#saddle up and join

[lonelypond]

"Tall" Handsome Stranger

NicoMaki, Love Live, 2.7K, 1/1

Nishikino Maki returns to find more people at Hanayo's ranch than she expected.

"Tall" Handsome Stranger

Sheriff Sonoda Umi had very cleverly set up her office triangulated between the hotel and the largest saloon in town. This way when visitors checked their personal firearms it wasn’t too much of a trip for Umi to lock them up in the gunsafe. Maki did not carry a pistol. A rifle snugged into its case on her saddle, for protection out on the trails or in the woods. A new wanted poster caught Maki’s attention as she strolled through Otonokizaki Falls. This one barely looked a teenager. Maki grimaced. Always sad to see innocents turn to crime for survival. Good thing she’d found Dia and Ruby before someone less kind. The frontier was an inhospitable place for orphans and Maki had saved them from that when she’d found them in the wreckage of their burning wagon and took them home with her.

Right now, though, they were safe with Hanayo and Maki needed some adult conversation after a particularly difficult surgery. She tied the sprightly Scherzi to the post, striding through the doors of the Queen Of Cups.

“Maki!” The proprietor’s voice rose over a low roar, “Welcome back. Your usual?”

Maki nodded and sidled up to the bar to be greeted with a smile by proprietress Nozomi Tojo, who quickly hit a glass with a squirt of bitters followed by brandy, almond syrup, and lemon zest. “So what’s Hanayo cooking for you and your girls? Eli always makes me something special when I’ve been working late.” Nozomi leaned in with a leer.

“It’s not like that.”

“Not your type?”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Eli…” Eli Ayase was Nozomi’s partner and the local blacksmith, “said there was a big black horse up there she’d never seen before.”

“When?”

“This morning when she was riding out to work at the South Falls ranch.”

Maki frowned. Hanayo was very very shy, rarely having visitors, never any non locals. An unfamiliar horse was a worry.

Maki chugged the drink, tossing three dimes on the bar. “Thanks. Catch you next visit.”

“So I’m your type?” Nozomi flipped her bar towel.

Maki growled; Nozomi giggled.

“Still holding out for a tall, handsome stranger?”

Maki leaned into the bar. Though mildly worried about the strange horse at Hanayo’s, she was mightly overwrought at Nozomi’s constant pestering.

“Some of us aren’t waiting for anyone at all.” Maki’s amethyst eyes were narrowed and hard as flint. “So I would much appreciate your not making me find another place to drink.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

Maki waved an aggrieved goodbye.

###

Hanayo couldn’t just curl up in her bed. First, a stranger with a bullet in their flank currently occupied it. And second, two children watched her every move with wide, curious eyes. And asked questions. Hanayo needed Maki to arrive soon.

“Can Nico have my soup?” Ruby asked.

After finding Nico in the barn and the struggle to get her into the house, both Nico and Hanayo had collapsed. Hanayo’s brief nap in the rocking chair had given her a boost. Once Nico hit an actual bed, she’d slipped into a deep deep sleep, not even disturbed by Dia poking her or Ruby asking questions. Hanayo hoped it was exhaustion and not the last stages of sepsis. Nico’s wound looked a deep deep red. Even deep in sleep, Nico flinched at the slightest pressure on it. Hanayo had done a quick cleaning, but had no way to deal with the bullet. She’d just layered cloth over the wound, leaving Nico lying on her back.

Hanayo hugged Ruby. The girls were so caring. “No, Ruby. Nico needs to sleep more than she needs to eat.” Hanayo wondered how many days ride Nico had had. Her horse had shown signs of hard wear. She’d have to call the blacksmith in to look at him.

“MAMA!” Dia’s excited call brought Hanayo’s attention to Maki, walking through the door, carrying her doctor’s bag, hat pushed back, eyes tired. She smiled when Dia hugged her leg.

“Hi, Dia!”

“Mama, you have to come and fix Nico.”

Dia switched from Maki’s leg to pulling with both hands on her arm.

“Nico?” She glanced to Hanayo.

“The girls found someone hiding in my barn. She’s been shot.”

Maki processed that. Girls. Wandering. Finding someone who’d been involved in a shooting. And who might have people chasing them.

“You let them…”

Hanayo raised both hands, “They always go for a walk after breakfast while I wash up. I can usually see them from the kitchen window.”

“And when you didn’t?”

“I was about to get Juniper and go look for them when Ruby came running in.”

“Where is Juniper?”

“Out with the sheep.”

Juniper was a working sheep guard dog, not her daughters’ bodyguard. Maki grunted at Hanayo.

“I am so sorry, Maki…I didn’t know anyone had…”

Maki raised a hand, pulling Ruby close when Ruby came in for her hug, “Everybody’s fine.”

“Nico’s not fine, Mama.” Ruby whispered, “She won’t wake up.”

Maki sighed. Patient first. Then figure out if there was actual danger for the girls.

“I had to leave the bullet in.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes. Leave the bullet in, drain the wound, let the new skin grow. Lead won’t kill her; infection might.”

“Her side’s really red.”

“Did you clean it?”

“I didn’t want to be too rough.”

“Wait a minute, Dia.” Maki stopped letting Dia steer her. “Hanayo, make me coffee and bring me boiling water.”

“Okay, Maki.” Hanayo headed for the kitchen.

“Fast.” Maki could feel the headache starting. Fortunately, there hadn’t been that much punch in the brandy she’d drunk at the Queen Of Cups. Her head was clear.

Lying on her back in Hanayo’s bed was a pale, tiny woman, all sharp angles and fragile beauty. Her hair was long, lush, and sable, straying all over the pillow. Her lips twisted as she breathed, maybe muttering, maybe just nonsense syllables of pain.

“Her name is Nico?” Maki asked.

Ruby nodded.

“That’s what she told us.” Dia said.

“Did she tell you anything else?”

“We had to keep her a secret.”

“We might not be able to do that.”

“Mama, we promised.” Ruby’s eyes were wide.

“And you told us never to go back on our word.” Dia was right behind Ruby.

Maki had. But Maki hadn’t promised. And although this woman seemed older than the teenager Maki had seen on the latest Wanted poster, the resemblance was enough to give her many new concerns.

“First thing, we have to get your new friend’s wound cleaned out and disinfected.”

Ruby and Dia exchanged a look.

“Mama always knows what to do.”

“I can assist you.” Dia opened Maki’s bag.

“You can. Find some gauze. Or see if Hanayo has some plain, CLEAN, cotton cloth she doesn’t need.”

“What can I do, Mama?” Maki glanced back to the woman in Hanayo’s bed, noticing the thinness and the evident fatigue, picking up a sudden feeling of loneliness seeing her so stark, tiny against the plain sheets. “You hold her hand, Ruby. She seems like she needs to know there’s someone on her side.”

“All right, Mama.”

###

Pain. A blast of pain and heat. Nico’s hand squeezed something small and warm and there was a high pitched squeal. Nico immediately released the…hand? She opened one eye to see Ruby, both hands over her mouth, bright green eyes wide. Then the blast of pain again and Nico turned to see another redhead, a grown up redhead, linen shirt plastered to her skin, sleeves rolled up, packing Nico’s wound loosely. The stench of carbolic acid made Nico gag.

“Hey!” Nico swatted weakly at the redhead, who pushed back to give her a long look. The eyes were gemstone colored and just as hard.

Nico felt a soft touch on her hand, turning to where Ruby was propped next to her pillow. “It’s okay, Nico, Mama’s gonna fix you.”

“I’ll make sure she does it right.” Dia handed Maki a dry cloth.

Nico forced herself to sit up. “I know it’s not that bad.”

“For a bullet lodged in you, lower abdomen is one of the better places.”

“Nico knows that.”

Maki frowned, “But there is still a bullet lodged in you. And an infection started. I think I can get the bullet out, but then we’ll have to let the wound drain.”

“Can’t you just stitch me up?”

“I would be stitching the infection in.” The doctor went back to work, “Quick way to waste my time. And your life.”

Brusque manner, quick, gentle hands, angry, clenched jaw.

“You’re hurting Nico.”

Maki sighed, “This is the best way. And I’m a trained doctor, a graduate of the Woman's Medical College of Pennsylvania.” Maki met Nico’s glare, her voice even, “It’s not my first bullet wound.”

“Pigii!!!” Ruby had turned away, her face in the pillow.

“Maybe this isn’t the best place for your little girl, Doc.” Nico patted Ruby’s back, “Don’t be scared, Ruby. Your Mama’s taking good care of Nico.”

“Here’s your coffee and water, Maki.” Hanayo put a large tray on the cedar chest.

“Can you take Dia and Ruby and feed them supper?” Maki asked, her tone mild.

“Of course.” C’mon girls. You need to eat. You must be starving.” Hanayo picked up Ruby, but Dia refused to leave Maki’s side.

