#and start telling local stories or whatever

[crime-scene-psychic]

Truly did not think I would be half drunk, explaining to my father how to work an Xbox 360 controller in the parking lot of a bar at midnight today but that is certainly how my life goes I suppose

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧃 How to Develop a Vibe AND a Plot (aesthetic doesn’t cancel arcs. let’s balance them.)

hey you. yes, you. the one with the moody playlists, the 73-tab Pinterest board, and a half-written draft that just keeps…vibing in circles.

if you’ve ever written 10k of immaculate vibes but couldn’t tell anyone what your story is about, this post is for you. because here’s the thing: ✨ aesthetic is not a substitute for stakes. ✨

let’s talk about how to keep your ✨vibes✨ and actually have a plot that moves. no ✧ fluff ✧ just structure, character arcs, and some lovingly blunt advice from your local writeblr gremlin (me).

🌊 1. aesthetic is a result, not a premise

the most common mistake i see is starting with a vibe as the story. like:

“sad girls on the beach in 1996”

“a cursed forest full of dead gods”

“a pastel academic rivalry with secrets and sexual tension”

cool. great. love that for you. but… what’s the story? what’s happening?

✨vibes = setting + mood + tone. ✨plot = choices + consequences + change.

your aesthetic can inspire the story (please keep making playlists. i love them). but don’t confuse the feel of your world with the function of your plot. start with tension. stakes. character flaws. emotional damage. that’s the engine. the aesthetic is the paint job.

🎯 2. define your “emotional throughline”

okay, so you’ve got an aesthetic. what’s the emotional core of it? your plot should orbit a single emotional question, like:

will this character ever let themselves be known?

what does it take to unlearn loyalty?

is love worth destroying something sacred?

start with that. then attach aesthetic scenes to it.

🧩 pro tip: aesthetic scenes are more powerful when they contradict or complicate your emotional throughline.

ex: your story’s about loneliness? show them at the loudest, busiest party. story’s about grief? show them smiling in photos while everything breaks behind the lens.

aesthetic is stronger with irony. contrast. juxtapositions. don’t just bathe the reader in vibes. weaponize them.

💥 3. let your aesthetic hurt your characters

whatever your aesthetic is--soft academia, vaporwave horror, regency witchcore, don’t make it just a backdrop. make it an obstacle.

your setting should create problems. friction. conflict.

if it’s a sleepy coastal town: what’s festering beneath the quiet?

if it’s a hauntingly beautiful forest: what does it take from people?

if it’s a cursed mansion: what happens to the girls who stay too long?

every time you design a pretty place or moody visual, ask: ❓ how does this setting test my characters’ beliefs or desires?

because then your aesthetic drives the story forward instead of just decorating it.

📚 4. develop plot like a playlist: structure the escalation

your aesthetic playlist has structure, right? (don’t lie. i know you’ve got a specific song for act 3 heartbreak.)

plot works the same way. it’s not a mystery. it’s escalation.

you want a structure? here’s a dead-simple one:

give your main character a desire (internal & external)

give them a reason they can’t have it (flaw, fear, lie)

make them try anyway (rising stakes)

make it cost them something (midpoint shift)

force them to change or break (climax)

let that change play out (falling action / resolution)

that’s it. apply that structure to your vibey little story and suddenly it’s a book.

👁‍🗨 5. plot is what they do - vibe is how it feels

don’t choose one. you can have both.

you can have a soft lighting scene on a rooftop and the secret betrayal reveal. you can have dreamy prose and broken character dynamics. you can give me worldbuilding so lush it smells like petrichor and rot and still give me a plot twist that leaves me feral.

you just need to be intentional.

every scene = a purpose. every aesthetic = an angle. every image = tied to stakes, desire, or change.

✨ that’s the difference between “ooh pretty” and “oh my god i can’t stop thinking about this story.” ✨

💌 so in conclusion:

start with an emotional arc

let your aesthetic scenes earn their place

make your world fight your characters

escalate, escalate, escalate

and stop hiding a lack of plot under “vibe” like a glittery throw blanket over a broken chair

you’ve got this. now go write the beautifully messy, aesthetic and emotionally devastating story you were meant to.

i believe in you.

🧃rin t.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi I love rereading all your fics and prompts! Like, multiple times throughout the day. I have a schedule. Your works are my literal bed time stories (wow that sounded weird).

Anyways (before I ramble any worse). Any updates for Child support? I just love it so much and wondering if there's more

John throws himself to the side, barely avoiding a grab from a fifth-dimension demon throwing a fit after he rejects its request to marry his son. He rolls across the ground, powering up a spell, as he mentally curses his age.

Maybe Batman was right. He should work on his physical form a little more.

"Wait! Wait! I'm sorry! Can we talk about this-" Whatever the demon was going to say is lost after John's spell slams into its chest, throwing it back out of his dimension and sealing him from his Earth for fifty years. The spell is helpful, but fifty years doesn't mean much to demons, and it will wait decades to come back and bother them.

Thankfully, John will likely be long-dead before then. It's always been his solution for most of his problems. Pushing a problem to a later date where it can become someone else's problem.

But what about his son?

Danny, who was half of Time itself, would likely be around in fifty years. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to leave Danny with all his messes. He'll have to learn a new banishing spell and find some instructors who could teach him an entirely new magic dueling technique.

It was the responsible thing to do. Ugh, fatherhood was making him an accountable bore.

John heaves himself off the floor, sweat pouring from his forehead, and grimaces. On the stove, the eggs he was cooking for Danny's breakfast are smoking, burnt into a dark black smudge. The House of Mystery's old wood groans, displeased with all the smoke, and a second later, the stove and counter vanish as the house creates a hole to drop them out of.

"Now that's just plain rude," John tells the house, dusting his knees. "It's not like I asked to be attacked first thing in the morning. What am I going to feed Danny now?"

The house's floor tiles shift in what John has come to learn was meant to be a shrug. The blasted thing has started copying Danny's teenage behavior, including that of his son's friends, and now seemed to enjoy rebelling against John whenever possible.

Thankfully, the house also seemed to really like Danny because one of the drawers opens, and a local Gotham breakfast dinner menu is flung at him. John catches the sheet with a sigh. He won't have to go too far when dropping Danny off at school.

"Morning, Dad," Danny greets, walking into the room wearing his Gotham Academy uniform. The dark night blue blazer, black tie, and dress trousers make his son look like the heir of the second most powerful being. It only took one glance to see that Danny came from nobility.

John knows he's a handsome bloke, but he had nothing on Clockwork's human form. That man was a temptation itself, and it looks like Danny has inherited his beauty.

John will never know how the brats in Danny's other schools could not see that. His son was perfect. John fights the urge to summon a camera. He always thought the fools always showing off the children's pictures were idiotic. Now that he's a father, he understands.

He smiles, "Morning, love. How about we go out to eat for breakfast?"

__________________________________________________________

They arrived at the dinner just as it was opening. John told Danny to order some black tea and went to the bathroom. He was only gone for a few minutes, but when he returned, he found his boy surrounded by a group of teenagers wearing the same uniform.

There was a splash of angry red on Danny's face as a girl gestured to him, obviously mocking him, and the rest of the teenagers laughed. Danny's hands were clenched in his lap, shoulders hunched, and head lowered as another teenager reached out and flickered his ear.

This one was wearing those ridiculous American leather jackets for some sport. He was also the biggest teenager there, a boy who thought himself too important for his own good.

John's jaw clenched.

Bullies.

Danny had bullies at Gotham Academy. Why can't his son just be left alone?!

John was just about to march across the room, ready and willing to fight a group of children, when Danny suddenly raised his head to yell in the face of the leather jacket git.

Alarmingly, the teenagers don't have the reaction that John expects. The large boy blushes, and the teenagers all seem to grow flustered.

No, John realizes with horror. No, they fancy him. The little rats bothering Danny are into him. Were all the other bullies just dumb kids who were terrible at flirting, too?

He is so stunned by the realization that he misses the way Danny attempts to push past the boy and somehow ends up tripping over his own two feet. He tries to catch himself on the table but the thing tilts over and their drinks fly.

Danny ends up half on the ground covered in drinks and looking bloody misaberle as the rest of the children snicker. John draws to his full height, deciding that it didn't matter what these kids felt for Danny.

His son thought they were bullying him because they made him feel terrible. So they were all going to feel the wrath of the one human who bullshits his way to being one of the mightiest spell casters in history.

"What the bloody hell are you urchins think you're doing!?" He yells. The kids all take one look at him before they scatter, rushing towards their posh cars outside.

"You alright, love?" He helps the boy to his feet, wiping some liquid with a napkin.

Danny looks small as he wipes away at his eyes. There weren't any tears; he was just taking the tea that had run down his face off. "I'm okay. Thanks, Dad."

"Do they bother you a lot?" He asks, anger growing in his chest. "We can go to your headmaster."

"No! Telling the principle will only make things worse!" Danny shouts, looking up in alarm. "Besides, they don't really bother me that much. Damian can usually scare them off. They should go for me, I can handle it; most other kids don't."

Fuck, where has he heard that phrase before?

It's alright if he hits me. I can handle it better than Mum.

John takes a breath through his nose, willing it to calm him down. This is another change that has come to be ever since he learned about Danny. Before, John would have gone off the handle, started a fight, yelled till he was red, drank, or slept through his issues, and damn the consequences.

He's got to think with a clearer head now. He owes Danny because of what his other father will do and because John wants to be the kind of father he never had.

The waitress rushes over, helping them get things set to right, and Danny apologizes for repeatedly knocking on the table. She waves away his worry, stating she saw the group and that, as someone who's worked near Gotham Acadamy for years, she knows what kind of students go there.

She also mentioned seeing what happened to the scholarship students over the years after nodding her head to Danny's pin. John hated that it was a requirement for Danny's uniform as a "show" of his accomplishments when all it did was single him out as a target.

While his son is distracted, John sends a quick text message to Bruce, informing him of the bullying Danny is going through.

Bruce responds with a single message: "It shall be handled." for once, he doesn't roll his eyes at the theatrics. A small thump on the window makes him glance up from his phone screen.

Pressed up against the glass is a blond teenage boy with wide eyes, breathing heavily and looking like a child staring at a feast of their favorite foods. John makes a face as the teenager's palms' and nose lean more into the glass, disorientating his image, but nothing could top the manic grin on his face.

John follows the boy's eyesight to where they practically devour his son, who is busy looking at the pasty bar. The waitress told him to pick anything he liked in the house to try and cheer him up from his bully.

Danny takes his sweets very seriously and studies his options with hyper-focused determination. He bends at his waist to look at the far-back brownies, and the teenager in the window lets out a cat-like growl of approval.

Alarmed, John steps in front of Danny, blocking him and his bum from view. The teenager, wearing the same uniform as Danny, and John was pretty sure he's seen this kid at Gotham High School when they had been touring the place before deciding to take Burce's offer, locks eyes with him.

John doesn't have to see into the stranger's scowl to confirm what he already knows.

That was not a human in control of the body. A demon likely took the unfortunate human for a joy ride. John raises his hand, spell crackling at his fingertips, and the scowl turns darker as the demon wearing the stolen face seers.

Just as he is about to fire off a spell, Danny's voice cuts through the tension, stepping around John with a happy "Bernard!"

His son walks up to the window before freezing and then looks back at John with the same bone-chilling expression of anger that he has only ever seen on one other being. That one being who could make the very fabrics of the universe fall apart despite not shouting or rampaging.

Danny inherited Clockwork's anger, it seemed.

"That thing is overshadowing my friend Bernard Dowd." Danny's voice is low and echoing. Somewhere behind him, John can hear the waitress gasp for air as the room's pressure increases, to Danny's displeasure. "I'm going to kill it."

John's knees shake as he fights to stay upright. "Alright. Make sure you finish murdering it before your second class. You have a chemistry test today."

Danny nods, walks outside, and grabs Bernard's arm to drag him into a dark alley. The dumb thing looked pleased, spraying something into its mouth. I thought Danny was going to snog it.

Fool.

As soon as Danny left, the pressure disappeared from the dinner, every human inside sighing relief once they could breathe better.

"What in the world was that!?" The waitress demands, her voice strained with fear.

John turns to her with a shrug. "Puberty."

Outside, a loud honk is heard as a certain teenager in a leather jacket slams his head against his steering wheel with a wail. His friends are quick to comfort him to the best of their abilities. They likely saw Danny drag the possessed human into the alleyway.

Good.

"Do you have any alcoholic drinks?" He asks the horror-stricken woman. "I need something strong."

"It's seven in the morning."

"Ah, a coffee then. Black. Strong. Anything to help me raise my boy and get through the day."

There is a long pause before she responds. "Of course, and it's on the house. Not easy being a single parent to....whatever that was."

At least she has a heart.

[sunderwight]

SV fic where Shen Yuan transmigrates into the former sect leader, Yue Qingyuan's shizun, right before Yue Qi shows up at the selection trials.

Shen Yuan is not sure why he's in one of his all-time hate-reads, let alone why he's gone so far back before the story actually begins (his system appears to be malfunctioning? something about an error and emergency backup...?), but he's making the most of it. This despite the fact that being a sect leader is a much more prestigious and political role than he likes.

But Shen Yuan is, at heart, actually a pretty good teacher, and he's spent enough time witnessing administrative work secondhand that he can competently tackle most of his duties. Whatever he can't handle, luckily there are other masters on Qiong Ding who always seem eager to curry favor by volunteering at the least hint that they should. Apparently his predecessor was known for being kind of cold-blooded and ruthless. (Shen Yuan gets checked for possession and it's concluded behind his back that he most have lost some of his memories, again, but also everyone kinda prefers this version anyway, again.)

But, so, he picks Yue Qi at the trials without even realizing at first who he's selecting, but just because that kid seems really determined to get in and clearly has been through it. Reminds him of Luo Binghe. Even when he puts it all together, all he feels mostly is kind of bad about it? He never thought Yue Qingyuan was sufficiently villainous to merit his end, even though he didn't blame Binghe for it either. He was always a mystery, an apparently kind person who nevertheless had some inexplicable fondness for the scum villain, turned a blind eye towards his abuses, and got dragged down with him. Shen Yuan feels even worse when he actually gets to know his solemn, smiling, secretive little disciple.

Yue Qi is very determined to advance, and as quickly as possible. Shen Yuan admonishes him. Obviously this kid has a protagonist-like aura and a similar drive to get places quickly, but you can't speedrun your disciple era, Mr. Future Sect Leader! There's no montage mode! Most of his attempts at intervening meet a brick wall that is Yue Qi's impenetrable smile and polite deference if he even hints at displeasure (this kid's gonna make a great politician one day), but Shen Yuan changes tactics and starts manufacturing excuses for breaks, taking Yue Qi on him with trips off the mountain and finding reasons to stop at local festivals and hot springs and etc. He can tell something's off with the quality of frustration that his disciple sometimes expresses, with how there's fear to it, but he's at a loss for the cause and it's difficult to get Yue Qi to talk. Despite appearances, he's actually very distrustful of adults.

When Yue Qi asks to claim his sword early, Shen Yuan says no. He remember how reputedly powerful Xuan Su was, and his disciple definitely needs a stronger base if he's going to pull a sword of that caliber. But he suspects this won't go over well, and when he catches Yue Qi sneaking off to Wan Jian Peak on his own, his disciple finally breaks down and admits that he needs to get strong in order to save his most important person.

Shen Yuan is moved. The way Yue Qi speaks, he's certain this person is a young maiden whom his student has fallen in love with. Truly, the sect leader was so very similar to Luo Binghe at heart! He must have failed in the original story, and that contributed to his difficulties and sorrows later on. Of course Shen Yuan will help him rescue his sweetheart!

Even if his sweetheart is... surprisingly butch? And is a slave owned by the Qiu family, and, wait a second, that name is kind of familiar... oh.

Oh dear.

Shen Yuan is internally screaming even as he helps buy Xiao Jiu out of bondage, even as he gives Yue Qi money to get his newly rescued friend all cleaned up and suitably dressed for the trip back to Cang Qiong, even as he buys the boys tanghulu for a treat, even as the System cheerfully informs him that his new quest is to get Xiao Jiu accepted onto Qing Jing Peak, even as Yue Qi tears up for the first time when he thanks him for helping.

He can only get to sleep that night by consoling himself with the knowledge that his generation is going to retire well before Luo Binghe and The Plot actually show up.

The System: (〜￣▽￣)〜

5 Years Later:

Huan Hua Palace Master: Sect Leader, we need your help! A terrible Heavenly Demon has come to threaten the whole of human society!

Shen Yuan: That's not possible. He isn't even born yet.

HHP Master: What?

Shen Yuan: What?

[prlssprfctn]

A fun little headcannon is that everyone believes Jason to prefer paperback and physical paper but he honestly doesn't care. Maybe it stems from his Robin days reading for hours in the manor library. Or how'd he always tell Bruce to write down the details of the case to solve it faster. Or even that they needed to have physical copies of each file in case the Batcomputer got hacked. It just stuck with Bruce and by extension everyone believes it.

But like he would totally love an eReader with how many books you can fit on it. Audio books are even better because he can listen to them anywhere. The man likes the stories people have to tell. How he consumes it isn't a concern. But of course he has a flare for dramatics so he plays into this misconception.

Steph: Jason, I know you'd prefer a physical book but I got a Kindle that you could use more than me.

Jason who already owns the newest model takes it and chucks it at the floor: Disgusting.

Tim at the Batcomputer: Why do we need to write up a report for Condiment King of all people. Its the third one this month!

Jason: Back in my day we would hand write each and every report.

Dick: No we didn't???

Jason magically pulling out a file cabinet with said case files.

Jason: Honestly we should start doing that again let me go ask Bruce.

Bruce: Honestly if you'd wait five more minutes someone would have come in as backup. You don't need to do everything on your own Hood.

Jason completely ignoring him because he's got books downloaded on his helmet.

Damian next to him knowing what Jason is up to because he did the exact same thing with Ra's.

