me alone. You did enough damage when you asked for a divorce. Just leave me alone."

"Y/n, please," he continued. "You… please just hear me out."

"I heard you out once, and it was the worst fucking time of my life," you said. "I'm not listening to you ever again."

You turned back around, set on leaving—this time a bit faster. But his words grounded you in your spot, heart leaping to your throat once more.

"It was a mistake!"

You stared at the gravel that crunched underneath your feet. You could feel your pulse rushing through your body, fast and unsteady.

Nothing could have prepared you for that.

"It was a mistake, Y/n," he said, his voice far quieter this time. "I never should have asked for a divorce. I never should have said anything. I should—I should have just—"

"—what, toughed it out? Let me realize you stopped loving me when you started cheating on me or some shit?"

His eyes widened in surprise.

"What? No. No, Y/n… I… I never should have said anything. I never stopped loving you."

What?

You couldn't breathe—your lungs constricted in your chest, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Your body burned as you looked up at the night sky, stars littering the vast ocean of darkness. They still mocked you, but this time, dark clouds rolled in. Perhaps the sky knew just how you felt. The moon cast a soft glow on everything in its path.

Tears blurred your vision once more.

He never stopped loving you.

You let out a sob, turning to face him.

"What?"

"I never stopped loving you," Rooster lamented. "I… still love you."

"Then… then… why?"

"I couldn't do it to you."

"What? Do what?"

"I couldn't die! I couldn't die and leave you a widow. I couldn't end up with the same fate my dad had, leaving you just the same as my mom," he said.

"Well you're not fucking dead, are you?!"

Rooster paused, lips parting to speak.

"You're not dead. You're standing right in front of me, telling me that the reason you fucking divorced me was because you didn't want me to be a widow?! I would have been less upset if you had fucking died!" You took in a deep breath, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You did not have to do that. You did not have to make me miserable. You did not have to make me feel like the one person who loved me was an entire lie!”

Rooster winced. Your words pierced his soul like a sharp bullet, ricocheting off the crevices of his very soul.

"Fuck off, Bradley Bradshaw," you said, fists clenched at your sides. "I never want to see you again."

"But Y/n—"

"—no! No, I'm over you, you bastard! I don't love you anymore. I haven't in years. You're still in love with me? That's great. Fucking deal with it. You deserve to feel the pain of not knowing. You deserve to lose yourself in everything you thought was yours.”

Bradley Bradshaw had never felt as if he wasn't good enough. When he was faced with adversity, he worked harder. When he felt bad about something, he did more to try and overcome that. He had never felt as if anything he did wasn't good enough. But in this very moment, he stood there, wondering how in the world he could have fucked up so badly.

He wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough, for you. That much was evident as he watched you once again walk away from him, disappearing into the night.

His eyes fluttered shut and he held back his tears as he stood there, waiting for lightning to strike him where he stood. Surely, it'd be better than having to go back into the Hard Deck after a screaming match like that.

He deserved it.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. He opened his eyes, head darting in the person's direction. Hangman watched him for a moment before he patted his back.

"You fucked up, man," he began, averting his gaze. "Now you've gotta fix it."

"But how?"

"For fucks sake, Rooster," he groaned. He ran a hand through his perfect hair, musing it from the stress of his friend. He couldn't believe he'd ever thought Rooster might actually be a pretty smart guy. This dude was dumber than a box of rocks, and this just proved it.

"They still love you, you know," Bob said, arms crossed over his chest. "We heard what they said, but they're just hurt. You really did a number on them."

He glanced over his shoulder. The Dagger Squad stood there, all watching him as he stood there, in the middle of the parking lot.

This… was all his fault.

Those four simple words should have never left his mouth. He should have been spending the last three years with you, not trying to forget you. Because if he were to have died in that time, it would have at least been with you and not with the overwhelming ghost of you haunting his every waking move. He could have at least left you behind knowing you were loved instead of wondering if he ever truly loved you at all.

Time passed slowly in the month it took you to finally calm down from the emotional rollercoaster Rooster had you on. You were back in your apartment, the east coast calling your name (even though the west coast screamed for your return; the sandy beaches and the salty water just weren’t the same, here).

Your heart ached—every romantic thing you saw made you want to cry. It all reminded you of your ex-husband, and now, there was no changing things. In your anger, you had told him you never wanted to see him again—that you didn't love him. You made sure he knew that when you left him standing in the middle of that damned parking lot.

What a lie that was.

But if he could tell lies, why couldn't you? Why couldn't you force him to live with the idea that you didn't love him, just the way he did that to you?

Regret became you.