“Go on, Dia. I’ll be there soon.” Maki smiled.

“Listen to your Mama, Dia. Nico will be fine.” Nico managed to not tremble at the surge of pain, keeping a grin for Dia.

Dia considered, then nodded, and followed Hanayo.

Nico let out a long breath, fists clenched. “Now Doc, make Nico fine.”

“It’s Maki. Or Doctor Nishikino. Do you want something to bite into?”

Nico glanced to where the girls had gone. “Yeah.”

###

Maki had her bedroll unrolled in Hanayo’s main room, ready to tuck Ruby and Dia in for the night.

“Time to get some sleep, girls.”

“I want to see Nico.” Dia pouted.

“Nico needs to sleep too.” Maki pulled quilts up around Ruby, guiding Dia under the same pile. “Don’t worry, Hanayo and I will watch over her.”

Maki had moved the rocking chair into Hanayo’s bedroom, between the bed and the window. Hanayo came in from the bathroom, changed into a nightshirt. Maki was still in her trousers and untucked shirt. She was taking this first shift.

“There’s some more coffee I left on the nightstand.”

“Thanks. Glad to have something to keep me company.”

Hanayo settled into her own bedroll.

There was a sudden sound from the bedroom, as if something had hit the floor.

“Mama?” Dia, worried.

Maki was already on her feet, anger pulsing energy to push out any sleepiness. If Nico had gotten out of bed, after Maki…

Maki stepped into the room, surprised at the sight of a ginger haired woman half sprawled between dresser and floor, not having successfully climbed in the window.

“Don’t move.” Maki reached for the rifle she’d left next to the door.

“Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot.” Both hands rose in the air, “I’m sorry. I was just going to be in and gone, after I checked on Nico. I swear. Just let me go. You never saw me.”

“You know Nico? How did you find her? Did you shoot her?”

“I saved her…or stopped Erena from shooting her again.”

“So you’re one of the A-RIse gang.”

The ginger shuffled her feet, “Not exactly. Saving Nico would get me shot if I went back. Tsubasa’s not nice.”

“Tsubasa?”

“Tsubasa Kira, the boss.”

“Who are you?”

“Rin Hoshizora. I’m actually…” Rin moved her hand.

Maki snapped the rifle up, ready to do damage.

“Just wait, please. I’m a Federal Marshall.” And Rin pulled out a badge. “Undercover.”

“So you’re here to arrest Nico?” Maki wasn’t sure if she wanted to explain that to Ruby or Dia. And she was positive Nico shouldn’t be moved.

“Nico’s harmless. Retired from being the number one bandit. Three days ago.” Nico croaked from the bed.

Rin giggled, “Smart move.”

Maki moved closer to Nico, pouring her a glass of water with the hand that wasn’t holding the rifle, “Drink more.”

“Yes, Doc.” Nico quirked an eyebrow at Rin, “She’s a tyrant. Pretty though.”

“Maki, what’s happening?” Hanayo crept into the doorway, her voice soft.

“We have another visitor. A Federal Marshal.”

“Ooohh, that’s so brave.”

“Breaking and entering is not brave.”

“I just wanted to check on Nico, then report in.”

“Nico’s better. Thanks!”

Rin nodded.

Maki was full of practical questions, “Report in where?”

“Got any food or coffee.” Rin was standing now, “It’s been a long run.”

“You didn’t ride a horse.” Hanayo’s eyes were wide.

Rin ruffled her hair, “Hard to hide a horse. Or track from the back of one.”

“I’ll make you pancakes.”

“Nico likes pancakes.”

“All right,” Hanayo smiled, “Pancakes all around.”

“Put the rifle down, Doc. Rin’s not gonna hurt anybody. She saved my life.” Nico urged.

Rin followed Hanayo out of the room as Maki slid into the chair. Exhaustion was never a good constant companion.

“Girls okay?” Nico asked.

“They’re fine.”

“Got a husband?”

“They’re orphans.”

“That’s tough.”

“Yeah.”

“Frontier life is rough enough on kids.”

Maki stared at Nico for a long minute.

“Seems pretty rough on you too.”

“Nico’s got kids running around too, well, before I joined….”

“Really?” Did bandits have families? Would it be safe?

“Siblings. Nico’s Papa died and Mama needed help so Nico took the first job offer.”

“Bandit?”

“Actually, Nico was cooking for A-Rise, but moved up pretty quick.”

Maki rolled her eyes. This wasn’t a job interview. Maki didn’t need a bandit or a cook.

Nico moved and groaned, “Nico will be back to cooking breakfast soon.”

“Sheriff Sonoda has your Wanted poster up.” Maki raised an eyebrow, “You looked like a kid.”

“Tsubasa wants to blame Nico for everything, have everyone chasing her while…”

“What?”

Nico shook her head, “It’s better you don’t know.”

“Sheriff Sonoda will probably be up here tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t come back to town with Ruby and Dia. She pays attention.”

Nico exhaled, “It’s good that you have someone looking out for you. The frontier’s no place for a single parent.”

“I can take care of us.” Maki leaned back, letting the chair rock. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Nico.

“Friends don’t hurt.”

“Do you have friends?”

Nico thought about Rin coming through the window, concern on her face, “Might now. But Nico’s always had family. We take care of each other. Nobody hurts them on my watch.”

Nico sounded so fierce.

“I want that for Ruby and Dia.”

Rin bustled back into the room, a plate in each hand. She gave one to Nico, then settled on the end of the bed, finishing hers, “These are the best pancakes, Nico-chan.”

Nico took a bite, “Pretty good, but Nico makes ‘em fluffy.”

“But your buckwheat’s grainer.”

“It’s healthy.”

“Rin likes these.” Rin shoved a huge forkful in her cheek.

“Guess I’ll have to get my own plate,” Maki had her arms ready to push up.

“Nah, Kayo-chin is bringing yours in a minute. She said you’d want bacon.”

“Kayo-chin?” Nico asked.

“Cute nickname for a cute girl. Japanese is fun. English is...” Rin shrugged.

“Next you’ll be calling the Doc here Sensei.”

“Hi Sensei.” Rin waved a fork.

“Just Maki.”

“Okay, Maki. Your friend Kayo-chin is cute. This is a pretty big ranch. She have a…partner?”

“No.”

Rin relaxed, Nico nodded and took another forkful. Maki yawned. Why do people continually obsess over those kind of details?

###

Dawn. Maki woke up. She’d fallen asleep in the rocking chair at some point in Rin and Nico’s continuing pancake dissertation. The ginger marshal had fallen asleep at the end of the bed, curled into a ball like a pet cat. Nico was sprawled out, limbs everywhere, almost laughably silly looking. But more relaxed. Sleep had done Nico some good. She had more color. Maki found herself staring at the sharpness of Nico’s profile, remembering the humor in eyes that hid more painful emotions.

Maki tilted back in the chair, running a hand through unruly curls, watching the sky outside lighten, listening to Nico’s light snore, hearing Ruby make a little cry in her sleep, followed by Dia’s comforting whisper. Maki wasn’t home, but as she stretched out her legs and watched banks of clouds turn as red as the depths of Nico’s eyes, comfortable was an easy enough term to claim.

[obligatory-name-change]

give summer a character arc challenge

[mirchloe]

give me your thoughts on Kitty for the bingo!

OHHHH KITTY!!!!!!!!

what immediately stood out to me about kitty was phoebe's reaction when quentin says, "i dunno, it's like she has some sort of spell over me," and phoebe, for all her confidence and assertiveness, just gives a quiet, concerned, "uh oh."

kitty is fantastic! she's a queen bee, she's affluent because of her father, but she also has a lot of hidden depth. on the surface, kitty is very much the mean girl trope - she belittles and demeans and goes after people she thinks are lesser than her. she doesn't have a big circle of friends - just franke, because out of everyone, she likes franke the most, likes her enough to comfort her and be with her and brush off anyone who tries belittling franke because they don't know franke like she does.

and that makes the hinted past she has with lili so interesting! kitty only comments on lili's profile to make fun of her elton situation, but it feels implied that it was kitty who encouraged lili to "make" a campster, and lili went out of her way to try to comment on her page. she backs out with "Kitty is cool, and she-- oh, man, Kitty." there is something there!!! when lili stands to the side and derides franke and kitty for making friendship bracelets, who do it in a very public way, as if kitty is aware of lili's presence, kitty has a big ol' grin on her face! their untapped history is so great!! what went down between them? between a girl like kitty who has learned how to be manipulative and stand at the top and a girl like lili who has now closed herself off?? what were they like before?? it drives me crazy because i feel like kitty and lili once had what kitty and franke have *now.*

but back to kitty!! she's got a whole lot of issues simmer under the issues. she invokes her lawyer dad to threaten to sue, but i don't think she's as close with him. it's like a princess morbucks situation, except at least princess morbucks' dad would actually come around to her sometimes - i think kitty and her dad are pretty emotionally distant. he likes to buy her things, and she takes them, but there isn't really a connection between them, and with how he had to move around a lot in the navy, it seems kitty never learned how to maintain genuine friendships - so, what she once had with lili and currently has with franke is pretty unique! everyone else? well, she's gonna get them wrapped around her finger, like quentin and benny, and whoever isn't, she makes sure she has ways to keep them at bay.