YES, YES!

i think Jason loves paperback when it is his already favourite books, the ones he knows he loves and wants to annotate and explore — otherwise, he prefers to try books in e-version first. or borrow books from the library if he is in the mood. he strikes me as someone who loves supporting local libraries! plus, listens audio-books on missions and during work-outs, yep, yep.

do other family members have a wrong opinion in that in their minds because Bruce is the "heard my kid mentioning something once, now i think their whole personality evolves around this thing" type of parent sometimes? oh, fucking absolutely. does Jason love to play on the stereotype of "boomer" sibling? yeah— lol.

also, he is a type of kid who would remind the teacher about homework (i think he genuinely cared about this as a kid and didn't understand why everyone got mad, but now he knows WHY, and he will do it EVERYONE'S problem) and combined with him, writing reports on papers, i raise you this:

Bruce, tired by the end of the patrol: Had we discussed everything? Hadn't I forgotten something?

literally everyone but Jason, quickly: no, no, we are fine. ha-ha.

Jason, appearing behind them: well. actually. we all now should write our reports.

Bruce: oh, right.

Jason, smirking: here is mine, by the way. i wrote it while you are all was bickering.

Bruce: so competent! thank you, lad.

Other kids, fuming: -_-

also, the image of Jason blasting audio-books through his helmet is frying me. so, get this:

Dick: Jason is so suspiciously calm for the last few days! like, seriously. proud of him.

Tim: right? it is actually hilarious. Bruce was screaming at him yesterday, and Jason was just staring at him silently, no word, no remark... he was so quiet that Bruce instantly felt bad and apologised. like. master-tecnique. lol.

Jason, who was listening to audio-book all this time, and didn't even hear what Bruce said, just nodded when he started randomly hugging him and murmuring "my baby": whatever.

[augustjoy]

I’m Sorry…What?

Based on the following ask: Established relationship but it’s secret from the team. The team think they don’t like each other but in truth they are deeply in love with each other but the team don’t let them always be alone together out of worry so there have been a few close calls where they almost get caught until reader and Aaron room together and finally talk about maybe telling the team only the way they tell them is threw wedding invites and that’s shocks the team and they all have questions to which reader and Aaron only smile thinking how funny it is that a team of profilers never found them out. Love this idea! In this, Derek kind of looks out for the reader – very “big brother” behavior from him in this.

Aaron Hotchner x Fiance BAU! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 1617

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, meddling profilers, canon typical violence, mention of stabbing and hospitals, mention of wedding related activities, let me know if I missed anything!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You stood from your desk, just about to head up to Hotch’s office with a file when Emily stopped you. Her hand resting on your forearm gently, her eyes meeting your own.

“I have to go drop this file off, let me take yours.”

“Oh, Emily it’s okay. I can take them.” You moved to grab her file.

“Girl, it’s okay…I know how hard he is on you.” Emily stood, patted your shoulder and took the files to Hotch’s office.

--

Things had been like this pretty much since the moment you’d joined the BAU. For whatever reason, everyone on the team had just assumed that you and Hotch hated each other…that you two couldn’t even be in the same room as one another without fighting. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

See, what the team didn’t know was that Aaron and you were engaged. The two of you were dating even before you had joined the BAU. You had been working with a different team within the FBI, having a background in behavior analysis…moving to the BAU when a spot opened up, that just made sense.

Aaron and you had agreed to keep things strictly professional at work to avoid any discomfort within the workplace. Apparently that choice was now biting you in the ass.

Working with profilers, you’d think the secret of your relationship would have come out a long time ago, that being said, doesn’t mean there haven’t been some close calls.

--

This had started early on in you career with the BAU. Aaron had avoided pairing the two of you together, simply to avoid any suspicion of your relationship. The team, however, took this as him not warming up to your presence on the team.

Then it was him “benching” you. Aaron for a period of time had kept you in the local precincts on cases, you knew this was because he was worried about you getting hurt, but the team saw this as him questioning your abilities. They all reassured you that you were an asset to the team, more than capable in the field. Morgan had gone as far as confronting Aaron about the way he was mistreating you.

What really sealed this theory in your teammate’s heads was the way Aaron and you sparred. During debriefings the two of you would go back and forth through numerous theories, jabbing at one another for how “ridiculous” the other one was being. While to the team this looked argumentative…it really was how the two of you were, always pushing one another, wanting them to be the best they can be. Unafraid to challenge one another.

Everything was different after that. The team worked overtime to keep things light when the two of you were around one another. They would step into conversations, inserting themselves when it wasn’t necessary. They would jump in and offer to pair with one of you, so you’d never be stuck one-on-one.

At first you found it kind of funny, laughing internally at their crazy antics, but now that you were engaged, it was getting increasingly annoying. You’d just wanted some alone time with your fiancé and they were making it impossible.

--

You had gone to get a fresh cup of coffee to help you get through the remainder of your paperwork. Upon entering the kitchenette, you came face to face with your fiancé.

“Hey sweetheart.” He quietly greeted.

“Hi hon.” You smiled.

Aaron passed you a cup of coffee before moving to fill a second one for himself. He’d been this way since the beginning, always putting you first no matter what. You offered him thanks and stood with him for a moment, enjoying the proximity.

“I got a call earlier from the florist, she sent over the invoice. I also sent the deposit to the caterer this morning.” You informed.

“For the flowers, peonies right? Did you decide on pink or whi-”

“Everything okay in here?” Morgan bounded into the kitchenette. “You guys look tense…please tell me you weren’t fighting again.”

“Nope, everything is good! I was just heading back to my desk.” You said before making your exit.

--

The next slip up was while away on a case. You had been with Derek interviewing someone that happened to be the unsub, only you hadn’t been aware of that going in.

He had pulled a knife and moved quickly, leaving you with a nasty stab to the gut. You were lucky that it hadn’t hit anything major. You’d waved Derek off, telling him to go after the unsub.

After apprehending the guy, Derek made his way back to you to check in and make sure you were okay. He had called the team and for a medic, not leaving your side.

When Aaron showed up he was livid. The team took that as anger for your “mistake”, not realizing that his anger was directed toward himself – he was beating himself up for having sent you in there, putting you in this situation.

He rode with you in the ambulance to the hospital…giving the rest of the team time to talk about how he was probably reprimanding you. But once again, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. He had held you hand and reassured you the whole way to the hospital.

The team met him there and waited by his side as you were tended to. And when the doctor came out and called your name, asking for family, Aaron didn’t hesitate to rise to his feet, barely catching himself and mentally correcting fiancé to boss.

--

After that, the team did everything they could to keep the two of you separated or at least had someone with you to act as a buffer. It was becoming exhausting – you’d been trying to give Aaron an update about some stuff for the wedding and you just couldn’t get the chance.

The two of you would end up rapidly firing through topics once you arrived home for the evening, trying to catch one another up on wedding tasks, work tasks, and just everyday things.

 “Aaron…have you thought about how much easier things would be if we just told the team about us?”

“Yes I have. Why do you ask?” He admitted.

“Just, well…they’ve been annoying lately.” You huffed. “I don’t mean to sound rude, you know I love them. But they just won’t quit, I can’t get even a second alone with you at work and it is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re right. When you were in the hospital last month, I almost let it slip in front of them. If it’s what you want, let’s tell them.” Aaron agreed.

And thus began your planning of how you’d tell the most oblivious group of profilers that the two of you didn’t hate each other but were actually engaged to be married.

--

It took about a week and a half before you could officially tell the team your little secret. You had been waiting for your invitations to come in so you could hand deliver a few to your team…it would be the perfect announcement.

“Round table in five.” Aaron called out into the bullpen.

“Shit…he seems pissed.” Emily hissed.

You couldn’t help but giggle, knowing full well he was anything but pissed. Emily and you went and collected everyone, bringing them to the round table. There were hushed whispers about what this could be about, and when Penelope mentioned there wasn’t a new case, you could feel the anxiety filling the room.

--

Aaron made his way in, his hands holding a neat stack of pale pink envelopes. You couldn’t help but notice the way he commanded a room, his mere presence demanding the attention of those around him. This is what had initially drawn you to him all those years ago.

“I have something for each of you. I’d like you to wait to open them until everyone has one.” Aaron announced.

He passed them out one by one, the room remaining silent the entire time. It didn’t take long for everyone to notice that you were the only one who didn’t receive an envelope.

“Hotch man, if this is some kind of sick power move then I swear I will-” Derek began.

“Please, open them.” You spoke before standing up and making your way to Aaron’s side.

Confusion painted its way across everyone’s faces. Hands working quickly to open the envelopes they’d been handed. You were shaking with anticipation, and you couldn’t help the little smirk that made its way to your lips when the confusion was quickly replaced with shock.

“I’m sorry…what?” Penelope asked.

“What the hell is this?” Derek questioned.

Everyone began talking at once, talking about whether or not this was a joke. Asking if one another knew, and how long this had been going on.

“Guys!” You called. “Aaron and I have been together for a few years, well before I started with the BAU. We got engaged about seven months ago…and well, we’d love it if you all would be there for us.” You smiled.

“I KNEW IT!” Rossi laughed. “I told you all from the beginning that they didn’t hate one another, they love each other, and you all swore that they hated each other.”

--

Four months later, the BAU team stood by your sides as you said your vows and committed yourselves to one another.

And while the team dynamic shifted slightly with them knowing the two of you are together, and with there being two Agent Hotchners now, the one thing that didn’t change was that this team was family and you all were there for one another no matter what.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[onsomenewsht]

But just hold me now, ‘cause our love will light the way

About when, during a wedding, you are still scared of your love but she holds you closer

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 word count: +5.7k

》 Happy is the bride the sun shines on, happy is the corpse the rain falls on [proverb with origins in folklore and superstition]

It may not look the same, not to anyone and not everywhere.

But for the athletes, especially footballers, when the regular season ends, another, way more challenging, starts.

The wedding season.

It’s a short window of time, holding on between the last games of the major championships and whatever international commitments are going to take place later in the summer. Spread widely all over the world, filled with long-time no-see acquaintances and friends who feel like home by now. Flowers, thoughtfully picked dresses, free drinks and music that after hours you end up dancing to without a care.

The years as a professional athlete forgets you for times like this, shaped you into a precise and infallible logistic-machine on heels. You collect the invitations, update the spreadsheet your sister teases you relentlessly for, and make sure to be dressed for the occasion.

Even before the regular season comes to an end, you have already attended two weddings. In two different continents.

The first one was a lovely, little ceremony in a rural cottage in Galizia. The bride’s an old family friend who, a couple of weeks after her 30th birthday, decided to move in the middle of nowhere to cook for pilgrims. She married a nice guy who delayed his arrival to the Catedral just to spend more time with her, walked his way back and asked her out on a date. Some cried hearing their story during the exchange of vows, more burst out laughing when the dog almost buried the rings.

The second one felt less like a fairytale and more like well-orchestrated chaos. A situationship-turned-friend decided to transform the wedding into a local festival, themed colors and a dress code included. Your date, a girl whose full name you realized you couldn’t quite recall mid-vows, showed up in costume sneakers and a flower crown, much to your dismay. No need to say that was your last date.

This time around, though, is going to be a little different.

The silk dress you pick for the occasion hugs your body in a way should be illegal if it weren’t so comfortable. The no-existen creases you keep smoothing are a clear tell of how nervous you actually are, standing with a single red rose in your hand and waiting for the bride to make her entrance.

You were barely older enough to live on your own, too far away from home to be left unsupervised by any kind of adult, when you met Titi – older, none the wiser. However, she took you under her wing without a hint of hesitation after spotting you recording random training and film sessions. You, unwillingly, admitted to go through them in the peace of your apartment, slower, sometimes too overwhelmed by the different language. Titi started to randomly appear by your side, whispering jokes and explaining the rapid spanish instructions in a more clear way.

You have been attached by the hips ever since.

The loan ended after two years and a dramatic Cup final, but the friendship’ still going strong – despite the bad jokes, the even worst dance moves and the tease for the most stupid thing.

So, when she called on a random Thursday, it’s clear she has more to say than just the latest drama on the national team. It took you a raised eyebrow and a half-truth threat of hanging up for her to spill everything.

Drunk and euphoric after a win, she blurred out a messy proposal to her long-time girlfriend – Beatrice. She said yes, obviously, because anyone who can put up with Titi this long must truly love her. Despite being proposed without a ring in a pub’s bathroom.

A month later, when you find yourself in Spain for a visit to the now happily-engaged couple, they dropped on you the bomb: they’re getting married in the summer and you will stand by Titi’s side as her maid of honor.

That’s how you ended up in this situation.

It’s the absurd music suddenly diffusing in the garden that brings you back to the present, causing a snort you don’t even try to hide. Only Titi could walk down the aisle with a barely slowed down version of “Highway Unicorn”.

Pride and happiness fills your chest, gaze fixed on your friend as she walks toward the front of the venue. Confident steps and bright eyes that can fool everyone but you.

Titi knows how to spot your tells, when you need to talk about something and when you just need to kick a ball as hard as possible. She knows when to tease and when to give the most insightful advice, always followed by some inappropriate joke. You, on the other hand, know how to read between the lines of her attitude and the way she hides behind an armor of apparent immaturity.

“I’m freaking out!”, she mutters out, close enough just for you to hear.

“You better be, I’ll not believe she actually will marry you ‘til I see it happening right in front of my eyes”

That seems to calm her long enough for Beatrice to appear, way more appropriate song announcing her. She walks the aisle with the certainty of someone who knows exactly what is doing and the genuine smile of who is doing it happily.

Not like you had any doubt.

The ceremony is officiated by the old lady of whom Titi destroyed all the plants with carelessly-kicked balls as a kid. She used to threaten to throw the girl’s ball so far away she could be too old to play with it once recovered – but also offered water breaks and help with homework.

The woman, wide grin and white hair styled better than most guests, starts a heartfelt speech about long-lasting love and commitment much stronger than the little flaws that can drive someone crazy. You listen attentively, catching the subtle hints and teases, at least till your gaze wanders around the venue.

Old teammates and family who traveled all over the world to be here, friends from both sides you meet in passing before. Faces you can’t put a name on, others you can’t wait to greet after long. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, your eyes lock with a pair of green ones you remember all too well.

Alexia.

Of course she is here.

And, of course, she smiles in that way she reserved just for you.

Subtle, the curve of her lips barely raising, but sparkling something in her eyes that means so much more. The way she used to tell she loved you when words felt like not enough, when holding you felt like not close enough.

It started out of a bet.

You were already pretty familiar with each other, thanks to Titi’s insistence to have you in the same room – absolutely clueless of your crush. During an international friendly, joking about owing the one on the scoresheet drinks and teasing-rights over Titi’s new hairstyle. You ended up scoring twice, the first a worldie you find space outside the box for after winning a loose ball against none other than the Span’s captain. That same night, Alexia reluctantly buyed you a drink and, definitely less reluctantly, headed up to your hotel’s room.

And the rest’s history.

Improvised dates between fixtures and international breaks, subtle gestures during games against each other and not so subtle displays of affection in the privacy of your bubbles. Family teasing, friends relentlessly joking on your expenses – you two too whipped to care about it all. She filled your fridge with vegetables, your closet with a never ending stock of hoodies, and your life with heartwarming care and attention.

But it ended, out of all odds.

Memories still hunting your minds, the rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of touching vows and terrible jokes. You follow the wedding planner’s instructions to the letter, moving around the venue as she gestures like your life depends on it.

It probably does.

“You fucking made it!”, you whisper at Titi as soon as you manage to hug her.

“Let’s see how long before she asks for divorce”

“Don’t worry about that, I already filled the papers for her”

Beatrice laughs loud beside you, welcoming you into her arms as an older sister used to this kind of banther.

The fun is short lived as the planner kidnaps the just-married couple for some photos and all the guests are moved to a wider area of the garden. You nod at the nth recommendation of not disappearing for too long and not drinking too much – at least until your speech.

You’re pretty sure she’s holding back to ask to revise said speech.

“Why does she look at you like you’re a step away from ruining the whole wedding?”

The only reason why you don’t jump out of your skin is thanks to heels too high for you to do that without risking your ankles.

You meet Patri’s grin before hugging her, careful at both glasses of champagne and even more precocious make-up. A run in the bathroom to fresh up is in order before the couple comes back for more drinks and photos.

“She hates me”, you answer after a bit, not needing to follow her gaze to know the infamous wedding planner is still keeping an eye on you.

“What did you do?”

“I may have had a little too much fun with Titi at rehearsal dinner and now she think I’m a ticking bomb”

“Fair enough”

“An overkill, if you ask me”, you comment, sipping from the glass just to hide a grin.

You catch up with Patri like not time passed, like it’s not been months since she last saw you – since she heard from whispers in the locker room that you and her captain had broken up.

It’s easy enough to fall into the familiar banther, to remember why the friendship with the Majorcan is such a close one to your heart. Patri is a good friend, one who doesn’t need many explanations or reasons. She doesn’t ask questions, she just holds you when the world feels like falling apart or shows up at your apartment with enough food to feed an army and monopolises the TV putting on something absurd.

“You should come for a visit before the Euros”

“Not planning a trip to Barcelona anytime soon”

“Alexia got the rights on all the Barça’s friends?”, she calls you out, half-joking.

“No, we splitted equally. I picked Jana over you and Claudia”, you retort back.

Maybe you neglected some friendships after the break up, but the bond between Alexia and her teammates is so deep and personal that you felt like giving her the comfort of those relationships. You met most of them through her anyway, even a judge could have awarded full custody.

“I’m your friend too, I miss you too”

“I know, I know”, you admit, gaze fixed on the condensation covering the glass, “I’m sorry, I guess– I needed space”.

Space from Barcelona, the city having reminders of her and of your story around every corner. The spots that have been the backdrop of your dates, the roads you learned to navigate during the short visits, the name of her favourite treats in the bakery close to her apartment.

Space from the memories, the most random things that, completely out of nowhere, carve an Alexia-shaped hole in your chest. Roses and books remind you of the first Diada de Sant Jordi as girlfriends, Rosalìa’ songs passing on the radio sounds like her laugh on weekends off, the kid’s label she gifted as a joke still tied to your handbag because you can’t find the strength to get rid of it.

Space from Alexia, from a break-up either of you saw coming.

“I thought you two were it”, Patri says almost casually, almost cruelly.

You know she doesn’t want to be mean, but it still feels like your heart forgets to beat and your lungs can’t hold air properly. And yet, it’s so simple to admit, “I still think we are”.

“You should talk”

“I should go, the wedding planner is acting like a maniac again”, you state as you hug her, less carefully this time, promising to catch up later.