You wondered if that’s how he felt all this time—regretful.

Did Rooster even have a bone in his body that was capable of feeling anything other than pride?

Maverick would know.

Did he know about all of this? He had been Rooster’s best man at the wedding. Surely, he knew something.

Your arm rested over your eyes, blocking out the sunlight that peaked through your curtains. Saturday mornings never got easier for you. Hell, no morning did. Getting up was a constant chore. You had already gotten ready for the morning, but you slipped right back into bed, not wanting to deal with the idea of being a live, somewhat functioning adult at the moment.

Your phone began to ring, loud and in your ear as you lay in bed, staring at the back of your arm. With a groan, you rolled over and picked it up.

Phoenix was calling you.

You answered after a moment of your fingers hovering over the bright buttons. You didn’t really want to talk to anyone.

"Hello?"

"Y/n? Hey! So, uh, quick thing, and I promise you I didn't know about it until Bagman just said something, but he gave Rooster your address."

Silence enveloped your bedroom as you processed what she had just said.

"What?!" You immediately sat up in your bed, gripping your phone with unforgiving strength. "What the hell!"

"I know," she continued, voice laced with worry—she didn’t know how you were going to take this. "I know, and I'm sorry. But, uh, he said that Rooster is probably gonna show up within the next hour or so. He caught the earliest flight out there."

"Why?"

"Why?" Natasha echoed. "Y/n, why do you think?"

You fell silent. You stared down at the blankets that pooled at your feet.

Day after day, you wondered if Rooster would show up, begging you to take him back. But the sun continued to set, day in and day out, and nothing changed. Nothing ever changed.

"Y/n, I know he's an asshole,” Natasha said. “I know he broke your heart. But… Rooster's been through a lot. He might not have realized how bad of an idea it was until he went through with it. He’s… he’s done nothing but regret it ever since.”

"I know he's been through a lot," you said, voice far quieter than it had been. "I know he has. But… but that's no excuse. We were married. I was his partner. He took that away… he took that all away.”

"There's no excuse for him," Phoenix said. "I’m not making one. You’re… you’re my very best friend. But if he shows up and you don't know what to do, you have two options. Turn him away, or… hear him out. Whatever you do, I’m here one hundred percent of the way.”

You swallowed thickly. Without saying anything else, you hung up the phone, tossing it onto your bed. You buried your face in your hands—it seemed to be the only thing you could do recently that would actually allow you to catch your breath.

And then, your doorbell rang.

That was far less than an hour.

The shrill ding of the bell resounded in your brain. You would have to get that changed to something less annoying.

Getting out of your bed and walking down the hallway was the easy part. It was opening the front door that made you want to die as your hand slowly grabbed onto the knob.

You can just turn him away. It'll be okay, you told yourself. He will leave if you want him to.

With much hesitation, you opened the door.

Rooster stood there, worried he had gotten the wrong door and Hangman had given him some shit directions. But as you appeared in the doorway, relief spread across his features. He was dressed in those same shoes you had given him. He wore a pair of jeans, and he wore one of those stupid Hawaiian shirts that he loved so much.

You still had the pink and yellow one you had stolen before you left him in the top left drawer of your dresser. It still smelled like Rooster… but the laundry detergent you had was the same exact one you had used when you were married to him.

Everything you owned reminded you of him.

"Y/n?"

"Bradley."

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. He nervously wrung his hands together as his eyes looked anywhere but you. This wasn’t that confident, macho man you knew. This wasn’t Rooster.

This was Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh.

His heart was on the line, and he could only hope that the universe would grant him one last wish—let you believe him. Let you understand him.

He would understand if you turned him away. He would leave, and he would never bother you again. But he hoped that you’d accept him for who he is—for everything he has been.

Again.

Even though it took him so long to realize his mistake. Even though he made so many mistakes just to find himself trying to take it all back.

Rooster never thought he was perfect, but hell. The universe really didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, did it?

"Listen, I know you said you didn't want to see me," he began. "But I can't… I can't keep doing this."

You stayed silent.

Bradley was a lot of things. Stupid, funny, a great, flaming ball of firey anxiety. And still, the love of your life, even now.

Nothing would ever stop that from happening, even if he shoved his hand in your chest, pulled out your heart, and crushed it right in front of you.

Even now, after all this time, you knew you loved him.

He took your silence as an invitation to continue.

"I love you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never stopped. I just… fucked up. God, Y/n, I fucked up so bad. I never should have asked you for a divorce. I never should have said any of that shit. I thought I was protecting you. But the only thing I ended up doing was hurting you more, and I never wanted that to happen.