and all of this at only twelve!! kitty thinks she knows what she's about! a high society life, grandeur and power and staying at the top of the pyramid! but it's so superficial, even though she clearly loves dressing up and putting on her makeup and flaunting what she has (she's the only cadet with a unique camp shirt!) and entirely stylish! she's seemingly one-note on the surface, and she might not show it, but there's a strange loneliness to kitty. she only has franke because she chose to genuinely care about franke. everyone else? she's confusing them, or she's belittling them. several kids are wary of her, and she's guarded to the point where only sudden, shocking comments really get a rise out of her, but then, she goes right back to being on top. it's such a controlled personality that she tries to covering with blush and rouge and concealer.

it can't last forever! i just think about her future, and i just know her dynamic with her father isn't going to be well. there's only so much she can get from a father who isn't emotionally responsive. there's only so much she can feel from new clothing, jewelry, etc. it's a unique isolation because people know kitty is a manipulator. it's hard to tell when she's being genuine. franke can tell, sure, but who else can? when she wants to be genuine, maybe even trying to make something of herself without relying on a father who probably doesn't ask how her day is anymore, who will believe her when she's asking about their day out of an honest interest? when will she lower her walls, or how will she lower them when all she's known is the manipulation she's gathered, studied, and perfected as a kid?

i half-put mommy issues because i don't think she has one! i think her dad has a lot of girlfriends, and kitty's mom is no longer in the picture (not dead - just not around). it doesn't really impact her that much not having a mom, but the constant swirl of her father's new girlfriends trying to win her over gets pretty exhausting as she grows up.

on a funnier note, i do think she still beefs with raz and bobby forever. they're just incompatible. completely incompatible!! but i think she does make up with lili and opens herself up more genuinely and still likes to parade her style and kiss as many girls as she can. she's lifting up mirtala at camp all, "is anyone going to teach her how to be a true yuri warrior?" and scampering off with franke when raz tries to take his sister back.

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

"MC was stolen away by the monster because it wanted to breed them"

"MC had was forced onto an arranged marriage with an evil overlord"

"MC was made to-"

Blah blah, give me an MC that leaps at the opportunity to be with the monster/overlord/whatever morally grey character!!

An Orc threatens their village if the MC doesn't join their clan because they want them all to themselves? Hell yes! MC is already packing their belongings and leaping into the tree trunks that are arms.

Overlord/lady apologises to MC that they were saddled with this horrible marriage? What do you MEAN? You're the best damn spouse they could ask for! Moonlit walks through a Gothic castle and blooming gardens? A library? Minions?! Who on earth would pass this up?

A monster offers trinkets to MC as courting gifts, hoping they won't be terrified by their grotesque figure. MC is making little gifts back and keeps the window open to their bedroom on cold nights so the monster comes in for warm cuddles.

Give me an MC that is ecstatic to be chosen by the thing everyone is terrified of! I want a love story without the "but they're evil/a monster" bullshit!

[thelastoflosers]

cowboy ellie anyone? oneshot teaser!

“you’re a woman.” you pointed out.

“yes, ma’am.” she replied, she rested her hands on the horn cap of her saddle. her twangy accent matched your own.

“but you’re wearing men’s clothin’.” your eyes drifted from her face, taking in the way her work shirt and chaps clung to her frame.

“yes ma’am.” she was grinning now. up this close you could see the green in her eyes. the freckles that splattered her face.

“why?” there was no malice in your question, just curiosity. back in the city there were no women like her, it would be blasphemous.

“well, wearin’ skirts and such makes my job harder than it needs to be.”

you looked down at your own blush colored attire. you’d never considered there was a solution to your struggle of riding in a dress. “you’re a cowboy?”

she nodded, “you’re a city girl?”

you nodded, “but we’re goin’ to build a cattle farm in wyoming, so i suppose i’m not anymore.”

“well, city girl, how much do you know about cattle farmin’?”

“nothin’.” you admitted.

you watched as her eyes slowly slid down your body and back up to meet your own. you made a point to sit a bit straighter in your saddle, “since i’ll be hangin’ round for a while, why don’t i teach you some?”

“i’d like that.”

joel called out to her, motioning for her to come join in the conversation he was having.

“my name’s ellie.” she steered her horse towards the group. “i’ll see ya round, city girl.”

[queensparklekitten]

anyways after that minecraft movie trailer i'm tempted to change my skin back to that one based on crimson/warped duality out of spite

they called the nether "a place with no joy or creativity at all" like just tell me you're too scared to go there and thus haven't experienced

-joining in on a group of piglins hunting a hoglin, letting them keep the loot, trading with them afterwards, i find that this temporarily cures the loneliness of singleplayer

-the dance they do afterwards sometimes literally just the piglin dance, hitting shift repeatedly with them

-literally just the nether music at all

-that CRESCENDO in rubedo

-that brief minor key reprise of sweden in dead voxel hhhhhhhhhhhh

-occasional crimson roots in a soul sand valley like oh there's still some life here

-wither skull hunting and recruiting piglins to help you by luring them to the fortress with gold (+ giving them gold helmets so they don't put on the skulls) i love the ways this game lets me fight alongside piglins if i want to

-the subtle animated texture of crimson and warped stems like they feel so ALIVE with that one small detail

-seeing a nether tree growing through another one

-and an extremely tall nether tree amidst the normal height ones

-and weeping vines hanging from the ceiling

-passing by a piglin that's wearing enchanted iron boots and immediately knowing you've met and traded with this one before

-parkour challenge basalt delta

-also the particles in that biome look like snow if you turn down your render distance

-STRIDERS. Literally just striders. They're like bonded creatures to me, honorary tameable mobs, you put a saddle on the one mob in the nether that would never hurt you and then go on a journey together across the deadly lava ocean avoiding ghasts together and you can't remove the saddle now unless you kill it which you can't do because it's your ride back to the portal, once that strider is saddled it is Your strider and even if you release it into the wild you will immediately recognize it by the saddle if you see it again and in such a dangerous world you have found a companion you can always trust and idk bout you but i always bond so hard with them

-and also they're kind of cute, esp with the little waddle walk

-seeing a baby strider on top of an adult one

-literally just the fact that nether biomes have all this constant looping ambience and particles in the air that makes them feel so immersive and so alive, each biome has its own unique soundscape and ambience, can you imagine soul sand valleys without the wind and the whispers and wails

-aside note the particle effects are like the animated stems in that they're such a subtle detail but they add so much, i never really noticed them until i was netherite mining and started using them to tell which biome i'm under

-the nether was doing ambience and immersion 5 years before the Spring Drop allowed the overworld to finally catch up to it

-the adorableness of baby piglins

-esp when they ride on top of baby hoglins

-PIGSTEP. FUCKING PIGSTEP. the piglins have music and it's SUCH A BANGER i've thrown ingame parties with this music disc

-seeing warped fungus in a crimson forest or crimson fungus in a warped forest

-biome borders between the two that have all this warped foliage in the crimson forest and vice versa as they blend into each other

-nyooming across a soul sand valley with soul speed 3 boots, laughing at the skeletons and ghasts who can't land a hit on you, bonus if you add a speed potion to the mix

-doing this and realizing the subtitle says "soul escapes" and you're surrounded by blue particles and realizing you're freeing them from their imprisonment (and presumably the piglins who made this enchantment are doing the same when they use it)

-the rib and snout armor trims

-gilded blackstone it's so pretty and nice and a great building block (and you can't craft it only the piglins know how to do that)

-bastions have chiseled blackstone

-and their own exclusive banner pattern

-some of them have that gold-and-quartz decorative thing that looks like some kinda statue

-apparently part of the Bridge type of bastion is designed to resemble a piglin head with the mouth as the entrance

-someone in the notes mentioned glowstone and YES how did i forget it when originally making this post, glowstone my childhood favourite block that's in my current mc username, pretty and shiny and also the way piglins used it to invent spectral arrows

-getting lost in the lore implications, noticing the huge fossils and the implications of the name "warped forest" as well as the names of some of its ambience sounds and the fact that basalt comes from rapidly cooling lava irl and next thing you know you've got a whole red string theory going that edges closer and closer to cosmic horror

-ik the fossils look like ribs but one time i wondered if they might be the fingers of something unfathomably huge

-the time i encountered a baby piglin running from a zombified one so i pushed the zombified piglin off the fortress and then gave the baby piglin a gold nugget

but hey what do i know i'm just a nether enthusiast on the "romanticizing and finding beauty in the horrifying and the forsaken" website huh

[elliewithcellie]

Protector

summary: After months working for the BAU, your harbored feelings for your boss seem unrequited until your hunt for the unsub goes awry. (hotch x fem!reader)

wc: 9.8k (oh my god)

cw: slow burn, boss/employee dynamic, age gap pairing, criminal minds level violence, mention of alcoholism, implication of father issues, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt, fluff, angst, SMUT (18+ MDNI), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Hotch is a professional at heart and takes work boundaries seriously

a/n: Back in the saddle with a new man to hyper-fixate on. Hotch can GET IT. Also, let me know if anyone wants the SFW version I'm working on

“Looks like we’re doubling up,” Hotch announced, a sigh escaping his lips.