While talking with Patri, you felt Alexia’s gaze on you with a certainty that only comes with fears and insecurities shared to someone who knows how to protect them. But your eyes haven’t locked since that moment during the ceremony, she hasn’t come to you yet.

And you can’t tell if the breaths out are a sigh of relief or frustration.

The cool breeze that carries the flowers’ scent and the guests’ laughs is enough to make you forget your ex is walking around like she couldn’t crush your life and rebuild it just with soft words and even more gentle touches.

The planner is explaining to you, one more time, when you’re supposed to make your speech, but thankfully the couple’s entrance saves you – with an absurd redemption of “I Don’t Need a Man” by The Pussycat Dolls playing in the background and giving an heart attack to the already stressed woman in front of you.

You are almost sorry for her.

Almost.

Especially when, after another round of applause for the couple and drinks for the nerves, you find your seat for the wedding reception.

The tables arranged in a more open side of the landscape garden are framed by green plants and fragrant flowers, while the live band is alternating all-time pop classics and songs straight-out of an emo-kid’s playlist.

An incredible atmosphere, the perfect combination of Bea’s and Titi’s characters, that can entertain you up to a certain point after feeling Alexia approaching.

It may be her perfume, one so long lingering in your life that still permeates your couch’s pillows and a forgotten coat on the entryway rack. It may be the eyes fixed on you, both from her and some guests you care very little about right now. It may be the way your body reacts when hers is close by.

It remains a fact that, when she approaches, you feel it before she speaks.

“I think the wedding planner fucked up”

That, you don’t expect.

“What?”

As a good-enough response, she points to the little personalized place card on the seat at your right.

Oh.

The only reason why you don’t smash your head on the table, vigorously and repetitively to wake from this waking nightmare, is to avoid the already judging glances – planner included.

You will not give it to her so easily.

A moment too long passes, Alexia still standing close with that awkward smile she sports when she doesn’t know how to act properly. A part of you wants to know what she could do, but another, much bigger, wants this embarrassing situation to end as soon as possible.

“Sit your ass down, Titi’s mom is looking at us and I don’t want to cause a scene”, you hiss, nodding your head at the woman on a nearby table.

“She could drop her own daughter for you in a heartbeat”

“Yeah, I know, and I want to keep it that way”

Her smile turns more genuine and relaxed as she takes the seat next to you, as if she hasn’t done it a million times before. As if she never stopped.

Taking advantage of her engaging in small talks with the guests filling the other seats, you finally indulge and properly look at Alexia.

The dress is slick on her body, thin straps accentuating her defined, tan shoulders. A light turquoise that makes her eyes pop and take your breath away – the exact shade of your purse, because you’re over-prepared and she’s too attentive. Hair, tied up in a relaxed low bun, less blonde than you remember.

You study her profile as she politely follows a conversation you don’t even pretend to be interested in, too busy tracing her features to make sure everything is the same as engraved in your mind. Same moles, same wrinkles around her eyes when she smiles, same way to furrow her eyebrows at bad jokes.

However, she’s holding herself in a way you’re not used to. A way that doesn’t feel right between the two of you.

Still deep into your study, you don’t realise the bridal couple is making the nth round of greetings until Beatrice doesn’t wrap her arms around you. She’s holding you from behind like this is the best day of her life and she just had the best drink too, so you don’t complain when she down yours. The chat is funny and light-hearted, at least until Titi drops her wife’s hands to not-so-subtly nudging you to follow her.

“I swear I had no idea”, she blurs out, too troubled to notice you’re still too close to the table for this kind of apology, “I told the wedding planner to seat Ale with the other girls”

“It’s fine”

“We can still arrange it, I can tell them to add a seat there and–”

“Titi, please, breath”, you interrupt with a soft grin, “I said it’s fine”

Well, maybe it’s not really that fine, but you will manage.

Alexia could have been invited anyway, being Titi’s national teammate for longer than you even knew them, but you were supposed to come to the wedding together. As a couple.

The planner must not have received the memo but, at this point, you’re pretty sure she has an agenda against you.

“We can sit next to each other for the rest of the dinner, it’s not like I’m going to stab her with a butter knife”

“I’m more worried about you trying to stab yourself with a dessertspoon”

“I couldn’t even know what to look for”

“Reassuring. The fact you didn’t try to deny it is pretty alarming, but otherwise reassuring”, she points out, teasing just like a good friend could do.

You hold her in a tight hug, because you can and because one of the most important people in your life just got married to the love of their life. It’s a beautiful day. You’re not going to ruin it with what-ifs and self-pity, everyone is happy and you’re the happiest for them. Genuinely.

The part of you that wants to scream, shout and kick for how unfair and ironic life can be will behave for today.

Alexia seems to think the same, trying to hold back and making sure there’s space for Jesus if he wants to seat between you two.

Even though the desire to touch, to engage in conversation, to feel each other in a way that’s both familiar and foreign is so strong. Clear in the way she always makes sure your glass is filled with water and you pass finger-food and bread without her having to ask. Undeniable in the way it takes a moment too long to break contact when your arms barely brush or when your gazes meet in the middle of conversation.

If the other guests notice they don’t say anything, not out loud at least.

Not even Leon, Beatrice’s brother and best man, who has the same knowing smirk and sharp eyes. He makes a couple of comments between the appetizers and the main course, calling you out for a lingering touch or being distracted for apparently no reason. Thankfully, his wife has mercy and stops the teasing before Alexia’s blush could match the decorative roses and you could find that butter knife.

When you think you can finally enjoy the food without someone making fun of your almost-breakdowns anytime your ex does the most normal things, like thanking the waiters or humming the song playing, the wedding planner comes crushing your dream.

She passes the microphone as handing you a bomb, not even trying to hide how terrified she is of what you can say or do. You can stand close to the bridal table with the same resignation of someone sentenced to death.

Let’s get it over with.

“Here we are! For those of you who don’t know me, I’m sorry. For those who know, I’m sorry too”, you start, raising the glass of champagne in your hand and setting the mood. “First of all, thank you to the brides for asking me to speak today. Beatrice told me if I do decent enough job I can do her next wedding too, so bear with me”

The women burst out laughing, shaking their heads as the room joins in and you make sure to wink in the wedding planner’s direction.

“I know everyone is expecting a funny, witty speech filled with embarrassing stories of Titi and advice for Bea from a Tumblr blog called ‘how ancients used to kill their spouses and get away with it’. I was so proud of it, trust me. But five minutes ago Titi’s mom came up to me and said she couldn’t wait to hear my speech and I panicked. I don’t want to disappoint her, so I’ll improvise”, you breathe in and breathe out, not ready at all.

And right in that moment, your gaze locks with Alexia’s.

She’s smiling, genuinely, with elbows on the table and chin in her hand. Amused, you can tell that for sure after so long together, but also supportive in a way that makes you feel like climbing mountains with bare hands and swimming oceans with tied legs.

“I know you’re not supposed to talk about yourself in this kind of situation, for whatever reason, but I’m going to do just that. I am, indeed, the reason we’re all here today as one of my biggest achievements is that I brought Beatrice and Titi together. I’m not saying you own me one, but– yeah, you own me a huge one!”

A loud roar rises from the crowd as you hold up the glass in your best friend’s direction, blowing her a kiss.

You tell the story of how they met.

How you dragged Titi to an awful party seven years ago. How she didn’t want to go, complaining about a sore ankle and an alignment of the planets plotting against her. How you bribe her with drinks and half-hearted promises to indulge in her stupid pre-game dances.

But then, there she was.

Beatrice.

Standing by the bar, talking about books Titi had never read and plants she pretended to care about. You witnessed your annoying, over-confident friend turning into an even bigger idiot. She tripped over an empty glass, offering her number by writing it on a wet napkin, and still, somehow and for reasons not even the stars can explain, Bea didn’t run in the opposite direction.

You tell the story of the moment you felt it, so clearly, they’re perfect for each other.

“That was the moment I knew”, your voice softens, gaze never leaving the couple. Beatrice is looking at you, pride in her eyes as if you’re doing something remarkable, while Titi smiles like she’s hearing these stories for the first time.

“I got to witness a quiet miracle. Something small and messy and real. Two people finding each other, truly seeing each other. Ever since that day, I have witnessed this genuine, unconditional love growing. Loud and ordinary and everyday. So, if you can, I want you to rise your ass and your glass for a toast”

The room fills with a soft laughter and screeching cutlery. You glance at Alexia, one more time, just because you want to. She’s looking at you with something in her eyes you will never be able to fully understand. Something that resonates in your chest.

“To Beatrice, for showing me what it really means to know someone. Underneath the questionable jokes, the chaos, the quite disturbing dance moves. To Titiana, for showing me that love can be hilarious, sometimes messy, slightly scary, but always full-hearted. To the happy couple, for proving us love always finds its way. And if you ever forget how lucky you are– please, just remember, I did this”

The room erupts into applause while you exhale as if you just barely scored a penalty shootout. Titi bursts into a half-laugh-half-cry so raw and unexpected that you’re pretty proud of the confidence and the foresight to bribe the photographer. Beatrice, ever the saint, wraps the two of you in one of the warmest hugs ever experienced on heart.

Even the wedding planner looks impressed, or, at least, mildly relieved.

You make your way back to your seat, heart racing as you feel way too many eyes still on you. The attention is different when you’re not performing, whatever it’s on a football field or in front of a microphone.

Alexia pulls the chair out for you without saying anything at first, just passes you a glass of water and smiles. Like taking care of you comes naturally, instinctive. Your fingers brush for a second too long, familiar and foreign.

“Nice speech”, she eventually comments, her voice a soft contrast to the loud chatter and background music.

“Thanks, I wrote it using that stupid AI robot”

Her laugh is quiet, but real, and you hate how much you’ve missed it.

She knows you must have spent weeks in front of a blank page, cursing Titi and thinking about how to get away with such an awful task.

“I didn’t expect you to wrap it up like that”

“Neither did I”, you admit, “I was hoping for light and funny, accidentally took a detour through emotional growth”

The midfielder must realise just then you really did improvised the speech, not entirely because of Titi’s mom, she’s not sure if she wants to know why. The rest of the table has already drifted into their own conversations, distracted by more food arriving and chatting with other friends.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you in your own bubble.

As it once was, as it still feels so right.

“You were amazing”, she compliments, “You always are”

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t make you feel like your heart sets on its natural rhythm, like your chest can fully rise and your mind finally eases.

You can’t look at her, turning away to stare across the garden. Fairy lights are strung through the trees, their soft glow reflecting all around the venue as the sun casts a magical atmosphere simply by dusking behind.

There’s so much you want to say, so many things that ache to break free. Instead, you offer her the chocolate dessert still untouched in front of you.

The silence isn't heavy, but it’s full of questions and desires. To reach out, to explain. To understand. To fix whatever breaks in your relationship for you to not realise sooner.

Moments after, the excuse to catch up with someone weak, but she let you go.

This time, not out of fear, but knowing you need to find your breath to come back to her.

As you walk around the garden, Titi’s mom stops you without a word to hold you firmly like a mother who knows what you need even if you’re not brave enough to ask for it. Your friend has the same warm, comforting way to wrap her arms around you completely.

Before you can properly freshen up and hide the signs of impending tears, Patri spots you and waves her hands as someone could do to get the attention of help while trapped on a desert island – same urgency. You can hear the laughs and smell the champagne even before reaching the group of loud footballers, holding glasses as there isn’t an impending international sport event waiting.

“Look who remembered she still has friends in Barcelona!”

“The last time we faced each other the scoreboard on your side wasn’t really that friendly”, you joke, taking turns to greet everyone you missed until then.

“At least you scored the one goal on yours”

As a response, you snitch the glasses from Mariona’s hand to pass it back emptied.

The others laugh, stealing a chair from a close table and welcoming you into the circle. Jana, clearly tipsy, keeps making faces and stopping mid-sentence to laugh at someone else’s comment. Irene, for some reason barefoot, is narrating a dramatic story about an away game turned into a reality show episode.

You fit right in, like no time has passed. Like you don’t feel a missing piece, used to be surrendered by these people with Alexia’s comforting presence by your side. Like you didn’t let heartbreak and distance pull you away from them.

Patri steps closer when most of the group is captivated by yet another of Jana’s adventures on English soil, her voice low as to not pry, “Are you good?”

You don’t answer right away, staring around in the landscape – your eyes searching for something, someone, in a way so instinctive that’s almost scary.

“She looks at me the same way”

“You expected her not to?”, the Majorcan asks, genuinely curious.

“I was terrified she wouldn’t”

“You’re allowed to miss her”, she states, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, “But you’re also allowed to try again, you just have to do it scared this time”

You take a breath, not deep enough but steadier, “Let’s talk about literally anything else before I start crying at a wedding that isn’t even mine”

Patri laughs, clinking her glass with ones you find in your hand without even realising how.

The music changes then, bleeding into something upbeat and catchy. The band is playing one of those classics you’re legally required to dance to. The crowd begins to fill a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the garden, energy building over friends, couples and someone’s drunk aunt’s mad moves.

The girls drag you with them, stumbling into carefully pleased flowers and glowing under soft lights. It may be the top-shelf champagne, or the quite talented drummer, but you join in without a care. Surrendered by warmth and laughter and Patri’s terrible rhythm, it’s easier to think everything it’s going to be fine.

Jana pulls you into a spin, shouting something in Catalan you barely hear over the music, and for a while it’s just breathless laughter and out-of-tone singalong. You leave on the dance floor all you got, shame and sweat forgotten when someone unsuspectingly requests a song that reminds you of care-free teen times.

You feel the pull toward Alexia, dancing close by with Irene and some girls you can’t recognise by the back of their heads, but thankfully there’s always someone breaking in the middle.

And then, as to give you a moment to catch your breath, the music changes at a slower pace. The beat doesn’t resonate in your chest and the crowd dissipates, following a different flow. Only couples remain, taking space and moving on their own accounts like nothing else matters.

You withdraw silently, finding your seat on the now empty table. Leon and his wife are on the dance floor, while the others are scattered all around the venue. The wedding planner is somewhere around you, barking quiet but firm instructions as the cake’s moment is fast approaching, and you make a mental note to avoid her for at least the next hour.

A smile spreads on your lips as you spot Titi and Beatrice, dancing beneath the strings of light and surrender by people who love them. They move like they’ve got all the time in the world. And maybe, after today, it feels like they do.

You’re halfway through another glass when the air shifts.

“You gave up?”

“I’m too old and too alone to keep it up”, you half-joke, sipping your champagne.

Alexia is standing beside you, close enough for you to feel the heat from her skin – glowing under this light. She tilts her head toward you, teasing, “What happened to not disappearing or drinking too much?”

“I gave the speech, I’m off-duty. I don’t own that mad-planner anything else”

That earns a soft laugh that makes you glance at her, catching the moment she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks a little pink from the alcohol or the dancing or, maybe, from being near you again.

Too scared of this hope, you glance away to the dance floor, now filled with more guests. The brides are in the middle of it all, Titi whispering something, probably unhinged, right into Bea’s ear, who’s laughing too hard for theirs not to be true love.

“You want to dance?”, she asks, almost like she didn’t mean to say it too loud.

“Do you want to?”

“I’m trying something new”, Alexia grins at your raised eyebrows, “Not pretending I don’t want something and asking for it”

There’s a pause after that, your heart exploding in your chest and her smile growing on her face. The music shifts once again, the singer introducing a song you don’t know but you’re pretty sure will never forget.

And before you can change your mind, before fear could wrap around your wants, you take her hand.

It’s so familiar it almost hurts.

You lead her toward the dance floor, weaving through the other guests and ignoring the curious glances – especially Patri’s, who’s jumping happily with her thumbs up. You find your place on a more secluded side, however private it can be with Bea’s knowing smirk burning on the back of your head.

Alexia pulls you in with a hand lightly resting on your waist, like figuring out if she’s still allowed to hold you close. You visibly relax under her touch and almost hear her exhale in relief. The movements are slow, hesitant at first, but familiar. Comforting, even.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you together again.

So you let yourself be held. Between soft lights, colours and scents you had no idea could belong to flowers, instants straight out from a fairly tails. Between friends’ laughter and promises someone will fight to keep. Between before and after, Alexia allows herself to hold you like she wants to do forevermore.

“Do you think it was the right thing?”, she asks when your forehead brushes her cheek.

“No, but I don’t know how to fix it”

“We will figure our way out”

[afterglowsainz]

so it goes… | carlos sainz

summary: carlos has the biggest crush on the famous up and coming actress but she doesn’t know who he is

fc: anya taylor-joy

warnings: this is my first smau so plsss tell me what you think <3 i made it a bit long cause i’m use to write detailed stories but is worth it i swear!! also english is not my first language so there might be mistakes

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ynusername life lately 🧚🏼‍♀️

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user1 she’s so pretty ughhh

user2 y/n please give me just once chance i’m beggin

user3 simping respectfully

carlossainz55 que linda! (so pretty!)

user4 hello??

user5 ariana what are you doing here 😭

bffusername literally my wife 😮‍💨

ynusername me and you forever 🤭

user6 mother

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carlossainz55 great weekend all in all 🏆 podium and good points for the team, ready for the next! 🔜

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user4 let’s gooo smooth operator‼️

user7 forza ferrari 🐎

charlesleclerc great job! double podium next race 👊🏼

user8 brilliant drive carlos!!

user9 VAMOOOOS (let’s go)

user5 okay we see y/n’s best friend in the likes 👀

user10 i think she’s a ferrari fan!

landonorris congrats on the podium or whatever 🙄

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ynusername emma is now on streaming platforms !!! go watch it 🫶🏽

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user1 and they call her the it girl !!!

user2 favorite movie of the year 💞

user3 y/n y/l/n future oscar winner‼️

bffusername GO WATCH MY WIFE’S MOVIE OR ELSE

ynusername you heard her!

carlossainz55 loved the movie!

user4 okay but are we believing he actually saw a romantic period piece or?? 🤨

user5 idk why i kinda believe it solely on the fact that he’s obsessed with y/n 😭

user6 i don’t see the appeal, she’s not all that :/

user4 now i know you did NOT just said that about THE Y/N Y/L/N

user7 y/n drop another movie i’ve already seen this one a thousand times :( (liked by carlossainz55)

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ynusername italian nights 🧿

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bffusername my girlfriend the prettiest of prettiest 🥰

user1 picture at a church and partying with måneskin? ohhh she’s cool cool

user2 carlos i understand you completely

carlossainz55 beautiful!

ynusername thank you! 💕

user3 omg did she actually??

user4 somebody make sure carlos is still alive and breathing pls

user5 finally! my boy has been in the trenches for monthsss

landonorris 👀

user6 now lando what do you know??