"I love you, so much, Y/n. I never stopped. I… you are the love of my life. But… but even if I loved you, it wouldn't stop life from standing in the way. My dad died. He left my mom all alone. I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't bear the thought of you suffering, all alone, wondering what the hell you could have done to make things different. I couldn't let you have the same fate as my mom."

You stared at him, hands gripping the door.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

"I… I know I should have."

"So why didn't you?"

"I had already made up my mind…"

And once Bradley Bradshaw made up his mind, that was that. Most of the time, anyway.

Silence enveloped the two of you once more. Birds chirped in the background, cars honking in the backed-up traffic on the interstate not too far from your home. Life was still going on, just like it always would. Life would continue to find a way, even if someone left it behind—even if someone felt as if their world was crashing to an end.

Three years ago, if Bradley Bradshaw had shown up at your door, telling you he had made a mistake, you would have believed him. But watching him as he stood at your door this very moment, you weren't sure. You had every right to slam the door in his face, burning the image of his scared self in the back of your mind. But as you stood here, hands dangling down by your thighs, you knew you couldn't.

Were you stupid for what you were about to do?

Maybe.

But so was Bradley.

"I've started seeing a therapist," Bradley spoke, breaking the silence. "He said it would be good for me to at least… try to tell you why."

"Why you left me?"

He gave a small nod. "Yes. And… he made me realize it never should have happened. It was my fault. It was never yours."

You rubbed your eyes out of frustration, unable to stop yourself from sniffling. A groan escaped you, and he frowned in response.

"Y/n, I… words can't even begin to describe how sorry I am. I can't take back what I said. I can't change the fact that I asked you for a divorce because I was terrified of dying and leaving you alone. But… but I can do this," he said, licking his lips as he watched you.

You tilted your head in confusion, not sure where he was going with this.

Time moved slowly—just as slowly as it had when your world came to a startling halt.

He suddenly held out his hand, locking eyes with you once more. Dark brown eyes peered into yours; those same brown eyes you used to watch until you fell asleep in his arms. Those same brown eyes you stared into when you first said, “I do.” Those same brown eyes you looked into when he asked you for a divorce.

"Hi," the man said, a small smile appearing on his mustache-clad lips. "I'm Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw."

Your eyes widened, your heart leaping to your chest once more, but not because you were scared to face him. But because you couldn't believe this was really happening.

He… was starting over.

You were starting over.

Hesitantly, you took his hand, firmly grasping it before you shook it.

"It's so nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw," you said. Your eyes were still red from your tears, but you began to smile, pushing down the pain and regret of the last three years. It wasn’t worth it. The utter buffoon standing in front of you was worth it. "I'm Y/n Bradshaw," you continued with a grin. "Quite a coincidence, huh?"

Bradley just smiled, tilting his head to the side. You had never changed your name. In fact, you stayed the same, despite the icy shield around your heart. Not that he could blame you.

You were his Y/n. The love of his life—the reason he continued on, and the reason he believed in love, despite the fear that sucked the rational thinking out of him.

Because even when death knocked at his door, he knew you would be there. You would be there, just like his mom was for his dad.

Nothing could change that.

Not the divorce, not his lie that lasted for years. Not the untimely “confession” that left the two of you reeling for each other.

Nothing could change how he felt for you.

And with one instant, you knew your world was mending itself. You'd have problems—that you were sure. You’d have to work on communication; on both sides. But as you moved out of the way for Rooster to come in, you knew it would be worth it.

Love, no matter how much it hurt, was worth it.

Good enough or not.

"Why don't you come in, Mr. Bradshaw? I think we have a lot to catch up on."

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, taking ahold of your hand.

"Only if you'll have me."

"Of course, I will."

This was a start. A new start.

A good start.

You were both starting over. And although you wouldn’t ever say it out loud, a part of you was starting to realize that you may have always been good enough—sometimes, fear was stronger than anyone’s resolve. Fear could make even the bravest people pause; it could cause stupid decisions and brash opinions that change everything a person knows. Minds were a powerful tool that could hurt everyone in its path.

You lived it.

You were still living it.

But like any great thing, sometimes starting over is the best way to go. Sometimes, opening your heart back up is the only thing you can do to move on.

Those same brown eyes you fell in love with peered down at yours, and for once in the past three years, you finally felt at peace. You were good enough. You always had been.

And Bradley Bradshaw was a good man. A great man, even. But even great men can fall short. Even great men can make mistakes. It takes an even greater person to face those mistakes head-on, and an equally great person to forgive and continue on loving, even if they never stopped, to begin with.

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