Before you could even process his words, the rest of the team sounded off, choosing their roommates for the duration of the case. All that remained were you and your boss. With the team dispersing, you awkwardly shifted your duffle bag to your other shoulder and looked up at Hotch.

His stern expression didn’t change as he looked back at you. “Come on. We’re 202.”

You followed him to the elevators, still unsure what to think. This was not only your boss but someone you had garnered quite a fondness for since you joined the BAU. Of course, you had managed yourself professionally thus far, but you were sure this was going to test your limits.

You understood the immediate pairings among the rest of the team. You were still fairly new, not quite to the rapport that the team had formed with each other. But it also made you think about how no one chose Hotch. The pressure to be Unit Chief also had to be lonely.

The elevator chimed, and the two of you shuffled in. You kept to yourself, trying to maintain composure. The lift from the first floor to the second felt like an hour, the silence deafening. You couldn’t shake your nerves. The doors opened, and he stepped out. You quickly followed.

Hotch opened the door and allowed you in first. The two double beds, office chair, mini fridge, and small bathroom were all less comforting to you than normal.

“Do you mind if I take the bed by the door?” Hotch asked, his voice softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, stirred from your preoccupation. “Yeah, of course. I like the window side anyway.”

“Thank you. If you’d like, you can have the shower first. I’d like to call Jack before he heads to bed.”

“Sounds good.”

You began to unpack your belongings and sighed in dismay. You had assumed that you would have a room to yourself as usual, so your pajamas were a little more revealing than you’d prefer your boss to see. Still, a t-shirt and shorts were reasonable sleep attire, so you tried not to dwell on it. You collected your things as Hotch dialed a number on his phone.

“Hey, buddy, how was your day?”

You smiled to yourself as you entered the bathroom. His “dad” voice was more upbeat, yet calm and soothing. With Hotch distracted on the phone, you could relax in the shower. The boiling water stung your skin, just the way you needed it. As you relaxed, you realized how silly it was for you to stress over the rooming situation. Hotch was here to do his job, just like you. And other than his intelligence, his kindness, and his fierce compassion for kids, you were sure you were only infatuated with him.

You finished up your shower and towel-dried your hair once you could no longer hear his muffled voice through the door. You were desperate not to waste Hotch’s time. With your hair still wet and your large t-shirt hanging over your shorts, you timidly exited the bathroom back to your bed, on your toes as if you were sneaking around. Hotch sat on his bed, his coat jacket now on the desk chair. He flipped through channels with the remote in one hand and loosened his tie with the other.

“All yours,” you spoke, struggling to get the words out.

Hotch looked up at you and gave a small smile. “Thanks.” He gathered up his things and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Another sigh of relief left your lips. You grabbed the book from your duffle and climbed into bed. You rolled over to turn on the lamp next to you and began to read, but before you knew it, sleep overtook you.

------

“Hotchner.”

You woke up to Hotch answering his phone. The sky was still dark. The only light illuminating the room was the alarm clock. You realized that you hadn’t turned off the lamp before you fell asleep, nor did you place your book carefully on the side table with a hotel pen as the bookmark.

“Alright. Yes. Right. Understood. We’ll be right over.”

You looked up at Hotch expectantly. He looked at you, then averted his eyes as he got out of bed. “Another young girl missing. She’s only 16.” He paced the floor for a moment, a short-lived break from the stoic leader he always has to be.

“I’ll call the others,” you said sitting up. His eyes returned to yours, the strain turning into relief. He only nodded and headed for the closet, suiting up right there.

You called the others and followed suit, leaving the hotel parking lot by 3:46 am.

------

The next 18 hours were long, stressful, and only moderately successful. The team was able to work out an arrangement with the kidnapper before their 24 hours were up. The girl, Heather, was returned to her parents with only a few bruises. But the kidnapper got away, practically goading you all at the ability to remain anonymous. The team was exhausted and out of ideas.

The team drove back to the hotel without a single word exchanged. The kidnapper’s voice rang in your head. He was so confident, arrogant even. There was almost never a moment where he fumbled over his words or cracked. His ruse lasted for hours. But he got sloppy in the end, fessing up to her location just enough for Garcia to triangulate. But something wasn’t adding up to you: his willingness to run instead of killing her when he had the chance.

Hotch spoke up, stirring you from your ruminations. “We need to start from scratch. Reid, give us a rundown on what, where, and why.”

“Well, we know his victims are all young women now ranging from 16 to 23. They come from middle to upper-class families. He sends messages to the families always demanding ransom within 24 hours. Three women have been killed, and now two have survived. The strange part is whether or not he stays truthful to his word. The parents have always given him what he wants, but then it’s up to his discretion whether he follows through.”

 “Based on these girls,” Prentiss interjected, “this guy’s intelligent. He prides himself on the ability to get away with this.”

“That’s good,” Hotch said, eyes still on the road. “But why work with us sometimes and not others?

The SUV hummed as its passengers sat in silence.   

You decided to speak up. “Prentiss said he prides himself on the ability to get away with this, right?” Everyone sat still, expectant for you to continue. “We’re looking at this the wrong way. This isn’t a sadist who gets off on killing. This isn’t a psychopath with a compulsion. This is a narcissistic sociopath who has been evading capture for weeks now. This is a game to him. It’s a game he knows he can win.”

“Which is why when he’s pressured, he releases the girl.” Hotch nodded along.

“He can take a loss where he can because, to him, the ultimate win is to not get caught,” Reid agreed.

“Great work,” Hotch said, parking the car. “You guys head in and get some good sleep. I’ll fill in the other van. Be ready for a big day of planning.”

You walked up with Reid and Prentiss, a small smile refusing to leave your lips. You cracked it, you thought to yourself.

Your two teammates teased each other up to the rooms, you following close behind. You weren’t the type to inject yourself into other people’s conversations, which ended up making it hard to connect with them. It was as if you had been adopted into a family that has known each other their whole lives. You were respected, sure, so there was no need to complain. You just wished that you could make jokes with them and have the levity they had during intense cases like this.

Still, even hearing your teammates laugh was enough for you tonight. You longed for a moment longer, but they said their goodnights and headed off.

You entered your room, much more relaxed than the night before. You had yourself all worked up, and for what? You gathered your things and headed to the shower, sure that Hotch wasn’t far behind and would call his son again.

As you exited the bathroom, Hotch entered the room. You jumped despite yourself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“It’s ok,” was all you said in response. You returned your things to your bag and slid into bed. You turned on the lamp and began reading while Hotch took his turn in the shower.

You were still reading when he returned, the book more interesting now than it was the night before. You glanced up only for a moment. Hotch wore striped pajama pants tonight, contrasted to the boxers you accidentally noticed earlier that morning. You looked back at your book but couldn’t read it. Your mind wandered to the message Hotch could be sending. Maybe your shorts were inappropriate. Maybe you weren’t meant to see his boxer shorts at all. Maybe he was just cold.

“Good work today,” Hotch said, interrupting your thoughts.

You smiled up at him. “It was a team effort.”

“We may have never come to the conclusion you did. Take the compliment.” Hotch’s lips raised to a subtle smirk, something you’ve only seen a handful of times and certainly never directed toward you.

“Yes, sir,” you said. “Thank you.” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Your eyes drifted back to your book.

“What’s your book about?”

Was Hotch trying to make conversation with you? True, it wasn’t as late as yesterday’s arrival, but in all of your months of working for the BAU, any discussion with the team had been strictly professional. Still, you blushed at the question.

“It’s a romance,” you confessed.

“I have to say,” Hotch began, “I’ve never read a romance novel. What about it appeals to you?”

You thought for a moment. “I guess it’s the suspension of disbelief. The relief to enter a reality where people love in big, romantic ways. Don’t you ever want to get swept off your feet?”

You cringed at the question, debating on whether it was appropriate to ask your superior about romance.

“I think I’d rather do the sweeping,” Hotch said thoughtfully.

You smiled at his words.

“You don’t think people love in romantic ways in this reality?” Hotch asked, looking up at the ceiling. His breaths were calm, and his face seemed to soften from serious to curious.