(ynusername has started following carlossainz55)

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carlossainz55 summer break 🏁

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user1 well hello there

user2 weird way to ask me to marry you but ofc🤭

user3 not carlos immediately posting a thirst trap after yn followed him 😭

user4 thirst trap seems a bit much…

user3 him just casually posting the most earth shattering hottest pictures out of nowhere??

user4 okay you may have a point

user5 post a warning or something next time jesus

user6 I AM ON MY KNEES PLEASE

user7 dinner would be served, house would be cleaned, kids on bed, anything he wants

ynusername 🥰 (liked by carlossainz55)

carlossainz55 🫶🏽

user8 girl me too

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yourusername beautiful beautiful madrid 🤍

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user1 omg you’re in my city!!!

user2 someone send this to carlos quick!

user3 you’re so beautiful 😻

user4 carlossainz55 my guy this is your chance

user5 you’re STUNNING 🤩

carlossainz55 i need to show you all the nice places🫶🏽 (liked by yourusername)

yourusername omg please!! i need a local tour guide

carlossainz55 😊

user6 omg is this the beginning of something???

user7 i’m shipping them already 🤭

user8 someone check on carlos please‼️

[thebibliosphere]

I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?

I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.

I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.

We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.

If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.

Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.

They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.

And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.

The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.

So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.

That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.

Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.

They're not.

If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.

Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[thepraline]

My Experience In Venice!

Hi, so as most of you know, I went to Italy on the 8th! Specifically, Venice. I didn’t flash around my exact destinations for obvious reasons, that’s why I was pretty hush about that while being there.

Anyway, I don’t want this to be too long, so instead of yapping about every single thing I did, I’m gonna focus on the main parts of the experience that I’ll carry with me forever.

Months ago, when I was talking about going, I had some of you warning me about the racism I might face…stuff like that, and I can confidently say I felt not an INCH of anything like that.

Whenever I go anywhere, I go with the mindset that there’s always going to be someone that won’t like me for whatever reason ANYWHERE I go, that’s life and you have to deal with it, lmaoo. I did run into a few…attitudes, but I didn’t get a vibe it was a racial thing, it was just a case of they didn’t really enjoy my presence and that's fine, no one’s obligated to.

But back to what I said, I’ll carry the social experiences I had with me forever. I went with friends, but they took a more tourist-like approach to the way they explored. I wanted a more organic all-up-in-it point of view, so the second day of being there, I wandered around. It was duolingo and I against the world!!!!!!

I won’t lie, though. It felt like walking around some kind of jigsaw puzzle lmaooo 😭, I went around in a few circles and got confused. Eventually, I got the hang of it.

Along the way, there were so many social spots, and I threw myself right into them. There was a group of women in their late 20s standing around one of the bacaros, so I went right over there and was just like “CIAO!!!”😂😭 …..like a giant fucking dork, I could have not been so animated about it, but it didn’t go south, they greeted me back!

One spoke good English but I still did my best to use Italian because come on now, I’ve been preparing for this moment with duolingo for months. Why would I not do it😤 !!!! I listened to them tell me about Venice, they were locals, then I told them a little about where I live, then we said goodbye and I was back on my journey.

I didn't want to be an annoying barnacle or anything, so I made sure to keep the majority of all of my interactions pretty short unless I ran into a YAPPER, which I did. He was very sweet though, he was in his late 60s and I talked to him in one of the cafes, I saw an open seat so I sat near. He's originally from Florence and had…LOTS of stories to tell me lmao let’s just say that.

His english was good enough for me to understand, but I still tried being cool and throwing in Italian. I had the BEST sandwich while listening to him go on and on, too. 10/10 experience. He was one of the many older yappers I crossed paths with, but thinking back, he had to be the final boss ☠️

After that, I was back on my journey again. Like I said, I won’t and sort of can’t list every little exchange I had because remember I was there for a week and all of this happened in the first few hours of the day…we’d be here for PARAGRAPHS and I don’t feel like doing it. I will add one of the highlights of my exchanges, though.

the chaotic gondola ride: The gondolier was speaking to me FAST in full force Italian, he started off with English but the second I used my duolingo Italian it was all over. I told him I don’t actually understand him, he said “No.” and then just kept right on speaking...so I was sitting there gaslighting myself thinking maybe he is right, maybe deep down I DO understand what he’s saying. Long story short, I didn’t 💔 he did call me beautiful, though. That mended my weeping heart. I’m still not over the “No.” though 😭☠️.

Another thing I’ll add is that the men sure were charming! I’m used to being approached and all of that, but the way it happened here was different, idk how to explain it…it was in a more playful and clever way that actually made me want to respond and flirt back. I didn’t feel like “NOPE. TURN IT RIGHT BACK AROUND, GO AWAY.”

Other random bits, my digital camera is a mess, I was taking photos of everything (not people, my friends were doing that and I think it’s so wrong…they aren’t zoo animals wtf).

The shops I went into, the food, random pebbles, and most importantly, TEATRO LA FENICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I almost started sobbing being in there. Singing opera myself and even being in there where all the iconic singers once were made me so emotional. My friends didn’t find it that much of a big deal, but I did ✨️😩.

I ate like a starved hyena, I walked around until my little legs were about to give out, and that was my trip! Obviously there’s so much more, but they’re my personal memories and exchanges. Venice was beautiful, the people were so welcoming and full of life, I enjoyed immersing myself into the culture and enjoyed feeling accepted even more.

I can’t wait to go again! Love you 🇮🇹🤍!

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

I Need You

bob floyd x fem!reader

Smut😙

The sun had barely started to set when I rolled into town, and the sky was this ridiculous kind of pink—like something out of a postcard. Pretty, sure, but it didn’t make the knots in my stomach untangle any faster.

New job, new town, new apartment that still smelled like fresh paint and emptiness. This was supposed to be a good thing—a fresh start, a new chapter, all those cliches people tell you when you do something crazy like pack up your whole life and move somewhere you’ve never been before.

Except now that I was here, standing in my new place surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and the hum of the fridge kicking on, it hit me: I didn’t know a soul in this town.

Which was probably how I found myself standing outside a bar called The Hard Deck about two hours later, trying to talk myself into walking through the door.

The music inside was loud, the sound of laughter spilling out every time someone opened the door. A group of guys in flight suits burst out, one of them tossing his head back with a full-belly laugh, and for a second, I almost turned around.

But then I thought—nope. Not tonight. You didn’t come here to sit at home and be boring.

So I pushed the door open.

It was like walking straight into the heart of the town—music pumping, glasses clinking, people everywhere. Pilots in their khaki flightsuits, locals in jeans and t-shirts, and a bartender who looked like he could win a flipping contest with the way he tossed bottles in the air.

I tried to play it cool as I made my way to the bar, ordered a drink, and leaned back on the counter like I totally belonged here.

And that’s when I felt it—the eyes.

A lot of them.

“New in town?”

I turned to find a tall guy in a flight suit, blond hair slicked back, a grin that screamed trouble. His name patch said Seresin, but I didn’t need to read it to know this was the guy who knew he was hot and wasn’t shy about it.

Before I could answer, another voice cut in. “Don’t let Hangman here scare you off.”

I glanced over and saw another pilot—dark curls, mustache, easy grin. His patch read Bradshaw.

Rooster, I remembered.

Before I knew it, there was a whole circle of them—Hangman, Rooster, Fanboy, Payback. All throwing out jokes, asking where I was from, what I was doing here, what I thought of the town so far.

I played along, laughing at their stories, teasing them back when they tried to one-up each other. They were fun, sure, but there was this edge to it—like they were waiting for me to pick someone.

And honestly? I wasn’t feeling it.

I was in the middle of telling Payback that, no, I wasn’t impressed by Hangman’s offer to show me his “favorite flight maneuvers,” when I caught sight of him.

Over by the pool table.

Quiet. Focused. Glasses slipping down his nose as he leaned over to line up a shot, completely unaware of the scene playing out just a few feet away.

He was different. Not performing, not watching, not trying to be the loudest guy in the room.

Just… there.

I found myself staring, a little longer than I probably should’ve.

“Hey, Earth to Y/N.” Rooster’s voice snapped me back, and I realized they were all watching me now, following my gaze.

But I just shrugged, turned back to my drink, and let a little smile tug at the corner of my mouth.

Because for the first time all night, I was actually curious.

Who was that guy by the pool table?

Hangman was relentless.

He leaned in close, his cologne heavy in the air, voice dropping into that low, smooth register I’m sure had worked a hundred times before. His arm casually rested on the bar behind me, caging me in, like he already had me figured out—like it was just a matter of time before I was nodding along to whatever plan he had for the rest of the night.

“So, how about we get out of here?” he was saying, his grin all teeth, the kind of smirk that said he thought he’d already won.

I barely heard him.

Because the whole time, while Jake was throwing out his best lines, my gaze kept drifting.

Back to the pool table.

To the quiet guy with the glasses, standing just outside the glow of the bar lights.

He was focused, head down, lining up a shot like none of this chaos around him even existed. He wasn’t watching me. He wasn’t trying.

And that was exactly why I couldn’t stop watching him.

Something settled in my chest—this sudden, sharp clarity.

I wasn’t here for games.

I wasn’t here to be circled like prey by a pack of pilots who thought I was some kind of prize to be won.

I was here because I wanted to be. And I wanted to know who that guy at the pool table was.

So I didn’t answer Jake.

I didn’t even look at him.

I just set my drink down, stood up, and walked—past Hangman, past Rooster and the rest of the squad, past the noise and the heat and the pressure.

Straight to him

He was mid-shot when I stopped a few feet away, and I waited quietly as the cue ball clicked against the striped ten and sent it rolling into the corner pocket.

He glanced up, like he felt me watching, and when our eyes met, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe. Or just… confusion, like he couldn’t quite figure out why I was standing there.

I smiled, soft but sure, and tilted my head toward his cue stick.

“Need a partner?” I asked, voice light and easy.

Behind me, I could feel the weight of the bar’s attention, the tension like a live wire—but Bob?

He just blinked at me, caught off guard, his hand tightening slightly on the cue like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Uh… sure?” he said, voice a little rough, a little breathless.

I grinned wider and stepped up to the table, already reaching for a cue of my own.

Jake Seresin was probably still standing there with his mouth open.

Let him.

Bob stepped back as I reached for a cue, giving me space without saying a word. It was a little thing, but it struck me—that quiet awareness, that instinct to move aside like he didn’t want to crowd me.

I chalked the tip of the stick, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He was still looking at me, his expression a mix of curiosity and something almost like… disbelief? Like he couldn’t quite figure out why I was standing here, why I wasn’t back at the bar with the guys who were actually trying to get my attention.

I leaned in to take my shot, lining it up slowly. The cue stick felt a little unfamiliar in my hands, but I wasn’t really trying to win—I just liked the way he was watching me now, the way his gaze lingered but didn’t press.

The ball clacked into another, sending it rolling toward the pocket, and I grinned when it barely missed.

“Not bad for a first try,” Bob said, his voice warm and quiet. There was the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like maybe he was trying not to seem too impressed.

I straightened, meeting his eyes, and tilted my head with a grin.

“First try tonight,” I teased.

That got a real smile out of him, quick and a little shy, like it surprised him too. His cheeks pinked up just a little, and it was ridiculously charming.

“I’m Bob,” he offered, almost like he felt he had to, even though I’d already seen his name patch.

“I know.”

His eyebrows ticked up, and I realized it might’ve sounded like I’d been watching him, so I added quickly, “I overheard one of the guys say it.”

That didn’t make it sound any less like I’d been paying attention to him. But honestly? I wasn’t going to pretend I hadn’t been watching.

“Y/N,” I said, extending my hand.

Bob looked at it like it was a surprise, like he hadn’t expected me to offer. Then he smiled, small and genuine, and shook it. His grip was firm, his hand warm, and I felt this little buzz of something zip up my arm, settling low in my stomach.

“So, Bob,” I said, picking up my cue again. “You always spend your nights off beating people at pool, or is that just for special occasions?”

His smile deepened—barely—and he shrugged, looking a little sheepish.

“Not really my thing, the whole… scene.”

I glanced back toward the bar, where Hangman was very clearly still watching us, arms crossed, eyebrows raised like he couldn’t believe I’d actually walked away from him.

The corner of my mouth lifted.

“Yeah,” I said, turning back to Bob. “Me neither.”

His eyes met mine, something soft and maybe a little uncertain in them, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the fact that I was standing here, talking to him, instead of the loud, flashy pilots back at the bar.

And me?

I felt steady. Sure.

This wasn’t about games or showing off or winning some unspoken competition.

This was just… Bob.

And maybe—just maybe—that was exactly what I’d been looking for all along.

I watched Bob line up his next shot, the way his brow furrowed slightly, the way his hands moved with practiced ease. His focus was different from the rest of the bar—like the noise and the attention didn’t touch him at all.

And maybe that was what drew me in the most.

He made his shot, sending a striped ball into the side pocket, then straightened, glancing at me almost shyly.

“You wanna take the next one?” he asked, holding out the cue.

I hesitated, then smiled and stepped closer. His hand brushed against mine as I took the stick, and it was such a light, accidental touch—but it sent this spark through me, a little jolt that had me blinking fast and biting back a grin.

Bob noticed, too. His ears flushed pink, and he ducked his head a little like he could hide it.

I stepped up to the table, but he stayed where he was, just a breath behind me. I could feel the warmth of him, his presence steady but not overwhelming, and it did something weird to my chest—made my heart beat a little faster, made me want to lean back just a little, just to see if he’d stay close.

“Here,” he said, voice low, and I realized he was right there, pointing toward the cue ball. “If you aim just a little to the left, you can sink the four into the corner pocket.”

His hand hovered near mine, not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him.

I glanced up at him, and for a second, it was like the whole bar melted away. The music, the laughter, the clinking glasses—all of it blurred into the background, and it was just… Bob.

Soft eyes, that small, almost uncertain smile, the slight flush high on his cheeks like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

Neither could I, honestly.

I lined up the shot, hands steady, but before I could pull back, Bob’s voice came again, so quiet I barely heard it over the music.

“Just… let your shoulders relax a little. Don’t overthink it.”

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension slip out of me.

And when I took the shot, the ball sank cleanly into the pocket with a satisfying crack.

A grin spread across my face, and I turned to him, beaming.

“Nice,” Bob said, a little breathless, like maybe he was just as surprised as I was.

Before I could say anything, I caught a flicker of movement behind him—Jake, standing at the bar, watching us like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Rooster was there too, eyebrows raised, a slow grin spreading across his face like he knew exactly what was happening.

I felt a flush creep up my neck, but I didn’t look away from Bob.

He was still watching me, his smile soft and real, and I had this sudden, sharp feeling in my chest—like maybe I’d just stumbled into something that could be more.

Something good.

Something real.

Bob scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down shyly before meeting mine again.

“You, uh… want another drink?” he asked, voice a little awkward, like he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping.

I smiled, tilting my head.

“Only if I get to buy you one this time.”

The look on his face—surprised, a little flustered, but definitely pleased—was worth every second of this night.

Behind me, I could still feel the guys watching, probably with all kinds of theories and running bets.

Let them wonder.

I wasn’t here for them.

I was here for Bob.

I caught Bob’s surprised smile as we moved toward the bar, and I swear the guys clocked it in an instant. The shift was subtle, but you could feel it—the way Rooster’s eyebrows shot up, the slow grin tugging at Fanboy’s mouth, the half-smirk that crept onto Hangman’s face like he was dying to make a comment.

But to their credit, they didn’t say anything… yet.

Bob followed a step behind me, his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, and it was so endearing I felt my cheeks warm.

When we reached the bar, I ordered two beers—one for me, one for Bob—and slid it toward him.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice a little quieter than before. He rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears tinged pink, and I realized I liked that about him. That softness. That almost bashful vibe that made it feel like I wasn’t just another girl in a bar to him.

We settled into a pair of barstools, shoulders angled toward each other, and for a second, it was almost like we were in our own little world.

“Do you come here a lot?” I asked, taking a sip of my drink.

Bob shook his head, eyes dropping to his glass like it was the most interesting thing in the room.

“Not really,” he admitted. “It’s… not really my scene.”

“Yeah?” I teased, nudging him gently with my elbow. “You don’t seem like the karaoke type.”

That got a real laugh out of him—quiet, but it lit up his whole face, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Not unless you want to hear a tragic rendition of Piano Man,” he said, and the way he said it—self-deprecating but warm—made my heart stutter a little.

I was about to respond when I heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat dramatically behind us.

Jake.

Of course.

“Hey, Bob,” he called, a slow grin spreading across his face as he leaned back against the bar with his beer in hand. “Didn’t know you were such a ladies’ man.”

Rooster choked on his drink, barely covering it with a cough, and even Fanboy and Payback were smirking into their beers.

Bob froze for a second, shoulders going stiff, and I could see the flush creeping up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears.

I turned in my seat just enough to catch Jake’s gaze, my smile a little sharp around the edges.

“Maybe you underestimated him,” I said, voice light but firm.

Jake’s grin twitched, a flicker of surprise crossing his face like okay, fair, but he didn’t push it.

Bob let out a breath, glancing at me like he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or more embarrassed, and I just smiled, reaching for my drink.

“Don’t let them mess with you,” I told him quietly, nudging his knee with mine under the bar. “They’re just jealous.”

Bob’s eyes met mine—hesitant at first, but then they softened, something warm blooming in his gaze.

“Thanks,” he murmured, voice low.

I just grinned, taking another sip of my beer, feeling the slow, steady hum of something real starting to take root between us.

And the rest of the bar?

Let them watch.

The night at the Hard Deck had stretched on, but I kept finding myself drawn back to Bob—quietly at ease in the corner, holding his beer like it was a shield, his eyes lighting up when he talked about flying but always a little bashful when the guys teased him.

At one point, after a lull in the conversation, I tilted my head and asked, “So, what do you do, Bob? When you’re not hustling pool tables and dodging Hangman’s charm offensive.”

That earned me a grin—quick, shy, and adorable.

“I’m a WSO,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “Backseater on the Super Hornet.”

“Fancy,” I teased, nudging him with my shoulder. “So you’re the brains of the operation.”

He laughed, soft and surprised, and I swear it made my chest feel too small for my heart.

“Yeah, something like that,” he said.

I took a sip of my drink, an idea forming as I watched the way his gaze kept dropping shyly to the floor.

“So what’s the food situation like over there? You Navy guys get fancy cafeteria meals, or are you surviving off vending machine snacks?”

Bob shrugged, glancing at me with a small smile. “Depends on the day. Sometimes it’s just… whatever I can grab on the way in.”

I grinned, a little spark of mischief lighting in my chest.

“Well, if you’re ever in the mood for a real lunch,” I said, resting my chin on my hand, “maybe I’ll bring you something.”

His eyes widened, like the thought had never crossed his mind, and he straightened a little.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “That’d… that’d be amazing.”

I laughed, not fully sure if he thought I was serious or just playing around.

But the next day, I decided to make it real.

⸻

I showed up at the base around noon, a paper bag in hand—turkey sandwiches, chips, and a couple of sodas, simple but solid.

I hadn’t really thought this through, not all the way, and as I stood by the fence waiting for Bob to show up, it hit me that maybe this was a weirdthing to do.

But before I could second-guess myself, I spotted him—walking with the other guys, flight suit half-zipped, sunglasses on, hands in his pockets.

And when his eyes landed on me, they widened.

“Hey, Bob!” I called, lifting the bag with a little grin.

The rest of the squad stopped in their tracks.

“Wait—you brought Floyd lunch?” Hangman’s voice carried across the lot, laced with disbelief and barely contained glee.

“Oh, Bob, you dog!” Rooster crowed, elbowing him as they walked closer.

Bob looked so flustered—his mouth opened, like he wanted to explain, but then he closed it again, just… stunned.

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I held the bag out, smiling.

“Didn’t think I’d actually show, did you?”

Bob took the bag slowly, like he wasn’t sure it was real, then gave me this look—soft, disbelieving, grateful in a way that made my stomach flip.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and the way he said it—like it mattered—made me feel warm all over.

“You’re welcome,” I murmured, my grin widening.

Behind us, the guys were definitely still watching, and I heard Payback mutter, “Man’s got it figured out.”

Bob glanced back at them, looking wildly overwhelmed, and I just laughed, nudging him gently.

“Guess I’ll let you get back to work,” I said, stepping back a little.

Bob looked like he wanted to say something else—like he wanted to ask me to stay—but instead, he just smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll see you soon?” he asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice.

“Count on it,” I said, and as I turned to leave, I could feel their eyes on us—Bob’s lingering the longest.

And I had a feeling this wasn’t just a one-time thing.

Not even close.

(Bob’s POV)

I didn’t even taste the sandwich.

I mean, I ate it—every bite, somehow—but the whole time, all I could think about was her.

Y/N.

The way she’d smiled at me when she handed me the bag. The way she’d looked at me, like I was someone worth showing up for.

And the guys?

They were relentless.

“Bob!” Hangman said, way too loud, way too grinning, as he walked past me in the hangar. “Didn’t know you had it in you, man! What else are you hiding from us?”

I felt my face go hot, the tips of my ears burning, and I ducked my head, focusing way too hard on the clipboard in my hands.

Rooster, leaning back against a crate nearby, smirked.

“Man gets one sandwich delivered and suddenly he’s the most eligible bachelor on base,” he said, crossing his arms like he was watching the best reality TV show in the world.

Fanboy chimed in, grinning. “Hey Bob, you offering lessons, or is this exclusive knowledge?”

“Yeah,” Payback added, trying (and failing) to hide his grin. “What’s the secret, Floyd? You got a magic sandwich spell or something?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, desperately trying not to look as red as I felt.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I muttered, eyes glued to my notes, which were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

But the guys weren’t having it.

“Not a big deal?” Hangman drawled, wide-eyed in mock disbelief. “Buddy, she left the Hard Deck with you last night and brought you lunch today. That’s a big deal if I’ve ever seen one.”

I tried to respond, but the words got tangled somewhere in my throat, and I must’ve looked completely helpless, because Rooster let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin.

“You know what, man? Good for you,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder a little too hard.

“Yeah,” Fanboy added. “Don’t mess it up, Floyd.”

I groaned, rubbing my face, but there was no hiding the stupid grin pulling at my mouth, no matter how hard I tried to fight it.

Because…

She’d actually brought me lunch.

She’d thought about me.

And there was this small, quiet part of me—the part that usually stayed quiet—that felt like maybe… maybe this was the start of something.

Something real.

I wasn’t expecting anything, really. I’d dropped off a sandwich, teased him a little, and maybe, just maybe, hoped we’d run into each other again.

But then my phone buzzed the next morning, and there he was.

Bob Floyd:

Hey… I was wondering if you’re free for lunch today? I’d like to return the favor.

It took me a second to process the words.

And then I was grinning like an idiot.

I tapped out a quick reply.

Y/N L/N:

I’m free. Where are we going?

His reply came a minute later, like he was thinking it through carefully.

Bob Floyd:

There’s this little spot on the beach, near the base. Thought it might be nice.

A beach picnic.

Bob Floyd wanted to take me on a beach picnic.

I had to sit down for a second and just breathe.

⸻

(Y/N’s POV)

When I got there, he was already waiting—laid-back but clearly nervous, sitting cross-legged on a blanket with a small cooler next to him. He stood up fast when he saw me, rubbing the back of his neck and looking a little sheepish.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft, like he wasn’t sure if I’d actually show.

“Hey yourself,” I grinned, stepping onto the blanket as the ocean breeze tugged at my hair.

He opened the cooler, pulling out two sandwiches, a bag of chips, and a couple of sodas.

“I, uh… I didn’t know what you liked,” he admitted, his ears turning pink. “So I kind of just… guessed.”

It was so Bob—thoughtful, a little awkward, completely endearing.

I plopped down next to him, close enough that our knees brushed, and smiled.

“Perfect guess,” I said, bumping his shoulder gently.

For a while, we just talked—about nothing and everything. He told me about growing up in Kansas, his awkward first day at the Academy, the time he almost missed a flight because his alarm didn’t go off. And I told him about my job, my family, how I was still getting used to the new town.

And the whole time, I couldn’t stop noticing the little things.

The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way his voice softened when he asked me questions, like he genuinely wanted to know. The way he kept sneaking little glances at me, like he was surprised I was even there.

At one point, a gull swooped a little too close to the chips, and we both jumped, laughing so hard I had to lean into him for balance.

And when I did, his breath hitched just slightly, like even that small touch was enough to make his heart stumble.

That’s when it hit me—he was catching feelings.

Fast.

And honestly?

So was I.

After we finished our sandwiches, we sprawled out on the blanket, the sun warm on our skin, the ocean a soft roar in the background.

It felt… easy.

I stretched my arms over my head, eyes closed, the sound of Bob’s voice soft and low as he told me a story about a flight gone sideways, something about a radar blip that turned out to be a flock of birds.

I could feel him shifting next to me—his shoulder brushing mine when he laughed, his hand resting a little too close to mine on the blanket.

It was the kind of moment that felt like it could stretch forever—until the sun disappeared.

I opened my eyes, blinking at the sudden shadow.

The sky had turned dark, clouds rolling in fast, the breeze picking up in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

Bob sat up too, glancing up with a little frown. “Uh… I think that’s—”

A fat raindrop smacked onto the blanket. Then another. And then the sky opened up.

“Oh, shit!” I laughed, scrambling to gather the food wrappers as the rain came down hard, soaking us in seconds.

Bob was already on his feet, grabbing the cooler with one hand, the blanket in the other.

“Come on!” he shouted over the downpour, grinning like a maniac.

“I don’t have my car!” I called back, water dripping down my face.

He didn’t even hesitate.

“I do!”

We sprinted—full-on bolted—across the sand, shoes slipping, rain pelting us from every angle. By the time we reached his car, we were drenched.

Bob fumbled with the keys, and we practically dove into the front seats, slamming the doors shut behind us.

For a second, we just sat there, breathless, water dripping onto the floor mats, both of us laughing like idiots.

Bob wiped his hand down his face, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

“I swear,” he said, turning to me with this soft, amazed look, “you show up, and my whole life turns into a rom-com.”

I froze, caught between a laugh and something deeper—something warmthat pooled in my chest.

Because it did feel like a movie.

I tucked my hair behind my ear, still catching my breath, heart thudding in my chest.

“Guess I’ve got good timing,” I teased, but my voice was a little softer now.

Bob’s eyes lingered on me, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, and then he did.

“Can I… see you again?”

It came out a little hesitant, a little breathless, but there was something in the way he looked at me—like he really wanted the answer to be yes.

And I did.

I nodded, feeling my grin tug wide across my face. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Bob’s smile was everything.

And as the rain poured down around us, it felt like the start of something real.

The rain was still coming down in sheets, streaking across the windshield in fat, fast drops. We sat there in Bob’s car, soaked to the bone, the windows fogging up like we’d stepped into a steamy scene from a movie.

I let out a breath, pushing wet hair out of my face, still laughing a little under my breath.

Bob glanced over, and I caught the soft look in his eyes—like he couldn’t quite believe I was sitting there, dripping rainwater onto his passenger seat, smiling like a fool.

“I’m sorry about your car,” I said, biting my lip as I looked down at the little puddle forming at my feet.

Bob shook his head, his grin wide and boyish. “Don’t worry about it. I think it’s worth it.”

That made my chest do a weird, fluttery thing, and I felt my cheeks heat up—even though we were both already flushed from running in the rain.

For a beat, we just sat there, the sound of the storm filling the space, our breathing slowing.

I could feel his gaze on me—warm, steady, making my heart race in a way that felt dangerous but good.

“You’re gonna catch a cold,” he said quietly, like it was an excuse to fill the silence.

“Guess you’ll have to bring me soup next time,” I teased, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Bob’s smile deepened, and his ears went a little pink.

“Deal,” he murmured, his voice soft enough that it barely rose above the rain.

I felt it then—the moment. That quiet, suspended second where everything else faded: the storm, the fogged-up windows, the damp seats.

Just us.

Bob’s gaze flicked to my mouth, and I swear my breath hitched. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears, and I felt myself leaning in, just slightly, like I wasn’t even aware I was doing it.

But then—

Bob swallowed hard and looked away, his hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I, uh… I should probably drive you home,” he said, his voice a little rough around the edges.

I sat back, heart pounding, trying to hide the grin tugging at my lips.

“Yeah,” I said softly, “probably.”

⸻

The drive was quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. It was warm, this quiet understanding hanging in the air between us—like we both knew there was something here, but neither of us was ready to rush it.

When we pulled up outside my place, Bob shifted in his seat, turning toward me.

I reached for the door handle, but something made me pause.

“Hey,” I said softly, glancing at him. “Thanks for the picnic. Even with the storm, it was… really nice.”

He looked at me—really looked at me—and smiled that soft, sweet Bob smile that made my stomach do a little flip.

“I’m glad you came,” he said quietly, like it was more than just the lunch. Like he was glad I’d found my way into his world.

I stepped out into the rain, still grinning like an idiot, and as I closed the door behind me, I caught a glimpse of Bob sitting there in the driver’s seat—watching me go, his hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, his cheeks pink, and his smile lingering like he couldn’t help himself.

And I couldn’t help thinking that this wasn’t the end of something.

It was the start. 

I barely made it to my door before my phone buzzed.

Bob Floyd:

So, uh…

Would it be weird if I asked you on a real date?

I blinked, a little stunned—he texted me immediately. Like he couldn’t even wait five minutes.

And God, the nerves in that “uh…” were killing me.

I grinned, biting my lip as I texted back.

Y/N L/N:

I don’t know… that depends. What kind of date are we talking about?

It took him less than a minute to reply.

Bob Floyd:

I was thinking… a theme park?

You know, rides, games, funnel cakes… maybe you win me a prize or two.

I actually laughed out loud—Bob Floyd, the wholesome dork, asking me to a theme park like it wasn’t the most adorable thing I’d ever heard.

Y/N L/N:

You had me at funnel cake.

When?

His reply came so fast.

Bob Floyd:

Tomorrow, if you’re free?

Y/N L/N:

I’m in.

—

Bob was waiting for me in the parking lot the next day, hands in his pockets, looking nervous-cute in a plain t-shirt and jeans.

The whole afternoon was… fun. Like stupid fun. We ate greasy food, played every rigged carnival game in sight, and when Bob finally worked up the nerve to put his arm around me on the Ferris wheel, my heart melted.

He tried to win me a stuffed animal at one of those impossible games—ended up losing twice before I finally took over and actually won.

“You’re insanely good at this,” he said, laughing, as I handed him the prize—a ridiculous, pink, fluffy llama.

“I told you I’m dangerous,” I teased.

He smiled so wide, it made me want to grab his face and kiss him right there.

But I didn’t. Yet.

⸻

By the time we got in the car, it was late. Like, late late. I’d been talking nonstop about something dumb—a movie I liked, or maybe it was a funny story from work—and Bob was humming along, nodding, and then…

I must’ve fallen asleep.

Because the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a dark, unfamiliar room.

For a second, my heart jumped—until I smelled it. Laundry detergent. A hint of cologne.

Bob.

I sat up, blinking, taking in the room—neat, a little sparse, but warm.

And I was in his bed.

Bob had put me in his bed.

I pushed the blanket off, slipping to the doorway quietly—and there he was, asleep on the couch, one arm flung over his eyes, mouth slightly open.

My heart squeezed.

He could’ve woken me up. He could’ve asked where I lived. But instead, he’d let me sleep, given me his bed, and made himself uncomfortable on the couch.

The softest, most thoughtful man alive.

I bit my lip, smiling to myself, and went back to bed, curling up under the blanket that smelled like him.

This wasn’t just a fun date.

It was the start of something real.

The soft drip-drip-drip of rain on the window woke me up.

For a second, I had no idea where I was—until I stretched and felt the softest blanket ever wrapped around me. The faint smell of laundry soap and the subtle hint of cologne told me everything: Bob’s place.

I sat up slowly, hair messy, heart still racing from yesterday’s perfect date.

Carefully, I slid out of the bed and crept toward the living room.

Bob was still asleep on the couch���curled up awkwardly, one arm flung over his chest, the other hanging off the side. He looked so peaceful, his mouth slightly open, glasses pushed up on the coffee table like he must’ve taken them off before dozing off.

God. He was so cute.

I smiled to myself and grabbed a notepad and pen from the table, scribbling down a little note:

Thanks for the best date ever. And for not letting me sleep in the car, even though I totally would have.

P.S. Sorry for stealing your bed—next time I’ll bring snacks as payment.

-Y/N

I placed it on the coffee table, right where he’d see it when he woke up, then tiptoed into the kitchen to make coffee.

I was stirring in the sugar when I heard the soft rustle of movement.

A sleepy groan.

And then, the pause.

“…Y/N?” Bob’s voice, low and uncertain.

I peeked around the corner.

He was sitting up now, holding the note in his hands, eyes blinking slowly, like he hadn’t quite processed it yet.

And for a moment, I saw it—that little flicker of something in his eyes. Like he thought I’d left.

His fingers tightened on the note, his shoulders slumping a little.

Until I stepped into view.

“Hey,” I said softly, holding up a mug. “You take cream, right?”

Bob’s head snapped up, and the look on his face—pure disbelief.

“You’re still here,” he breathed, like it hadn’t fully clicked for him yet.

I grinned, biting my lip to hide how much hearing that did to me.

“Of course I’m still here,” I said softly, holding out the coffee.

Bob took it, his fingers brushing mine, and his cheeks flushed, a slow, pink warmth spreading across his face.

And I swear, if he wasn’t already falling for me, he was now.

We stood in the kitchen, both holding steaming mugs, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body.

The air between us felt charged, like the tiniest spark could set it off.

I caught Bob staring at me—really staring—like he couldn’t decide whether to memorize every part of my face or look away before he combusted.

His eyes drifted down to my mouth, and I felt my breath hitch, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it.

Bob swallowed, his throat bobbing, and it was like his entire being was focused on me—on this moment.

“You, uh… you’re really beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, voice low and a little rough.

I felt the smile bloom on my face, soft and slow, and I took a small step closer, so close our arms brushed.

“Yeah?” I whispered, tilting my head. “You only just figured that out?”

Bob’s eyes darkened, a little flicker of something new sparking in them—like he wanted to do something about it.

He shifted his mug to the counter, his free hand brushing tentatively over my hip, the touch so light it was almost a question.

I leaned in, closing the gap between us, my breath catching when his fingers tightened—just slightly, but enough to send a shiver down my spine.

And then—

His lips brushed mine, soft at first, like he was testing the waters.

But when I didn’t pull away—when I pressed in closer, tilting my head, kissing him back with a slow, aching softness—his hand tightened on my waist, drawing me in like he couldn’t help himself.

The mugs clinked softly as we set them down—forgotten.

Bob’s other hand slid up, fingertips grazing my jaw, tilting my face up so he could kiss me deeper—and God, he tasted like coffee and warmth and something softer, something pure Bob.

The tension between us snapped, like a rubber band stretched too tight.

I felt it in the way he breathed against my lips, in the way his hands moved to my waist, gentle but eager, like he wanted to memorize the curve of me.

I gasped softly into the kiss, my hands fisting in the fabric of his t-shirt  I pulled it off slowly, my eyes never leaving his, and tossed it aside. His chest was lean and muscular, his skin pale and dusted with a light scattering of freckles. I ran my hands over him, tracing the lines of his abs, the ridges of his shoulders, and he shivered beneath my touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his collarbone.

“You’re the beautiful one,” he countered, his voice thick with desire.

I smiled against his skin, my hands moving lower, to the button of his jeans. I undid it slowly, my fingers trembling slightly, and slid the zipper down. Bob’s breath hitched, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice a plea.