“I don’t know,” you said sincerely. “My sister is about to marry a real stand-up guy. He’s caring and has a good family who loves her, too. It’s one of those one-and-done fairy tale deals. Like truly made for each other. But I wouldn’t say that’s the norm. It’s not my norm, at least. So, yeah, I guess you could say I’m skeptical.”

You crossed your legs and fiddled with your thumbs. You tried not to reflect on your history, tried not to give any clue to your boss of your true beliefs. It didn’t ultimately matter to the conversation, anyway. The silence stewed as it stirred up new thoughts and old patterns, feeling yourself shut down the conversation. You didn’t mean to. You hated being seen as the one that was boring outside of work. The one that wasn’t friendly enough to get to know.

“I’m sure you don’t know,” Hotch began again, shaking you from your anxious thoughts, “but bringing up your sister reminded me that I met your dad a few years ago.”

You shot up. “You know about him?” You covered your face with your hands.

“He was nationally awarded for his work in counterterrorism. Of course, I know about him.” He laughed softly, a sound you weren’t used to but would never complain to hear it again. “I met him on a job in Bakersfield. He knew the town like the back of his hand. Is he why you joined?”

“In a roundabout way,” you sighed.

“He brought up his girls every chance he could.” Hotch smiled and turned to face you. “One was a soccer star in South Carolina on track to be a doctor. One was a track star a semester away from graduating with honors and applying to Physician Assistant programs, I believe.”

“My sisters are overachievers,” you said.

“Then it’s you he talked about the most. The musician, the future psychologist, the one who found fascination with the minute details of life.”

“My dad said all that?”

“He did. He had offered us beers when it was all over, and he shared photos of you all. You’re certainly much more grown now.” He chuckled.

Your cheeks flushed red at the comment.

“I showed him Jack playing tee-ball, and we both shared some stories before it was time to go. He had some great advice to give.”

“I’m sure he did,” you mumbled. “Sir, I don’t want you to think I got in because of him. He didn’t know until I made it to Quantico. I mean, yes, he always pushed the army and West Point like him, but I did this all on my own, Mr. Hotchner, I swear.”

“Hotch is fine,” he gently corrected. “I’m not worried about where you came from. I knew the entire time. But your qualifications are what got you on the team, not your father. Keep up the good work, and I’ll continue to remember that.”

“Yes, sir.” You thought to yourself for a moment. The candor of the conversation may have added to your bravery in this moment. “Hotch?”

He raised his eyebrows to imply he was listening.

“Umm, Is there anything that I can do to, like… never mind. I’m about to sound pathetic.” You huffed back down into your pillow. You couldn’t believe you were about to ask Hotch how to make friends.

“They’ll warm up to you, just like you’ll warm up to them. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m sure they’ll see you for who you are.”

You sighed again. Of course, he knew what you were stressing about. He’s the chief profiler after all.

“I’ll let you read now,” Hotch said, getting up from bed. “I’m going to call Jack.”

You gave a small smile and nodded, and he left the room.

------

You woke up the next morning to Hotch returning to the room, two disposable coffee cups and a case file in his hands.

You jerked up from bed. “Am I late?” you asked, scared you slept through the alarm.

“No, no,” he said, walking over to you. “I’m early. Coffee?”

He held out one of the cups to you. You gently accepted.

“Thank you.” You looked over at the clock. 5:54. You rubbed your eyes. “Are you always up this early?”

“On the job, yes,” he said with no inflection. “Much to think about, and much to be done.” He sat back on his bed and reviewed the file you knew he had reviewed countless times. If he was anything like you, he was searching for some hidden puzzle piece, something that the team must have missed to solve the case once and for all. But it was never that easy. Still, maybe some fresh eyes could help.

You slid out of your bed and rested on top of his. “Can I help?”

“Be my guest.” He shifted the file your way for a better vantage point. You crossed your legs and sipped your coffee before getting to work.

You found yourself lost in thought, jotting down those thoughts in the margins. It helped to visualize your connections, even drawing physical lines to connect them. You noticed that the most recent girl didn’t fit the age range of the others, 19-23. You dug deeper, making a note to ask Garcia to run the connection between all of these girls. College? you wrote. There was a college campus within ten minutes of the hotel. One more thing struck you. All of the victims had their hair up in a high ponytail. You weren’t sure how that was associated yet, but you wrote beside each of the photos anyway.

As the early sun began to rise, you grew brutally aware of Hotch’s presence. His body leaned closer to yours, and you felt his eyes sear into your skin. You grew distracted, your mind wandering to the fact that you were wearing only a loose shirt and small shorts in Hotch’s bed. Was he noticing the same thing? Was this a breach of professionalism? Were you making him uncomfortable? Against all your will, you felt your body temperature rise in the form of a blush.

The alarm clock rang out, pulling both Hotch and your attention. You stretched over to turn it off.

“I’ll let you get ready,” Hotch said, jumping out of bed. He headed to the door, refusing to meet your gaze. “Meet me downstairs?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, slightly surprised by the questioning tone of your superior. He nodded and left the room before another word could be spoken.

-------

In the conference room of the local police station sat the team, all watching Hotch interact with the captain of the squad through the glass. You stayed facing the table with your head low. You couldn’t help the bounce of your leg. While the others inferred the conversation outside, your mind had fixated on the morning’s events. The heat of your boss’s breath had tattooed your skin, a branding to the back of your neck. The intimacy, the closeness, and then the flustered nature Hotch left in replayed in your mind. You couldn’t look at him until you could properly collect yourself.

“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Morgan asked. Your head shot up. All eyes were on you now. You failed to hide the rouging in your cheeks.

“Nothing.” You shrugged, though you knew the contradiction in your body language.

JJ chuckled. “Nothing? You’re so tense, so distracted.”

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?” Morgan asked again, a smile growing on his face. “Hotch keeping you up all night?”

You flinched at his name. You couldn’t help it, but you outed yourself all the same.

“No, I slept fine. I swear.”

“You flinched!” Prentiss laughed and pointed. “It is about Hotch, isn’t it?”

“Leave the poor girl alone,” Rossi said, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

“Hon, you better tell us what happened in the next three seconds.” Derek swatted at Spencer’s chest. “Reid, help us out, here.”

“Based on the months we’ve known her, she tends to—”

 “Don’t you start profiling me, Reid.” You glared at Spencer across the table.

His arms shot up in the air as if to surrender, but a smirk remained on his face. “All I’m saying is that I know the physical signs of a crush when I see one.”

Your jaw dropped. The conference room filled with laughter.

“Leave her alone!” Garcia yelled from behind you. “She’s our sensitive little one!”

“I’m not 5,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. Penelope hugged you from behind as if to protect you from the others. The others continued to laugh, causing you to smile despite yourself. Morgan took a photo of you and Garcia, and warmth spread through you. Even with all the teasing, being here with the team felt good.

Just then Hotch rushed through the door. “Alright, let’s be seated and get to work. We have a big day ahead of us.” Garcia took her seat, but Hotch stayed standing, opting to position himself in front of the whiteboard. “After speaking with the captain and going through the case file with Y/N this morning, I determined our best attack on the situation. Though, it is rather unorthodox.”

The rest of the team stayed silent, waiting for the punchline. Hotch continued. “What do we know about our killer better than anything? His victimology. We know that he goes after girls and young women aged 16-23. They are middle to upper-class, and not the type to find themselves in trouble. Now, who do we all know who fits this very description?”

“Y/N,” Reid said.

All eyes returned to you, this time with a seriousness looming in the air.

“If we don’t want any other kidnappings, we need to give him what he wants. Going after the 16-year-old was off for him. He’s devolving. Which means we need to act fast before he kills again. This is the only way we can approach this head-on.”

“Hotch,” Emily began, “with all due respect, let me take this on. Or JJ. JJ has experience.”

“With his victimology going as low as 16 now, it should be someone who looks the part,” Reid replied.

“She’s just a kid, Hotch.” Morgan reached his hand toward your shoulder, but you gently nudged it away.

“But I’m not a kid at all,” you spoke up. “I have two degrees and the same job as the rest of you. I know I’m young and look younger, but I’m qualified. If my appearance can be used to put this guy away, then let me help. Let me do my job.” You looked up at Hotch, a sudden confidence flowing through your veins. “What do you need me to do?”

-------

For the rest of the day, the team helped you prepare for your role as a 22-year-old college student. The team strategized and planned, desperate to ensure your safety. Everyone added their two cents, but you were happy to receive all the insight you were given. You weren’t going to screw this up for them.

You, Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan returned to the hotel to pick among your belongings to dress the part. Rossi, Reid, and JJ stayed behind with Garcia to set up intel at the station.

“The shorts you wore to bed,” Hotch began, “go put those on while we find a sweatshirt or jacket. In fact, wear the shirt you wore, too. The size could conceal the mic better.”