“Shh,” I whispered, pushing his jeans down his legs. He kicked them off, and I followed suit, shedding my own clothes until we were both bare. The air in the room felt charged, heavy with anticipation, and I could feel the heat of his gaze on my skin.

I straddled him, my knees on either side of his hips, and he looked up at me with wide, yearning eyes. His hands rested on my thighs, his touch feather-light, as if he was afraid to bruise me.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he breathed, his voice filled with awe.

I leaned down, capturing his lips in another kiss. “Tell me what you want,” I murmured against his mouth.

He hesitated, his cheeks flushing slightly, and I smiled. “It’s just us, Bob. You can tell me anything.”

He took a deep breath, his hands moving to my lower back. “I want you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “All of you.”

My heart swelled at his words, and I pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. “You’re going to have me,”I promised. “But first, I want to tease you a little.”

His eyes darkened with desire, and I felt his hands tighten on my skin. 

“Tease me?” he repeated, his voice rough.

I nodded, my lips curving into a mischievous smile. “I want to make you beg.”

He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, and I leaned down, my breath ghosting over his chest. I kissed my way down his body, my lips lingering on his nipples, his stomach, his hips. His skin was warm and smooth, and I savored the taste of him, the way he shivered and moaned beneath my mouth.

When I reached his erection, I paused, my hands resting on his thighs. He was hard and throbbing, his length thick and veins prominent. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and saw the raw need in his eyes.

“You like that?” I asked, my voice teasing.

He nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. “Please, Y/N,” he begged. “Don’t stop.”

I smiled, my fingers wrapping around him. “I’m not going to stop,” I assured him. “But I’m going to take my time.”

He groaned, his hands fisting in the cushions, and I began to move my hand up and down his length, slow and deliberate. His hips bucked slightly, and I pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Not yet,” I whispered. “I’m in control, remember?”

He nodded, his eyes closing as he tried to regain control. I leaned down, my lips brushing against the tip of his erection, and he gasped, his body tensing.

“Y/N,” he moaned, his voice pleading.

“What do you want?” I asked, my breath hot against his skin.

“I want you to—” He cut himself off, his cheeks flushing.

“What?” I prompted, my fingers tightening around him.

“I want you to suck my cock,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

I smiled, my lips curving into a wicked grin. “Anything for you, Lieutenant.”

I took him into my mouth, my lips wrapping around him, and he groaned, his hands tangling in my hair. I moved slowly at first, savoring the taste of him, the way he felt on my tongue. His hands tightened in my hair, his hips thrusting slightly, and I hummed in approval.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped. “That feels so good.”

I pulled back, my eyes meeting his. “Does it?” I asked, my voice teasing.

He nodded, his breath ragged. “Please, don’t stop.”

I smiled, taking him into my mouth again, this time deeper, my throat relaxing around him. He moaned, his hands gripping my shoulders, and I felt his body tense, his muscles tightening.

“Y/N, I’m close,” he warned, his voice hoarse.

I pulled back, my lips brushing against the tip of his erection. “Not yet,” I murmured. “I want us to come together.”

He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, and I leaned up, kissing my way back up his body. When I reached his lips, I pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, my hands resting on his chest.

“Are you ready?” I asked, my voice low and steady.

He nodded, his eyes burning with desire. “More than ready.”

I positioned myself above him, his erection pressing against my core, and slowly lowered myself onto him. He filled me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way, and I gasped, my head falling back as pleasure washed over me.

“Fuck,” I moaned, my hands gripping his shoulders.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his hands moving to my hips.

I began to move, my hips rocking against his, and he thrust up to meet me, our bodies moving in perfect sync. 

The room was filled with the sounds of our moans, the slickness of our skin, the creak of the couch beneath us. It was raw and primal, and I felt more alive than I ever had before.

“Y/N,” Bob gasped, his hands tightening on my hips. “I’m close.”

“Me too,” I admitted, my voice breathless. “Come with me, Bob. Let go. 

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, we just looked at each other, our hearts pounding, our breaths ragged. And then, with a cry that was equal parts pleasure and release, we came together, our bodies trembling as waves of ecstasy washed over us.

I collapsed onto his chest, my heart still racing, my body still buzzing with sensation. Bob’s arms wrapped around me, holding me close, and I felt a sense of peace settle over me, like I’d finally found where I was meant to be.

“That was—” he started, his voice hoarse.

“Incredible,” I finished for him, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

He smiled, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Incredible.”

—

Bob lay next to me, propped up on one elbow, the sheets tangled around his waist, a soft flush still dusting his cheeks and chest.

His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his lips were pinkand kiss-swollen.

And God, the way he was looking at me…

Like I was something he wasn’t quite sure he deserved—but he wanted me anyway.

His fingers skimmed my bare shoulder, tracing lazy circles, but there was a hesitance there. A question he wasn’t sure he should ask.

I watched his throat work as he swallowed, his eyes dropping to where my fingers were absently toying with the edge of the blanket.

“Can I… can I ask you something?” he said quietly, almost like he was afraid I’d vanish if he said it too loud.

I turned to face him fully, propping myself up on one arm, the sheet slipping a little—but I didn’t care.

“Of course,” I said softly.

Bob hesitated, his brows pulling together, and then he just… blurted it out.

“Was this… a one-time thing for you?”

The words hung there—heavy and hopeful all at once.

I blinked, surprised, and something in my chest tightened at the look in his eyes—like he was trying to play it cool, but I could see it: the quiet panic, the need to know.

I reached over and gently cupped his cheek, feeling the faint scratch of stubble under my fingers.

“No,” I said firmly, my voice steady.

His breath hitched—just the tiniest sound, but I heard it.

“Bob… this wasn’t just a one-time thing for me,” I continued. “You’re… you’re not a one-time thing.”

The tension in his shoulders eased, just a little, but I could see he still wasn’t fully convinced.

I shifted closer, letting my forehead rest against his, my voice a soft murmur.

“I like you,” I whispered, my fingers brushing the side of his neck. “I reallylike you. I want to see where this goes.”

Bob let out a breath like he’d been holding it in for hours. His hand slid up my back, slow and tentative, and when I glanced up at him, he was smiling—small, soft, stunned.

“Okay,” he said, voice low and softer than I’d ever heard it. “Okay.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like we were exactly where we were meant to be.

We were still tangled in the sheets, my head resting on Bob’s chest, listening to the soft rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers lazily traced circles on my bare shoulder, the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains like we were the only two people in the world.

It was perfect.

Until Bob’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He groaned softly, reaching for it while keeping his other arm around me. I glanced up at him, and he glanced down at the screen.

“Jake,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

I smirked. “Of course.”

Bob answered, voice scratchy. “Yeah?”

Jake’s voice crackled through the speaker, way too loud for this early in the morning.

“Robert!” Jake’s drawl practically oozed through the line. “Mav says if you get your ass to the Hard Deck tonight, he’ll cover the first round for the whole team. Says it’s a Dagger night.”

Bob rubbed his eyes, already sounding a little overwhelmed. “Okay, uh—yeah, sure. Thanks for the heads up.”

The Hard Deck was packed that night—music thumping, laughter spilling out into the warm night air.

Bob and I walked in together, and I could feel the eyes on us—especially from Jake, who was already at the bar, drink in hand, leaning back like he owned the place.

“Look who finally showed up!” Jake called out, a wide, wolfish grinspreading across his face.

Bob’s hand tightened on mine, but before he could say a word, Jake’s eyes raked over me—slow, deliberate, like he was making a point.

“Damn, L/N,” Jake drawled, ignoring Bob completely. “You clean up realnice. That dress is… a lot.”

I could feel Bob stiffen next to me, his jaw ticking as he tried to keep his cool.

I smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You like it?”

Jake’s grin widened, cocky as ever. “Hell yeah, I like it. Tell me, sweetheart, what’s a girl like you doing hanging around a guy like Floyd?”

Bob opened his mouth to object, but I beat him to it, turning fully to Jake, a playful smile tugging at my lips.

“I like Bob,” I said, my voice steady and sweet—but there was a little edgethere, just enough for Jake to feel it.

But Jake didn’t back down.

He stepped closer, way too close, his smirk full of challenge.

“Yeah?” he said, dropping his voice. “That’s cute. But if you ever want a real ride, sweetheart…”

I barely had time to react before Bob’s hand was at my waist, pulling me back into him, his fingers firm but gentle, like he was staking his claimwithout needing to say a word.

And that look on Bob’s face?

Possessive.

Like he wasn’t used to being the guy who got the girl, but he wasn’t about to let Jake take her, either.

I looked up at him, smiling softly, and leaned into his chest, just to make it clear.

Bob’s voice was low, almost a growl in my ear.

“She’s not interested, Jake.”

But Jake? Oh, he was thriving.

“Relax, Bobby,” he said, clapping Bob on the shoulder like they were best buds. “Just having a little fun.”

Bob’s grip on me tightened—just a little.

I turned my head to whisper in his ear, my voice soft and just for him.

“Relax, baby,” I murmured, brushing my lips lightly against the shell of his ear, watching the way he shivered. “I’m going home with you.”

And Bob?

His breath hitched, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes darkened as he looked at me like I’d just flipped his whole world upside down.

Jake didn’t stop.

All night long, it was one comment after another.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me buy your next drink.”

“Those shoes? Bet they’d look even better on the floor of my apartment.”

“You sure you’re not too much woman for Bob there? You’re a lot of girl, baby.”

Bob was trying—God, he was trying so hard to keep it together, but I could see the tension building, the way his jaw clenched tighter with every comment, his fingers twitching like he wanted to do something about itbut wasn’t sure if he should.

Me? I was eating it up.

Every time Jake tried to pull me into a conversation, I’d glance over at Bob—smirk, lean back just a little into him, let my hand rest on his knee when we sat down. I could feel the heat radiating off of him, could see how hard he was working to stay composed.

Until Jake—of course—pushed too far.

He leaned in, way too close, his voice a low purr in my ear, making sure Bob could hear every word.

“Come on, pretty girl… don’t you want a real man who knows how to handle you?”

Before I could respond—before I could snap back or shut it down—Bob was up.

Fast.

The chair scraped back, his hand curling firmly around my wrist.

“Excuse us,” Bob muttered, voice low and tight, and then he was leading me away—out of the bar, out into the warm night air, like he couldn’t breathe until we were away from the noise, from Jake, from everything.

He stopped just outside the entrance, turning to face me, his eyes dark and intense in the dim light, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, voice rough, like it was scraping out of his chest. “I can’t—I can’t listen to him talk to you like that. I know I’m probably being… I don’t know, stupid—”

“Bob—”

“No,” he interrupted, voice strained. “I like you, okay? I really like you. And I don’t know what this is yet, but I don’t want to share you with him, or anyone else.”

His hands hovered near my waist, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch me—like he was asking permission.

I closed the space between us, my hands resting lightly on his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palms.

“I told you,” I said softly, my voice a little breathless. “I’m going home with you.”

Bob’s breath caught. His hands slid to my hips, gripping just enough to make me feel owned in the best way.

And when he kissed me?

It was not the soft, tentative kiss from before.

It was desperate. Claiming. Messy.

Like he’d been holding back all night and just couldn’t anymore.

I felt his hands slide down, gripping my thighs, lifting me until I wrapped my legs around his waist, the cold wall of the building solid against my back.

His mouth was hot on mine, his breath ragged as he kissed me like he needed me, like he’d been waiting all night to make me his.

And I?

I let him.

Because this was Bob—my sweet, soft Bob—who had just a little bit of firein him when he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

And God, it was so good.

The drive back to Bob’s was quiet, but not in a bad way.

Bob’s hand was tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles white, and every once in a while, he’d glance at me like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out.

I could feel the tension rolling off him—guilt mixing with want. Like he was mad at himself for losing control, but also still buzzing from it.

When we got to his place, I followed him inside, the air between us thick, heavy, charged.

Bob shut the door behind us, standing there for a second with his back to me, his head bowed like he was trying to collect himself.

Then he turned, running a hand through his hair, his voice low and rough.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

I tilted my head, watching him. “For what?”

Bob let out a soft, frustrated noise, pacing a little.

“For… for that. For back there. For, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze, cheeks burning. “For, uh, grabbing you like that, outside the bar. For… for kissing you like I… I couldn’t stop myself. That wasn’t… I mean, I shouldn’t have…”

I bit my lip, stepping closer, my voice soft, teasing.

“You’re sorry for kissing me?”

Bob froze, eyes snapping to mine.

“No! I mean—yes. I mean—no. God.” His voice cracked, a flush creeping up his neck, and I could tell he was spiraling, trying to explain and apologizeat the same time, and it was adorable.

“I just—shit—I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of guy who—who doesthat. Who gets jealous and… and acts like a possessive asshole. I just—Jake was being… Jake, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t take it. The way he was talking to you, like you were just… just there for him to mess with, like I was supposed to sit there and take it—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

I stepped in then, closing the gap, my hands curling into the front of his shirt.

“Bob.”

His eyes met mine, wide and so goddamn sweet, like he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or terrified.

I rose onto my toes, brushing a soft kiss over his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

“I liked it.”

Bob blinked. “You… what?”

I smiled, letting my hands slide down his chest, my voice low.

“I liked the way you stood up for me. The way you… wanted me like that.”

Bob’s breath hitched, his hands hovering like he wasn’t sure if he could touch me yet.

“I’m still… sorry,” he whispered, almost like he couldn’t help it.

I tilted my head, teasing. “You’re so cute when you’re guilty.”

He huffed out a breath, a soft, helpless laugh, and finally—finally—let his hands settle on my waist, gentle and tentative, like I was something precious.

“God, you make me crazy,” he muttered, and the way he looked at me—like I was the most important thing in the room, in the world—made my chest ache.

I tugged him down, kissed him slow, soft, lingering.

And when we finally pulled back, breathless, Bob’s voice was a quiet, reverent whisper.

“Please tell me you’re staying.”

I smiled, pressing my forehead to his, my voice low and sure.

“I’m yours, Bob Floyd. Where else would I go?”

—

It starts as a casual suggestion at the Hard Deck.

Phoenix, with her feet up on the table, swirling a straw around in her drink, leans back and says, “Hey, Bob’s birthday is next weekend, right? We should do something.”

Jake perks up immediately, like a kid at recess. “Beach day.”

Bob nearly chokes on his beer, sitting bolt upright. “The beach?”

Phoenix grins, smug. “Yeah. Why not? We haven’t had a proper beach day in months. And it’s your birthday, Floyd.”

“I don’t know…” Bob mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting to me like he’s already feeling the pressure.

That’s when I chime in.

“Come on, Bob.” I nudge him with my elbow, flashing a little grin. “You deserve a day off. Sunshine, sand, good food, a couple drinks with friends… What’s not to love?”

Bob looks at me, and for a second, it’s like the rest of the room fades out.

He swallows, eyes warm.

“If you’ll be there… I guess I’m in.”

⸻

The plan snowballs from there—group chat blowing up, Phoenix and Jake taking over logistics, Fanboy offering to bring a grill, and me… I’m sitting on my couch, embroidery hoop in hand, working late into the night on a little surprise.

It’s kind of silly, I know. A custom patch for Bob’s flight bag—navy blue, with a tiny pair of glasses stitched in one corner and a banner that reads:

Lucky You

…because I like reminding him.

⸻

When the day finally arrives, Bob picks me up just after ten, a soft morning glow lighting up his profile as he drives.

We don’t say much at first, just the quiet shuffle of the radio and the occasional soft hum from Bob when a song he likes comes on.

But I can feel it. That little buzz in the air.

Before we pull into the beach lot, I gather my courage, digging the small box out of my bag.

“Hey… I, uh… made you something.”

Bob glances at me, curious, as I hand it over.

When he opens it, his eyes go wide.

“Y/N… you made this?”

His voice is so soft, like he’s afraid if he speaks too loud, the moment will break.

I shrug, suddenly shy. “Just a little something for your birthday. You know… in case you needed a lucky charm up there.”

Bob’s thumb brushes over the stitches like they’re gold, and then—God, I swear my heart skips a beat—he leans in and kisses me.

It’s gentle, careful, but there’s a little something more there, like he’s telling me something without words.

When we finally pull back, Bob just looks at me, his cheeks pink, and says,

“This is… the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

I’m still floating when we step onto the sand and the squad starts whistling and whooping like they’ve been waiting for us.

It’s chaos in the best way.

Fanboy and Payback are already wrestling in the sand, Phoenix is yelling about the rules of volleyball like her life depends on it, and Jake’s got two beers in hand, shirt half unbuttoned, doing his best Top Gun poster pose.

Bob?

Bob’s standing a little awkwardly off to the side, holding a cooler like it’s a shield.

“C’mon, Bob!” I grin, bumping his hip with mine. “Loosen up. It’s your birthday!”

“I’m trying,” he mutters, cheeks pink, but there’s a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that makes my heart squeeze.

Phoenix whistles across the beach. “Floyd! Get over here—Rooster needs a partner!”

Bob sighs, resigned, but before he goes, he looks at me. And it’s a look, alright—soft, lingering, like he’s still thinking about that patch I gave him in the car.

Like maybe he’s thinking about more than that.

⸻

Eventually, the games slow down, the beer runs low, and the sun starts sinking low and golden.

I’m stretched out on a towel, half-dozing, when Bob drops down beside me. His skin’s warm from the sun, his hair a little mussed from the breeze.

He lays back, arms folded behind his head, and lets out this soft, content sigh that makes my heart ache.

For a while, we just… exist.

No words. No pressure. Just the sound of waves, the distant chatter of the squad, and the slow, steady rhythm of Bob’s breathing next to mine.

I turn my head and watch him for a second. The little crinkle at the corner of his eyes. The faint sunburn across his nose. The way his lips part, just slightly, when he’s relaxed.

God, I could get used to this.

“You look happy,” I murmur, voice low.

Bob cracks one eye open, glancing at me with this soft, lopsided smilethat’s all mine.

“I am.”

And it’s so simple, the way he says it—like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Like being with me is what makes him happy.

-

Dinner is loud in the best way.

The restaurant is one of those open-air spots right on the beach, twinkle lights strung up across the patio, the sound of waves crashing in the distance. The squad is half-shouting, half-laughing over seafood platters and drinks.

Jake’s in full form, holding court at the table, telling some exaggerated story about a bar fight in Pensacola.