You nodded and grabbed your things before heading into the bathroom. It was not lost on you that your boss was thoroughly aware of your pajama situation, but due to the pivotal role you were to perform, it was easier to focus on the task at hand.

You returned from the bathroom where Emily greeted you with the mic. You lifted your arms, allowing Emily to snake the mic underneath your shirt, securing it to your sternum with sports tape. While doing so, Hotch and Morgan returned with a single sweatshirt in Morgan’s hand. It was grungy and old, not quite the goal aesthetic.

Still, Morgan handed it to you to try on. The three profilers evaluated your look.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Morgan said. Prentiss pinched her eyebrows together in dismay. Hotch stayed staring.

“Take off the sweatshirt,” Hotch ordered. “I think I have something better.”

You did as he said while he rummaged through his duffle bag. He pulled out a quarter zip of excellent quality, something he only wears on a successful plane ride home.

“Put it on.”

You didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions. It was a large fit, hanging just above the hem of your shorts and the sleeves landing at your fingertips. The three of them looked at you, then to their reference photos, then back at you. Something was missing.

“Call Reid. Maybe he can find any other similarity we’re missing,” Hotch said.

“No, I got it.” You remembered the notes you made earlier that morning. You took the hair tie from your wrist and pulled your hair up into a high ponytail. “Now, what do you think?”

“That’s it,” Morgan said.

“And just in time,” Emily noted, “We gotta get you to the college fast.”

On the ride to the school, Hotch reiterated the goals in place.

“All you need to do is walk across campus using the roads. Keep to yourself, and most importantly, do not—and I mean it—do NOT, get into the vehicle under any circumstances. Stall him, flirt with him, do anything you can to keep him in place. We’ll be right there. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. I got it.”

“We’re counting on you.”

“Good luck.” Prentiss smiled with seriousness behind her eyes.

Morgan grabbed your shoulder, turning you around. “Be smart, kiddo.”

You returned a small smile and left the van to venture on your walk.

------

You had to have walked the streets for at least an hour. The campus was massive, larger than any school you attended. You did as you were told and kept to yourself. The sun had long since set, so there was no warmth to guard you from the biting breeze. A car or two passed periodically, but none slowed down beside you. There was a peace in the solitude. One could chalk it up to the calm before the storm, but you weren’t afraid.

Another car passed, but this time it slowed down. Your heart stopped and landed in your throat.

“Excuse me,” the man called out. The voice was unforgettable. The very same voice that threatened to kill the girl over the phone. The voice that replayed in your mind for hours. You knew it was him.

You turned to face him, trying to commit every detail to memory. He was a conventionally attractive man with lighter hair and a smile that you would have swooned over under any other circumstance. He wore a white polo and jeans and drove a two-door black convertible with the top down.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m looking for a party my buddy’s throwing, but I don’t go here.”

“I’ll say you don’t,” you chuckled as you walked closer. “Your car must cost my tuition!”

The man grinned. “You like? I could take you for a spin. But I’ll have you know; I like to go fast.”

“Mmmm, top-down, wind in my hair,”—you inched closer still, to feign some sort of interest— “but don’t you have a party you’re missing?”

“Well, if you show me where to go, maybe I’ll consider you my plus one.” He winked.

“Now, do I look like the partying type to you?” You laughed and rested your arms on his car door.

Without another word, he grabbed you by the upper arms and pulled you into the driver’s seat. You screamed at the top of your lungs. You tried to fight him from your disadvantaged position, but he was stronger, quicker. He forced you into the passenger seat as he wailed punch after punch into your jaw.

“Nice. Girls. Don’t. Scream!” he yelled. He punctuated his words with one final blow to the head. And as you drifted out of consciousness, you weren’t sure if the roof was closing above you or if the sky was turning black.

------

The sound of fireworks stirred you from your unconsciousness. Lights of reds and blues lit the night sky. You smiled at the serenity of the celebration. You didn’t want to go, but the strong hands beneath you lifted you away. You were much too tired to argue, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. The faint words “stay with me” echoed in your mind, and if staying meant remaining in the comfort of the person who held you, you’d be content to stay there forever.

------

You woke up to blinding white lights. This must be heaven you assumed. You blinked through the searing lights and realized it wasn’t heaven at all. You were in a hospital. The sheets, the gown, the blinking monitors, and a small TV playing all clouded your senses. You reached up to rub your head, but someone was holding your hand.

Hotch moved with you, stirring him out of his strained slumber. He had pulled a chair to your bed, his head resting next to your knee. He lifted his head and looked up at you, an urgency deep within his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” He didn’t let go of your hand.

“I—uhhh—Hotch, what’s goin’ on?” You found your breathing quickening at the sound of your slurred speech, the confusion becoming too much to handle.

“You’re ok. You’re gonna be ok. The doctor said they want to keep you overnight, but the team’s on their way.”

“No, no.” You pulled your hand away. “They can’t see me like this. You can’t see me like this! I’m not put together. I—I feel like I'm gonna be sick. I can’t feel my arms. Are my hands shaking? I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out!”

Hotch all but jumped at your ramblings, his eyebrows raised in shock. Before he could answer you burst into tears.

“Hotch, I’m gonna be sick,” you said through your convulsions.

Hotch jumped up in search of a bucket. He grabbed the trashcan at the corner of the room and brought it to you just in time. Tears streamed down your face as you threw up into the trashcan. Hotch held your hair back and gently rubbed your back.

Your nausea subsided, but your panic remained. Hotch sat on the bed, pulling you into his chest. You gripped him with all your might, desperate for the shakes to go away.

“You're alright. You're safe, ok? I think the medicine is messing with you a little. Take some deep breaths for me. I need you to relax, ok?”

You tried to take breaths at the pace Hotch set. Hotch’s hand combed through your hair as he tried to soothe you. Eventually, you were able to cool off. Hotch gently rested you back on your pillow. “Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little, ok? I think you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

You nodded, your face still wet from the tears. You repositioned yourself and fell asleep within moments.

When you woke up again, your mind was your own. Your head was pounding, and your body ached. You allowed yourself to adjust to your environment before searching for Hotch. There he sat by your bed, talking to a nurse. You cleared your throat effortfully. Hotch stood and approached you.

“How are you?”

“Everything hurts.”

“They’re giving you ibuprofen now. It seems like you were reacting to the morphine poorly.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Not at all,” Hotch said seriously. “Do you remember what I told you? That they want to keep you overnight?”

“That does ring a bell,” you said as you rubbed your head. “Is the team here?”

“They are. I told them to wait outside until you were ready.”

“Oh, ok.” You thought for a moment. “Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Can—Can you tell me what happened? Like, did we win? Is everyone ok?”

Hotch chuckled, but his eyes appeared sad. “Everyone is fine. We got him. Are you sure you want to talk about this now? Why don’t we wait until you—”

“Hotch. Please.”

Hotch sighed and took a moment to think. “Well, we knew we were looking for an expensive convertible thanks to you.” He smiled. “So, we began our search as you spoke. But then, we all heard you scream.”

You flinched at the word, your memory of the gruesome event beginning to reassemble.

“Of course, it was full speed at that point. He had you, and we weren’t going to lose you. We cornered him on a dead-end road just outside of campus. We didn’t let him get far. Prentiss shot out one of his tires, so he started running. Prentiss and Morgan ran for him, and I ran to you.”

He paused. He looked away as his bottom lip trembled. He took a deep breath in as he settled into his natural professionalism again.

“We had EMT on standby, so we were able to get here quickly.”

You nodded, realizing it was Hotch who carried you out. The fireworks, the lights, the “stay with me”, the reality of it all crashed in on you in the form of a shudder.

“It was you?” you asked.

Hotch knit his eyebrows together and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You pulled me out. I felt you. I think I heard you.”

“Someone had to make sure you were ok.”

The fact that it was Hotch warmed your heart. Still, a question lingered in your mind. “Is he still alive?”

Hotch shook his head no.

“Mm,” was all you could say in response. There was no room for emotion. No time to process an opinion. You were just glad it was over. “What time is it?”

Hotch checked his watch. “It’s 2:43.”

“In the morning? Sir, with all good intentions, go to bed. Go tell the team to—”

Just behind Hotch, you caught a glimpse of Spencer in the doorway. “Is now a good time?” he asked.

You smiled and nodded. Spencer peeked his head back out and in a loud whisper said, “It’s clear! Go, go, go!”

The rest of the team hustled into the room and crowded around your bed. One by one, greetings and gentle hugs made their rounds, and your smile grew bigger and bigger.

“It’s a party now,” you said, a giggle bubbling out of your throat.

“Oh, she’s got the right idea,” JJ said as she sat close to you on the bed. She carefully moved a strand of hair from your face.

Prentiss laughed. “All we need now is some good music, a dance floor, and some drinks.”

The room filled with a few laughs and overall agreement.

“Too bad you all aren’t even supposed to be here,” Hotch said, slightly scolding the team. “It’s probably time for you all to call it a night.”

“Aw, Hotch, just a few minutes?” Garcia asked.

“We’ll be quiet!” Reid said.

Everyone looked at Hotch expectantly. You looked around at your teammates. They all were begging for a couple more minutes with you. That alone allowed your pain to subside.

Hotch sighed. “Just a couple more minutes.” A small smile formed on his face.

Everyone crowded around the bed, content murmurs and chatter filling the room again.

“Now be honest, guys. How bad do I look?” You shot them all a cheesy smile to sell it.

A few of them chuckled at your antics.

“I think you’ll be back to dating in no time,” Prentiss joked. “Guys love a badass scar.”

“Yeah, ’cause she was dating before,” JJ teased as she played with your hair.

“Shut up!” you giggled, coughing a little.

“I’ll get you water.” Hotch shot up and walked off.

“I’ll go with him,” Rossi said, sighing.

A seriousness enveloped the room. Derek was the first to speak up. “You know, you really scared us today, kiddo. Not to get all big brother on you, but it was tough seeing Hotch carrying you like that. Just limp.”

“And imagine how Hotch must have felt,” Reid said.

You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Just then Hotch and Rossi returned with your water.

“Drink,” he said, his arm outstretched. You grabbed the water from him, your fingers overlapping his. The memory of his hands shot through your spine. His frantic begging for you to stay with him, much more panicked than you remembered the phrase.

Imagine how Hotch must have felt.

“It’s getting late,” Rossi said.

The rest of the team grumbled and said their goodbyes. Hotch allowed the rest of the team to go, lingering in the room with you.

“If you need me to stay, I’d be happy to do so.”

“You need sleep, sir.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane,” he said as if it was nothing to him. “If you don’t think you’ll need me, I can let you be. We can be here early to pick you up.”

You thought for a moment. You didn’t want him to go, just in case. “Would you be willing to stay?”

“It’s why I offered.”

You felt your lip begin to tremble, the brave face for the rest of the team beginning to fade. “Hotch?”

“What can I do?”

“Well, I just… Can I use your phone? I think my mom should know I’m alright.”

“Of course.” He handed you his phone. “I’ll wait right outside for you.”

When the phone call was finished, Hotch returned and sat down in the chair.

“If you’re going to stay, I at least want you comfortable,” you said.

“The chair is fine,” Hotch said, taking his coat off for the first time today. “Get some sleep.”

You scooted to the side of your bed. “Here. At least sit up here where there’s some cushion.”

He didn’t respond right away. You knew you could convince him.

“I promise I’ll sleep,” you continued. “I’d be up worrying about your discomfort otherwise.”

Hotch sighed and stood up. “Only because I want you to sleep.”

He sat in the space you made for him at your feet. He stretched his legs alongside yours and rested his back against the footboard of the hospital bed.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you curled up on your side. The comfort in knowing that he was there to take care of you was enough to send you off to sleep in minutes.

“Goodnight, Hotch.”

“Goodnight.”

------

You woke up to something you had never seen before. Hotch was asleep at the foot of your bed, resting his head against your shins. A hand was placed just below your knee as if he planned to protect you in his sleep. It was the most peaceful you had ever seen him. He didn’t look cross or serious. He was calm and relaxed. You smiled to yourself. You had to fight the urge to return his touch. You knew the moment he woke up he’d return to his professional senses, and you weren’t quite ready for this moment to be over.

The doctor walked in to check on you, stirring him awake, anyway.

“I’m clearing you. Take these twice a day. Your jaw is going to be sore for a couple weeks, so work up to crunchy and chewy foods. And please, no strenuous activity for at least a full week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, taking the bottle of pills.

“Thank you,” Hotch said. He stood up from your bed as the doctor left. He threw his jacket on and fixed his hair in the window’s reflection.

You sat up and swung your legs off the bed. Hotch spun around and met you at your side.

“How can I help?”

You chuckled. “I think I can stand on my own.”

His eyes shared signs of concern and disbelief. Still, he took a small step back and allowed you to gather your bearings. Standing on your own, you closed the small gap between you. You began to become painstakingly aware of your attire being only a hospital gown and rubber socks.

“You got it?” Hotch asked, his arms out like you were a baby taking your first steps.

“Mmhmm,” you said. “Are my clothes here?”

“Yes, let me grab them for you.” He rushed to the corner of the room where your clothes had been neatly folded, including his sweater. He handed them all to you, his hands brushing against yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he stood over you. You looked up at him. His eyes returned your gaze, though you weren’t able to read him. His chest rose and fell as if his breathing was slow and deliberate.

“I’m going to call the team,” Hotch said, his voice low. “Do you—do you need help with anything before I do?”

All you could do was shake your head no on instinct, your eyes not leaving his. He stayed still. His eyes scanned you like he was contemplating something. He backed up carefully and pulled his phone from his coat pocket.

“Wait,” you said.

He froze.

You felt your face redden as you worked up the courage to continue. “Could—could you untie the top for me? My shoulder—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly as he inched forward again. “Turn around.”

You did as you were told. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and began to work on the knot. His calloused fingers feathered your skin. His warm breath betrayed you as chills ran down your spine. He untied the knot, allowing cool air to reach the back of your now-open gown. Hotch turned to leave.

“Be careful,” he said at the door. “If you need me, knock on the glass.”

You nodded.

He closed the door behind him, leaving you alone.

------

The drive from the hospital to the hotel rendered the air stale. Hotch had insisted on helping you out of the hospital and into the car. But he didn’t speak. He drove while you sat in the back seat. Every once in a while, you’d catch him checking on you in the rear-view mirror, only to direct his attention back to the road.

When you returned to the hotel, Hotch stopped you from leaving the car.

“I’ll grab your things. You stay here.”

“I can get my things just fine.”

“Your bag is heavy. Doctor’s orders. No strenuous activity. Stay here.”

You huffed and sat back in your seat as Hotch closed the door for you.

The plane ride was the same: silent. Hotch sat opposite you as if he refused to allow you to leave his sight. But he kept to himself all the same. The others rested or played their card games, but you stayed put, almost waiting for Hotch to make his next move. He didn’t speak the entire flight.

Upon your return, Hotch dismissed the rest of the team.

“Thank you for the hard work this weekend. Rest up, and I will see you all Monday.”

You all headed out to leave, but Hotch stopped you. “Let me take you home,” he said.

You sighed. “Is driving a strenuous task now?”

“It’s late, and I’m not asking,” he said, returning your attitude.

You followed him to his car. He carried both his and your bag and placed them in the backseat before joining you up front.

Again, not a word was spoken between the two of you. You felt your blood boiling beneath your skin. It was as if the trip never happened, as if the distance between you never closed. The babying was the worst of all. You were sure he was seeing you as the rest of the team did now, incapable, fragile, only a child.

Hotch walked you up to your apartment. He waited for you to open your door, placing your bag directly inside.

“Well,” you began, “I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

He stood in your doorway for a moment, something on his mind. “Are you sure you’re ok? Is there anything else you think you may need before I go?”

“Hotch, what is all this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You tried to maintain your sanity, but the anger had bubbled into your throat. “All this, this, this coddling! You’re treating me like I’m fragile or, or useless!”

“Do I have to remind you that you were in the hospital this morning?” Hotch asked, aggravation coating his throat.

“I don’t need this from you, too, ok? The rest of them, I can take it, but you were different! I thought you were different.”

Hotch closed the door behind him and crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”

“Have you not noticed that all of them treat me like I’m a child? Derek literally calls me kiddo, and the girls act like I’m some innocent girl fresh out of high school. Reid and JJ are five years older than me. That’s it! Rossi, forget it. I’m like a grandchild to him at this point. But you, you never belittled me. So, what is this? Did I fail you? I’d rather you just tell me than refuse to speak to me.”

“I – you didn’t fail me. How could you think that?”

“You couldn’t even look at me after the hospital.”

Hotch’s face turned a light shade of pink, his eyes leaving yours for only a moment. “We were successful because of you. But you got hurt. I just want to make sure you’re ok. That’s all.”

You thought for a moment, still not satisfied with his answer. “Then why didn’t you talk to me? I thought we were—I thought maybe there was something—”

“Please,” Hotch interrupted, “don’t say anything you might regret.” He took a step back.

“Are you saying I’m imagining this? That I imagined this morning?”

“No, no, no. We’re not doing this.”

“The coffee, the book put away neatly,”

“I would do that for anyone.”

“What about when you stormed out yesterday? When we were going over the file on your bed.” Your voice started to shake.

“That’s when I—I realized we had to use you.” He looked down, almost ashamed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear that you’ve outed yourself and maybe you were more delusional than you thought.

“This morning…” you said.