“He wasn’t that big,” Bob mutters under his breath, a little smile tugging at his lips.

I nudge him gently, and he looks at me like he’s so proud of himself for saying it out loud.

Jake, of course, hears everything.

“Oh, look at that! Bob’s getting sassy,” he says, grinning like a kid on Christmas. “Must be that new relationship glow, huh?”

The table howls, and Bob just ducks his head, cheeks flushed pink, but his hand finds mine under the table, and he gives it a squeeze.

I glance at him, and he’s looking at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Phoenix raises her glass. “To Bob Floyd—the luckiest birthday boy on the beach.”

The whole table cheers, and I lean in and press a soft kiss to Bob’s cheek, just to make him blush even more.

⸻

Later, at Bob’s apartment…

The air is quiet when we step inside, the glow of the lamps soft and warm. Bob kicks off his shoes and heads to the kitchen to grab us some water, and I wander into the bathroom to wash my face.

That’s when I see it—my toothbrush, still sitting there in the cup by the sink.

I pick it up, smiling to myself, and when I come back out, Bob’s waiting for me in the doorway.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure if you’d want to keep it here, but I thought… maybe…”

I grin and step close, hands on his chest, feeling the soft cotton of his t-shirt under my fingers.

“I do,” I whisper, voice soft.

He lets out this relieved little breath, like he’s been holding it in all night.

And then he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine, voice low and gentle.

“Stay the night?”

I nod, heart pounding.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he murmurs, and it’s so simple, so easy, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because with Bob?

It is.

-

The morning sunlight is soft and golden, streaming through the curtains like warm honey.

Bob’s arms are wrapped around me, his face nuzzled into the crook of my neck, and I’m half-drifting, half-awake, perfectly content in the little cocoon of his sheets.

His breath is warm on my skin, slow and steady, and I smile, tracing a lazy finger across the freckles scattered on his chest.

“You’re gonna make me fall back asleep,” Bob mumbles, voice still rough and sleepy, like he hasn’t fully woken up yet.

“Is that a bad thing?” I tease, grinning as I roll onto my side to face him.

He opens his eyes—those soft, blue eyes—and looks at me like I’m the only person in the world.

“Nah,” he says quietly, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not a bad thing at all.”

We stay like that for a while, just… being.

I brush my teeth while he makes coffee. He finds a random Spotify playlist and starts humming along to a song I don’t recognize. I steal one of his t-shirts from the laundry pile and he just shakes his head with a smile like he’s helpless to stop me.

It’s domestic bliss.

Until his phone buzzes—loud against the countertop.

Bob glances at it, his whole face shifting from soft to focused in a split second.

I lean on the counter, watching as he answers.

“Floyd,” he says, voice clear and steady.

His expression tightens as he listens—eyes narrowing, a line forming between his brows.

“Yes, sir. I���ll be there.”

He hangs up, takes a breath, and then turns to me with a smile that’s a little too practiced.

“Hey,” he says, voice light, “it’s just a thing—Mav needs us for a briefing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. “Bob… what kind of thing?”

“Just… you know. Navy stuff.” He shrugs, but it’s too casual, like he’s trying to downplay it.

But I can see it—the way his shoulders are a little too tense, the way his hands are just slightly shaking as he picks up his keys.

“Be safe,” I say softly, brushing my fingers across his knuckles.

He pauses, looking down at me like he wants to say something else—like there’s more, something he can’t tell me.

Then he leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead, lingering there for just a second longer than usual.

“I will,” he murmurs.

But when the door shuts behind him, there’s a tightness in my chest that won’t go away.

Because I know.

Something’s wrong.

— days later

The room I was waiting in smells like stale coffee and fear.

I’m pacing, my phone clutched tight in my hands, staring at the door like if I focus hard enough, he’ll walk through it.

When the call came through—a bad mission, heavy losses, Bob’s squad involved—I dropped everything. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since.

Then the door slams open, and there he is.

Bob.

Alive.

His uniform is rumpled, helmet tucked under his arm, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes.

For a second, he just stares at me, like he’s not sure if I’m real.

And then I run.

I crash into him, and he catches me, his arms wrapping tight around me, the helmet clattering to the floor. I’m sobbing, clutching the back of his flight suit, fingers digging in like I’ll never let go.

He’s shaking—God, he’s shaking—and when I pull back to look at him, there are tears in his eyes, too.

“I’m here,” he whispers, voice broken. “I’m here, I’m okay.”

I press my forehead to his, breath catching in my throat, relief flooding me so hard my knees almost give out.

“I thought—” I can’t even finish the sentence.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “I know.”

⸻

Later, at Bob’s apartment…

We sit on the couch in the dim glow of the living room, the silence thickbetween us.

Bob hasn’t let go of my hand once—not since we left the base, not even now, as he stares down at the floor, his thumb trembling against mine.

“I almost died out there,” he says quietly, voice raw and rough.

I suck in a breath, my chest tightening.

Bob looks at me, eyes shining, haunted, like he’s seeing the moment all over again.

“And when it happened… when I thought that was it… all I could think about was you.” His voice breaks, and my heart shatters.

“I thought about how I’d never get to tell you how much you mean to me. How I’d never get to see you smile again or hear you laugh at my dumb jokes. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave without telling you this.”

He reaches into his pocket, hands shaking, and pulls out a small velvet box.

My breath catches.

“It’s not the real thing,” he says quickly, voice rushing, rambling like he can’t stop. “It’s a placeholder—because I want you to pick out exactly what you want. But I couldn’t—I couldn’t not do this. I love you, Y/N. I love you so much it’s terrifying, and if you say yes, I’ll quit. I’ll leave the Navy tomorrow. I’ll find another job, I’ll do anything, because I can’t—”

I cut him off with a kiss, tears streaming down my face, my hands cupping his cheeks.

“Yes,” I whisper against his lips. “Yes, Bob. Of course, yes.”

He lets out this shaky breath, like the weight of the world just dropped off his shoulders, and he pulls me into his lap, arms wrapped tight around me.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmurs, voice thick with tears. “Never.”

And in that moment, I know—neither of us ever will.

—

I wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Bob humming quietly in the kitchen.

Sunlight spills through the windows, catching the glint of the little placeholder ring on my finger—his ring, the one he pulled out with shaking hands and so much love.

I smile, stretching lazily, the sheets tangled around my legs. My heart feels so full it’s a little ridiculous.

Bob turns when he hears me pad into the kitchen, his hair still messy from sleep, his t-shirt hanging loose over his pajama pants.

He gives me that soft, shy smile that melts me every time.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, holding out a mug.

I take it, my fingers brushing his, and he lingers, like he can’t help but touch me.

For a while, we just stand there, sipping coffee in comfortable silence. It feels so… normal. So easy.

But then, the words from last night echo in my head.

“I’ll quit the Navy tomorrow.”

I set my mug down and turn to him, heart suddenly tight in my chest.

“Bob…” I start, voice soft.

He looks at me, eyes wide and bright, like I’m the only thing in the world he sees.

“I meant it, you know,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll leave. I’ll leave it all if it means I get to come home to you every night.”

My heart aches at how sincere he is—how much he loves me.

But I shake my head, stepping closer, resting my hands on his chest.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t leave the Navy because of me. That’s your dream, Bob. It’s who you are. And I love you for it.”

His breath catches, and he looks at me like I’ve knocked the air out of him.

“But I almost—”

“I know,” I say quickly, cupping his face, my thumbs brushing his cheeks. “I know. And I’m scared, too. But you’re happy there, Bob. You love it. And I won’t be the reason you give that up.”

He pulls me into his arms, holding me so tight I can feel the thump-thump-thump of his heart under my cheek.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice cracking.

“I love you more,” I whisper back, smiling through my tears.

And we stay like that, just holding each other, the coffee forgotten, the morning sun warm on our skin.

Eventually, Bob pulls back, brushing my hair behind my ear, and says, voice soft and a little playful,

“So… does this mean I get to keep you forever?”

I grin, resting my forehead against his.

“Looks like it,” I whisper.

⸻

But as we stand there, wrapped up in each other, Bob’s phone buzzes on the counter.

He sighs, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before he checks it.

And his face goes still, eyes scanning the message, his jaw tightening.

“Babe?” I ask, heart skipping.

He looks at me, hesitating.

“It’s Mav,” he says quietly. “He needs me to come in… says it’s important.”

My heart clenches, a quiet whisper of fear starting up again in my chest.

Bob leans in, brushing a soft kiss across my lips like a promise.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he says.

But as he walks out the door, I can’t shake the feeling—

That this is just the beginning.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

The Void

Hey guys! I haven’t written anything in a long while, so I’m a little rusty but I just saw thunderbolts and I ship Bob with Yelena, they are soulmates 😭

Anyway, pls forgive any errors

——————

Bob x Yelena

No warnings - just soft yearning

——————

The loss of her sister had been the string that frayed all the stitches that held Yelena’s heart together. Her pseudo family had been the only real thing she had known and now even something that had been make believe did not exist anymore.

What memories could she replay if all of them were fake?

What moments could she take solace in when her life required her to be on the move constantly?

It felt rather grey. Nothing to laugh about or no company to do it together. All she could do was reminisce and that was not a great habit, cause you can’t control it. You reminisce the good and it reminds you of the bad.

She found her way back to the base, or so that’s what everyone called it instead of calling it what it was, their home. This suburban mansion that belonged to Bucky now had become a share house. The Red guardian’s snores could be heard in the living room, Ava and Walker were arguing about something as usual in the backyard as faint snippets of their conversation slipped through. Bucky was away trying to salvage votes for his campaign and she had just finished her shift at the local youth facility.

Purpose.

To reshape the life of young women and in a way slowly, pull away the years she had lost herself in the red room. But whatever said, it was heavy work. And now she held all this weight she had gathered through the stories of the lives of these girls.

She heard the shuffling of pots and plates in the kitchen and then followed by the single beep of a button. Which had gotten the dishwasher started. She didn’t want to startle him, but it was one of her favourite moments, to watch Bob do the dishes. He stood by the sink washing his hands and as though he could sense her, he found her gaze. The soft smile breaking through his rather placid expression, which only Yelena had the power to do. To get him to feel light.

“You’re back early.”, he stated but she could sense the happiness in the tone of his voice.

“Did you miss me?”, she asked sarcastically as she folded her arms, a smile forming on her face, one she couldn’t hide. To which he paused, wiping away his wet hands as he gazed at her. As though he was in awe and in peace at the same time.

“I did.”, he gave her a soft nod followed by a genuine smile.

Yelena drew closer, her weight slowly eroding away. Unable to look at anything else, his soft sweater adding colour to his complexion, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. What if there existed a world they had both met each other when everything was right? Would it have still worked? Would they have still connected?

“It suits you.”, Bob said gently as he looked away. His cheeks flushing pink.

“What suits me?”, Yelena furrowed her brows as he slowly drew close to her, putting away the cloth on the counter top.

“When you smile, your eyes light up.”, he stated as though it was a common fact but it made her feel soft. She never had the luxury to feel soft towards anything in her line of work. But with Bob it was different. It was as though they were the physical form of kindness they had once deserved.

“That’s cause you like looking at me.”, she said playfully to which he averted his gaze but found the courage to look into her eyes again.

How had they managed to close the space between them? She could never tell.

“Maybe I do.”, he said softly, as though it wasn’t for the world to hear, it was only for her.

Yelena wanted to stay in this moment, this softness, nothing in the world could touch it now. So she reached forward and pushed back a strand of hair to stand on her toes and place a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Then do it more often.”, she said quietly.

“I spent a lot of my life learning how to hide.”

The shy demeanour had faded from him as he heard her statement, his hand found her waist as he pulled her into a hug, burying his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

Yelena gripped onto his shirt as she closed her eyes and gave herself the chance to just be. Even without too many words, they understood each other, the weight of their past lives.

“Yelena..”, he hummed as though he had so much to share.

“I know.”, she responded as she held onto him tighter.

“I know you.”, she added and his hold tightened.

“You were the light in my darkness and now I cannot comprehend a life without you in it.”, he spoke as his lips brushed her skin.

Little did he know, that even in his darkest, he helped her see through the light and by doing so, become stronger. She pulled away and he reluctantly let go. Her eyes boring into his features that made his blush turn darker.

“What?”, he questioned as he fiddle with the ends of her hair.

“I’m just glad you’re not blonde anymore.”, she smiled to which he pulled her into his embrace again. But it meant more than that. She was glad he wasn’t controlled by anyone, glad that now he could just exist as he was.

His arms wrapped around her with fondness, sighing with content as he tucked his face into her neck.

His world was so much more bigger now, wasn’t just a little room he was confined in anymore, for the first time there was soft afternoon light flooding around him. He placed his forehead on hers and all he could feel was that void in him not exisiting anymore. Now he felt full. He felt light, maybe if he believed it thoroughly, he could become it.

But for now, he was here, not in a lab, not in a maze but with her. Where everything felt soft and real

The sentry was not there anymore. In its place was the love he had always craved, only now, he didn’t have to fight for it. She gave it to him freely.

———

Hope you liked it 🫶

[duskbornraven]

Midnight Oil

When I die send me to The Pitt, but only on night shift. Wrapping up some wips I've been sitting on for way too long.

Paring: John Shen x f!Reader

Warnings: mostly fluff, minor injury to reader, general work crush embarrassment, no use of y/n, female reader, not beta read

Summary: You get hurt trying to check out the local hot doctor who visits your coffee shop. He winds up checking you out as well.

Word Count: 3k

You never minded working Thursdays at the coffee shop, especially on nice summer nights like tonight was shaping up to be. You could manage to actually work the floor most of the night compared to the weekends, which is why you had even agreed to come on as shift manager. And for a manager role there  wasn’t really much to it outside of helping with schedules and being the authority figure. 

At least on the night shifts, you had heard some crazy stories from the opening shift. Granted open was at noon and compared to the hundreds of other shops in the city it was a very late start to the day. Though that was the entire point, the shop was open from noon to seven in the morning. It was meant to be specifically for the night shift. Those who found comfort in the way the city moved in the shadows. Or the more common occurrence of the overtaxed college students and unfortunates who got saddled with the night shift until something opened on days.  

You honestly would have probably burnt out at any other customer service job. This place had its perks. Being able to leave the door open to bring in the warm breeze was certainly one of them. The gentle rumble of traffic and the occasional shout echoing down the road was excellent background noise when the place was empty. 

One of the nicer perks was the owner tending to hang around for the first few hours of your shift, meaning you could get most of the way caught up in the office. Angel generally would linger in the doorway to the office while you got yourself set up at the computer, telling you about first shift drama or what was new with her and the family. 

It very much helped that your boss was phenomenal at making coffee and would always have something new for the shifts to try throughout the week. And the free coffee, good or not, was really one of the main reasons you kept coming back. 

“And I am sick of him calling in at the last minute, I think we need a new day shift lead.” Angel was explaining while you updated availability for one of the new hires starting next week. 

“You’ve been saying that since before I started. He’s your brother, fire him if you want.” You didn’t look up from the computer, focused on not getting the rows mixed up while comparing the paper form in front of you. 

“Yeah but you know-” She trailed off and started out of the office “Hey John, you’re almost never on Thursdays.” She had turned her attention to whatever regular had walked through the open doors. 

“Normally, but I swapped shifts so he can have my day off next weekend.” You froze the second he started talking. You would be mortified if anyone called you on it, but recently the biggest perk was getting to see this specific regular. Doctor John Shen. The man was the ideal customer, always knew what he wanted, never complained about the lines. He was all some of the girls on the night shift would talk about initially.  

You hadn’t thought anything of him at first admittedly, he was handsome and left a decent tip most of the time. But the more he came in the more you caught yourself noticing him, how he carried himself, memorizing his drink order and schedule without really meaning to. He was laid back, to put it mildly but not in the overly confident sense. It was like the man was just good at carrying weight on his shoulders and not letting it drag him down. 

You pushed the rolling chair back to better look at him through the door. Which, to your absolute mortification, managed to crash backwards into the hard wood of the back office floor head first. Instantly a sharp throbbing pain shot through the back of your head, the sharp stab of heat that usually accompanied pain close behind. 

“Jesus, you alright?” The sound of fast approaching footsteps broke past the ringing in your ears. 

You managed a groan and tried to force yourself upright, blinking tears out of your eyes. Only to have a pair of hands stop you. “Woah,stay still for a second alright?” 

Your vision clearing slightly your eyes focused on your boss kneeling beside you and keeping you still beneath him was John. His eyes flicked between each of your pupils. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay” The back of your head was throbbing still, the occasional sharp sting adding to the aching pain. You went to sit up again and once again were held back by a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’m fine, really.” 

When he didn’t let go right away you pushed his hand from your shoulder. “It’s Thursday night, I’m at work, I just fell out of the chair.” Sitting up did very little to ease the pain at the base of your skull, a now persistent sting accompanying the warmth. 

“No nausea?” John adjusted to sit back in front of you on the floor,his eyes still searching yours carefully.  

“Not as far as I can tell.” You were also mentally checking off what little you knew about head injuries. Which admittedly wasn't much more than had already been checked off the list. “I’ll ice it and keep an eye on it to make sure. 

“Let me at least check you out in better lighting.” He held out a hand to help you to your feet. “Make sure you’re okay before I get into work.” 

You let him pull you off the floor, a little too aware that despite the injury this was the closest you had ever been to him. Usually there was at least a foot of counter between the pair of you. But now following him out to the floor you felt more aware. There were no machines for you to hide behind out here. Luckily for you the odds of making more of an idiot out of yourself were almost impossible. 

The shop was, thankfully still empty, or you would have insisted that you went back into the closer, darker space of the office. Out here it felt less like some secret thing. You sat yourself at a table, the ach in your head already slowly subsiding. 

“Yell at me if this hurts too much.” A familiar voice from behind you, the sound of latex stretching followed. 

“Good thing you came prepared.” You hissed lightly as his hand brushed over where you must have landed. 

“I honestly don’t know how many gloves I’ve taken home. Mostly by accident.” His touch was light as it brushed hair out of the way to get a better look. “But I don’t think I needed this one, you’re not bleeding at least.” 

He dropped heavily into the chair across from you, as casual as always. “You’re lucky. Could have been a lot worse and I would have made you come visit me to work.” You couldn’t pretend your cheeks didn’t burn a little at that. “You should be good, get some ice on it, take it easy and if you feel worse go get checked out.” 

Angel joined you at the table, sliding a coffee over to him. “For the help” She offered  with a smile. 

“Well how can I turn that down.” John accepted the drink, taking a slow sip from the mouth of the cup and checking the display on his watch. “I do have to run actually. I’ll never hear the end of it if I’m late to cover.” 

He was halfway out the door when he turned back to look you in the eye once more. “I mean it about seeing a doctor if that gets worse. I don't want to come back to find out that something happened to you.” With that he was out the door and down the street. 

You watched him go, the usual excitement that followed his visits was there as alway, but something more also bubbled under the surface. Last week you had hardly said a word to him when he came through for his usual. And today he had taken care of you, gone out of his way to double check. You knew there was some level of responsibility for helping even off the clock. It was still nice to know that he cared enough to take care of you, and didn’t give you a hard time for it. 

It was hard to deny that seeing the doctor in him come out, the softer demeanor, the sole focus on you. It was sweet, and incredibly attractive. You hadn’t realized that you had been lost in thought until a voice behind you snapped out of it. 

“Are you okay? I can hang around for a little longer.” You winced away as something cool was pressed to the back of your head.

“I’ll be okay once some back up shows, you don’t have to stay late for me.” You took the makeshift ice pack and held it to the back of your head. She was still watching you like you might break on her. “I swear I will call you if I need to leave early. And besides I already saw a doctor technically. I’m as close to medically cleared as I’m going to get tonight.” 

That got the world weary sigh from her that you had come to expect. Along with the familiar smile. “Just try not to let the shift get any worse, I don’t know if I can handle any more stress in one day.” 

You spent the rest of the hour finishing your paperwork in the office. Occasionally venturing out to get a drink or refresh your ice. Often shooing your worried friend away to actually work when there were customers in the shop. 

Once the rest of the night shift began to filter in you transitioned to working the floor. The pain was mostly gone by now only the dull ache and the shame lingered. You had fallen on your ass and made someone else late to work, probably. All because you wanted to look a little cooler when you were checking him out for once. 

Not to mention that now your co-workers were stuck doing most if not all of the heavy lifting the rest of the shift since they instituted that you took it easy. You had hit your head, it wasn’t like they found you lying unconscious in the walk-in but they had been bullied into making you take it easy. It was hard to refuse Angel even if you ignored that fact that she owned the place. 

Your night was turning into a painful, embarrassing slog as you had to explain over and over to the overnight team as they trickled in that you had fallen on your ass. That you would be fine because with your stupid luck a doctor had happened to be on standby. 

Unfortunately, most of your team knew you well enough to start putting the pieces together of what that meant. Which made for far too many jokes about you getting hurt just to get the doctor to check you out for a change. By the time you were finally making your final rounds it felt like you had been there for an eternity, a special shift from the depths of embarrassment hell. 

John however had spent the first hour so half expecting you to come wandering into the ER. And yes, that may be the doctor brain rushing to the worst case scenario. But it also wasn’t impossible. When you didn’t show up though it was easier to let himself slip into the flow of work, focusing on actual patients. 

It wasn’t until after his first full rotation of the unit he was actually able to stop and clock that hours had passed and the pretty barista hadn't come through the doors. He took the minute he had to catch up on his charting, before the next crisis knocked him off his feet anyways. 

“You better be careful coming in the next few weeks.” He slid up to Ellis at the computer, catching her eye over the monitor. 

“Why would you say that?” She sighed, head falling back in exasperation. “Are you trying to spread your weird back luck curse to me?” 

“I’m just saying, I had that barista take a fall at my coffee place and Abbot’s whole car accident thing a while ago. You better be careful.” He shrugged. “Night shift has some weird luck going around.” 

“And now you’ve said it to me so for sure something’s going to happen.” She sighed, pushing away from the computer. “Do yourself a favor and quit talking about it before you put the poor girl in the ER tonight.” 

To his credit, he kept his mouth shut about it. It did help that it was a nightmarish night all around. He didn’t even really have the time to think about you let alone bring up his pre-shift heroics again. 

But as the day shift trickled in you crept back into his head. It wasn’t lost on him that you could have gone anywhere else in the city to get checkout if you had gotten worse. Something that didn’t sit right with him at all. 

Over the next few days he swung by the shop, even if he was technically off. If you were in he could at least follow up and make sure that you were okay. And if you weren’t? He would at least get the coffee and he could come back the next night. 

He probably could have called ahead and asked, he was well aware he was enough of a regular that the owner knew his drink order. But that was hardly on him, the shop was on the way to work and made some of the best coffee he had been able to get his hands on. 

So here he was making his regular coffee runs, just a little more frequently. And for his peace of mind it was worth it. Besides, whether he was willing to admit it to himself or not, the coffee wasn’t really the only reason he liked visiting the shop. Maybe he had been swinging by specifically on nights you usually worked for a while. 

Maybe he had just so happened to notice that you always made sure to make his order for him. He had been hoping for a better excuse to actually have a conversation with you. Offer to hang out when both of you could get off, which shouldn’t be difficult to plan considering your shifts usually lined up. 

It was a few nights after your encounter and the front door opened letting the scent of fresh summer rain in with it. Along with a very rain soaked John. Still as relaxed as ever, seemingly unbothered by the sudden chill of the air conditioning. 

He wasn’t dressed for a shift this time around, which wasn’t totally out of the usual. It wasn’t like your shop was in an inconvenient location. But the way the rest of the shift vanished on you was in fact out of the usual. Leaving you alone on the floor to take his order. Which was something you were sure you could recite in your sleep by now. 

“Yo, there’s my favorite barista. Glad you didn’t wind up coming to visit me at work.” He leaned in, arms folded on the counter. “Though I am apparently cursed so I didn’t put that out there.” He shot you a knowing smile, like you were already in on the joke. 

“Cursed?” You stepped closer to the machines to get his drink at least started. Ignoring the rush that came with being his favorite. Not that it really meant anything, he just happened to see you more than the others. One of those perks that came with management. 

“So I’m told, if you believe in that superstitious shit.” He followed you around to the machine as he spoke, warm eyes catching yours whenever possible as you worked. “Though I don’t know if I’ve actually seen proof of it yet.” 

“Well thank you for not spreading that to me I guess.” You laughed, steam blocking your vision for a moment. “That’s another thing I owe you for.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head slightly. “Literally just my job, doesn’t hurt to help.”His hands were in his pockets while he watched you work. “Though I have been known to work for coffee, every once in a while” His head tilted as he spoke, that smile widening. 

“Well luckily for you, I am something of an expert when it comes to coffee.” You offered him the cup, as usual relishing the tiny moment of contact when your fingers brushed over each other. He is free and sliding a torn and folded piece of paper across the counter to you. 

“I’m not doubting that.” His tone didn’t change but you felt the way his gaze shifted, refocusing on the paper between you. Once the paper slipped into your hand he added, “A little old school I know. I figured we could broaden your horizons a bit. Maybe get you some expertise in some of these local restaurants? We could go and grab dinner one of these nights.” 

The scrap of paper in your hand suddenly felt a little heavier, a little more alive in your hands. Unfolding it revealed John printed in classic, half legible doctor handwriting. Below that his phone number, perfectly legible. “I think it would be good to explore.” 

He would have had to be blind to miss the way you hardly fought back your smile, the way your hands shook just a little. From nerves or excitement it was hard to say, maybe a little of both. It almost didn’t feel real. Like it was all some fever dream and you really had hit your head much harder than you thought. You would wake up any second on the office floor, back at square one. 

Instead you watched the smallest hint of tension drain from his shoulders. “Good, I might already have a place or two lined up. Just in case.” Another easy shrug, his hand returned to his pocket. “Just text me when you have some time off. We’ll make it work.” 

“I’ll get back to you before the shift is over.” Happy with your answer he backed away from the counter, drink in hand and headed for the door. He had turned around and went to push out the door before he glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh and be careful the rest of the night, would hate to have to have you show up at work before I see you again.” With that slightly ominous warning he dipped back into the rain and vanished into the night. 

[codacheetah]

Tell me your opinions on the stuff. Any stuff.

Grins. Smiles, even

I'm using you as an excuse to infodump my theory about the Island because I've had no in to do that, and my theory is pure opinion. Anyways:

THE ISLAND IS STUCK IN THE FUCKING FUTURE

(SCARE CHORD)

Hi so you might ask me. What the fuck do you mean by that. Well. Let's start with what we know about the Island, the King, and Wish Craft. (long ass post under cut. sorry)

The Island was redacted from the perception of outside world, via Wish Craft.

Wish Craft has the power to enable Time Craft. We see this primarily through Siffrin's timeloops, but also through the King's powers.

One of the King's powers is to show the saviors a "vision of the future."

...And this same attack is deflected back at the King by Mirabelle in ACT 5, in which the King is able to see the Island before being frozen in time.

...So. The King's "vision of the future." We're never told explicitly what this vision is. All we know is that it's apparently powerful enough to wipe the party in one hit, hearing it from a distance hurts your head, and that whatever Siffrin (and Loop) saw, they don't seem to actually be able to describe it. Even the King himself doesn't know what his vision entails.

We don't know whether the party all sees the same thing when struck by the vision, and Adrienne's answer to the question about it in the Reddit AMA is. vague? It's not a "no," and the specific wording makes me think the answer might be yes. But that's me reading into it.

Now. What do we know about the Island's redaction? The Island was affected by the wish recently, as in "like a decade ago" recently. We know that nobody in Vaugarde or the rest of the world is capable of thinking about the Island, anything closely tied to the Island's culture, or people on the Island for very long. When they do recall these things, they slip right out of reach. Particularly, the consequence for trying to think about the Island (or, more specifically, break the wish that forces the Island out of perception) is significant pain, localized in the head.

And that said pain is enough to become lethal, if pressed hard enough.

From here forward I'm running with the assumption that the King's "vision of the future" is not personalized to any individual, and is unchanging throughout the course of the whole story. Now. Remember the end of ACT 5, where the King gets hit with the deflected "vision of the future", and instead of dying, he recalls the Island and gets frozen in time? Very odd, yeah? Why wouldn't the King just die like everyone else does? He even does take 9999 damage when trying to say its name, like Siffrin does, and like the party does when they're hit by the attack.

Well. We know that he has a "true wish" that the ability to freeze Vaugarde in time grants. I don't think it's at all a stretch to guess that the King's "true wish" is to be able to remember the Island. My personal guess is that the King (and Siffrin) brought this "true wish" into effect via the "SAY ITS NAME" sequence- he even tries three times, a significant number in wishing.

The King (and Siffrin's) wish breaks, because it can't be fulfilled in this moment without breaking the wish to prevent the Island from being thought about. However. Consider the conditions at the end of ACT 5- the King sees the vision of the future reflected back to him, and what he sees is the Island. He remembers the Island, fulfilling his own wish, and is frozen in time. I consider this a compromise between his wish and the one binding the Island- the King gets to remember the Island, but nobody alive is able to think about it, because he's frozen in time; it's like the Universe is correcting itself (I WILL GET BACK TO THIS). The wish of all of Vaugarde to defeat the King is fulfilled, since he is no longer a threat, and Siffrin's wish wraps itself up soon after.

MY POINT BEING. The King's attack is a vision of the future. This "future" is of the Island, in some uncorrupted state. The saviors see it when he attacks them, and he sees it when it is deflected back to him.

The logical next question is "okay, so the Island exists in the future, but how do you know time shenanigans are even related to the Island?"

Recall a very odd series of interactions throughout the game, in which you try to interact with a piece of equipment that you already own.

The game rewinds slightly, before the item disappears, as the Universe corrects itself.

This is awfully similar to two particular events: looping back without seeing the death screen, and talking to the Daydreaming One about her sister. The latter is more interesting to me for the purposes of this theory.

In both instances, something is misaligned within the Universe (an item existing in two places, someone remembering something they're not supposed to) and it is corrected through some sort of rewind. Also compare the dialogue above to when you try to give Mirabelle the Stylish Bow when you already own it.

The world glitches, but Siffrin defuses the situation before the Universe has to intervene. Omitted from the screenshot is the fact that Mirabelle's portraits switch to happy from "catastrophically anxious" with no transition after Siffrin shows her where the bow is. Important to note is that when Mirabelle tries to recall receiving the bow, her head hurts, much like how trying to break the Island wish causes a headache.

The Universe leads you away from perception, and you can only follow.

My theory that I keep circling around is that through Wish Craft, the Island has been displaced temporally. The denizens of the Island, as well as the Island itself, still exist, but they are in the future. The Island is still loaded into the world, like how equipment is before you try to interact with it, and the Island cannot leave this quantum state, because it never actually went anywhere. The magnitude of the redaction event is so severe with the Island, because it is so much larger as an entity than a sword or a bow. There are of course things I don't really have pieced together, like why somebody would wish the Island into the future, how far into the future it is, or why equipment behaves this way. But it's the only Island theory I've seen that I have some level of confidence in, so I might as well lay out my cards for it.

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: Not read through properly, kissing, cheesy.

Leah Williamson x Walsh!Reader: Crossed Lines.

MasterList

Keira Walsh and Leah Williamson had been inseparable since childhood. From kicking a ball around their local park to dominating on the pitch for club and country, they shared a bond that was unbreakable. Leah cherished Keira as a best friend, but there was one secret she kept locked away—her feelings for Keira younger sister, Y/n Walsh.

Y/n had always been in and out of their lives, busy with her own career and ambitions. Though she wasn’t in the football world like Keira and Leah, her visits home were always filled with warmth and laughter. Leah had fallen for Y/n years ago—the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, her sharp wit, and her unwavering support for Keira and Leah’s football dreams. But Leah had never dared to admit it, not to Keira, and certainly not to Y/n.

One evening, after a hard training session, Keira invited Leah over for a casual family dinner. Leah hesitated but agreed. It had been a while since she’d seen Y/n, and the thought of her made Leah’s heart race in a way she couldn’t quite control.

The Walsh household was lively, as always. Y/n greeted Leah with a warm hug, her familiar scent making Leah’s head spin. Throughout the meal, Leah found herself stealing glances at Y/n, who seemed to catch her eye more than once. Keira, oblivious, was busy recounting training antics, while Y/n quietly observed Leah, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Later that evening, as Y/n disappeared upstairs to grab some old photographs, Leah found herself alone with Y/n in the cozy living room. The air was charged with a quiet tension.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Y/n said, her voice soft as she sat next to Leah on the couch. “Not like you.”

Leah hesitated, her pulse quickening. “Just tired, I guess.”

Y/n tilted her head, studying Leah intently. “You sure that’s all?”

Leah opened her mouth to reply but stopped when she saw the way Y/n was looking at her—curious, almost knowing. The vulnerability Leah had kept hidden threatened to spill over.

“I…” Leah started, then shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Y/n placed a hand on Leah’s, the touch warm and grounding. “Leah, you’re one of the strongest people I know, but you don’t have to keep everything bottled up. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Leah looked into Y/n’s eyes, searching for any sign that this could go wrong. But all she saw was kindness and a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name.

“It’s you,” Leah whispered, barely audible. “It’s always been you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly before softening. “Leah…”

Before she could say more, the sound of Keira’s footsteps echoed down the hall. Leah pulled her hand away, her heart pounding as Keira entered the room with a stack of photos.

“What did I miss?” Keira asked cheerfully, oblivious to the charged moment she had interrupted.

“Nothing,” Leah and Y/n said in unison, though their shared glance told a different story.

As the night wore on, Leah couldn’t help but wonder if the spark she saw in Y/n eyes was real. Maybe, just maybe, her secret wasn’t so one-sided after all.

A week had passed since that fateful dinner, but Leah couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her head—Y/n’s hand on hers, the way her name sounded on Y/n’s lips, and that fleeting look in her eyes. It was enough to make her hope, but the doubt was just as loud.

One evening, Keira invited Leah over again, this time for a movie night. Leah hesitated, worried about facing Y/n again, but Keira’s persistence was hard to resist.

When Leah arrived, the house was quieter than usual. Keira greeted her with a grin, but before Leah could ask where everyone else was, Keira waved her off.

“Mum’s out with friends, and Y/n’s upstairs. She might join us later,” Keira said, already plopping onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

Leah nodded, sitting beside her, but she couldn’t focus on the movie. She was hyperaware of Y/n’s presence just a floor above them. About an hour in, Keira’s phone buzzed, and she groaned.

“It’s Lucy. She’s got some crisis about her boots again,” Keira muttered, standing up. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere!”

Leah chuckled as Keira disappeared, but the quiet that followed was suffocating. Before she could sink further into her thoughts, she heard footsteps behind her.

Turning, she found Y/n standing in the doorway, her hair loose and a soft cardigan draped over her shoulders.

“Hey,” Y/n said, her voice gentle. “Mind if I join?”

Leah’s heart skipped a beat. “Of course not.”

Y/n sat down beside her, closer than Leah expected, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the movie playing in the background. But Leah wasn’t paying attention. All she could think about was how close Y/n was, the warmth radiating from her body.

“Leah,” Y/n said softly, breaking the silence. “About the other night…”

Leah froze, her stomach flipping. She turned to Y/n, who was already looking at her, her eyes unreadable but intense.

“You caught me off guard,” Y/n continued, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Leah’s breath hitched. “I—Y/n, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Y/n interrupted, her hand finding Leah’s again. “Don’t apologize.”

Leah’s eyes searched Y/n’s face, and what she saw made her chest ache—hope, curiosity, and a vulnerability that mirrored her own.

“Say it again,” Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible.

Leah swallowed hard. “It’s you, Y/n. It’s always been you.”

Y/n’s lips parted, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, Y/n leaned in, her breath warm against Leah’s skin. Leah closed the distance, their lips meeting in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, but quickly deepened as the weight of years of unspoken feelings spilled over.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, both breathing heavily.

“Y/n,” Leah whispered, her voice trembling.

Y/n smiled, her eyes shining with something Leah had only dreamed of. “I think I’ve been waiting for this just as long as you have.”

Before Leah could respond, Keira’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I’m back! What did I miss?”

They quickly pulled apart, sharing a conspiratorial smile before turning back to the movie. But the spark between them was undeniable, and Leah knew that this was only the beginning.