“You asked for my help, and I helped you. Just like I’m happy to do for you now if you need. Look, it’s late, and you’ve gone through a lot.”

“Then what did Reid mean?”

Hotch looked back up at you. He looked nervous, something you may have never seen in his eyes before. “What do you mean?”

“He said imagine how you must have felt when you found me. What did he mean by that if it doesn’t mean you care about me?”

“Of course, I care about you!” he exclaimed, moving closer to you. “I almost lost you! And when I found you, I thought you were gone. You were lifeless. So, forgive me for wanting to be careful with you, because I refuse to let that happen again. I refuse to lose you again.”

You looked at him in shock.

He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said any of this. Listen, the only reason you’re feeling anything for me is because it’s me you woke up to. Nothing more. If Reid or Morgan found you, the same thing would happen with them.”

“Do not chalk this up to some damsel in distress situation,” you said a little too boldly. “The whole team knows I have a thing for you.”

Now Hotch was in shock. He shook his head. “It’s not me you want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know you’re desperate for romance in your life because you either don’t make time for it in real life or were burned so bad in the past, that you gave it up entirely.”

“Hotch, don’t you dare profile me right now.”

“I know you have a rocky relationship with men in general, rooted in your relationship with your father.”

“Stop it, now.”

“You refuse to associate with him in any way. You don’t even allow us to call you by your last name. He views you differently from your sisters for some reason, and you hate him for it.”

“Hotch, I swear to god—”

“You mocked him for giving good advice, and you flinched when I brought up getting beers with him. He’s an alcoholic, isn’t he?”

“So, what, honestly? Literally who cares if he drinks? He gets mean, so what? What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot have?”

“But he’s not just mean, is he?”

The air in your lungs got caught in your throat.

“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s how he treats you differently.”

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice cold.

Hotch stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders with both hands. You shuddered in his grasp. “You don’t want me, ok? I can’t fix what you’ve gone through. I can’t even protect you at work. Do you know the guilt I feel for what happened to you? I’m the one who got you hurt. And now I have to live with that. What makes you think that I can be what you need if I can’t even keep you safe here?”

You closed what little space was left between you. You looked up at him, your face only inches from his. “Stop telling me what I want. I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. You’re not going to push me away like this.”

Hotch’s breath hitched in his throat. His chest heaved up and down, and his eyes darkened. “This is wrong. I’m your superior. This isn’t appropriate.”

“If you truly don’t want me, I’ll stop. We’ll go back to how things were. But you have to say you don’t want me.”

His grip on your shoulders strengthened, his touch burning into your skin. His now wild eyes scanned you as if he couldn’t have fathomed this happening. A lump formed in your throat as you waited for him to find the words. Instead, he pulled you flush against him and pressed his lips against yours. His kiss was raw and desperate, rougher than your healing jaw could take, but you couldn’t care less. He wrapped his arms around your back and gripped your hair as if it was instinctual. Your breathing hitched, causing you to moan into his mouth.

He pulled away, slightly out of breath. “I need you to tell me this is ok.”

“This is ok,” you said, breathless.

“Good,” Hotch said, “because I don’t want to stop.”

A smirk formed on your face. You grabbed a hold of his tie and pulled him closer to you. “Then I think you need to take this off.”

You dropped the tie and kissed him as he took his coat off. Your mouth wandered to his jaw. Hotch let out a groan.

“Your room. Now.”

His words sent chills down your spine. You took his hand and led him to your room. You turned around and watched Hotch remove his tie, sliding it through his collar. His eyes stayed on yours, his already dark eyes now almost black with desire. The moment his tie came off, he was back on you, kissing you like his life depended on it. His hands wandered to your ass and lifted you up, his lips never leaving your skin. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you to your bed.

Hotch laid you down, now hovering over you. His lips drifted from yours down to your neck.

“Seeing you in this had me thinking horrible things,” Hotch confessed, slightly pulling on the quarter zip you were still wearing.

You blushed. “Really?” you asked, a smug smile growing on your face. “Is that why you were avoiding me?”

“Was it really that obvious?” Hotch asked, his large hands finding their way under your shirt.

You couldn’t even answer as his hands ventured up to your chest. His hands pulled a moan from your mouth.

“Take this off,” Hotch said as he pulled the hem of your shirt.

“You, first.”

Hotch’s eyebrows raised as if surprised by your reply. He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. You practically drooled at the sight of him shirtless. You could only assume he was fit when he rolled up his sleeves or manhandled unsubs, but this was all the confirmation you needed.

“Your turn,” he said.

You did as you were told, revealing yourself to him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he sighed as he kissed your chest.

You fought off a moan. You couldn’t believe this was happening. This was only something you pictured in your wildest dreams, and here he was in the flesh.

“I wanted this for so long,” you found yourself saying out loud.

“Me, too,” he agreed. “You have no idea how much I thought about this.”

Your cheeks flushed red. He began leaving marks past your breasts, down your stomach to the hem of your shorts.

“Can I take these off?” Hotch asked.

You nodded.

“Use your words, honey.”

Your stomach did a flip hearing the phrase. “Yes, sir. Take them off.”

He all but growled in response. He pulled at your shorts, taking them off in a swift motion.

“So much for no strenuous activities,” you joked.

“I can be gentle,” Hotch said as he settled in between your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your head fell back onto your pillow. You knew you were in for it.

Hotch spread your legs apart, the stretch enough for you to arch into his touch.

A smirk graced his lips, and without another word, he licked into your core. His mouth against you was like a gift from God, something you had only hoped could feel so good. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, grabbing his hair to pull him closer, if at all possible. He placed a hand on your stomach to keep you still. You could feel him smile against you, turning you on even more.

“Hotch,” you breathed out. You were close faster than you had ever been.

“Say my name,” he said as he placed a finger inside you.

“A-Aaron,” you choked out, the new sensation too much to handle. He filled you with another finger, his hitting the spot your fingers never could.

“Fuck, Aaron, don’t stop. Please.” Your breathing quickened, and as he pumped his fingers in and out, you felt the coil in your stomach snap, expletives and his name leaving your lips. Hotch continued to pump you as you rode your high, a daze overtaking you.

When you caught your breath, you pulled Hotch back up for a kiss, your hands finding their way to his belt.

Hotch’s hands stopped yours. You looked up at him, confused.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

“I want this if you do. Do you?” you asked.

“I really do,” he said. “I need to feel you.”  

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “Then please let me help you.”

He released your hands and kissed your forehead as you unbuckled his belt. The moment felt ironically wholesome until you pulled at his dress pants. You couldn’t help but gawk at his cock springing free. You were suddenly nervous, not quite sure it would fit after all this time practically revirginizing. If your jaw weren’t so sore, you’d have him in your mouth without a second thought.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said as if he could hear your thoughts. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hotch hovered over you and kissed your lips softly. You returned the kiss and nodded.

Hotch lined himself up with your entrance and carefully pushed in. He and you both groaned at the sensation, the stretch of him filling you something you hadn’t experienced in years.

“Jesus Christ. You’re so, this isn’t your first time, is it?”

“No, no,” you said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s just been a while. Just, just go slow, ok?”

Hotch nodded and started to move. He rested his forehead on yours, sighs and pants escaping both of your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Hotch asked.

You chuckled at his question. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we?”

Hotch smiled as he placed his lips on yours, much more tender than before. He moved a stray hair from your face and cupped your cheek with the utmost gentility. The urgency was gone, replaced by something deeper. Everything had culminated to this moment, and neither of you wanted to waste it.

Still, the need for more overtook you. “Aaron,” you said, your hips bucking up into his.

“What do you need? I need you to tell me.”

“Faster, please,” you said.

His pace quickened, one hand still around you. He used the other to stabilize himself, allowing you to view the tension in his muscles. You bit back a moan as the pressure inside you built.

“Don’t hold back,” Hotch said. “Let me hear you.”

He slammed into you, a smirk growing on his face as your breath caught in your throat.

“Just like that!” you blurted out.

He did just that, slamming into you again and again.

“Fuck. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” Hotch said, his voice almost shaking.

“I’m close, too. Please don’t stop,” you begged.

He pounded into you harder and faster, no longer a rhythm but a motive, a goal to achieve.

“Come for me, honey. I’ve got you. Just come for me.”

You clenched around him as you came, all but screaming his name. His pace didn’t let up as you rode your orgasm, your legs trembling around him.

“Oh, god. I’m gonna, where do I—”

“Chest!”

He pulled out and came on your chest, making the most attractive groans you had ever heard in your life. You watched in awe, absolute shock overtaking you. Never in your wildest dreams did you picture this. And for the love of god, you hoped this wasn’t the last time this happened.

Hotch crawled over you, still catching his breath, and captured your lips in a kiss.

“How are you feeling?” Hotch asked. “Is your head ok?”

“I’m good,” you said smiling at his return to his overprotective self. “I’m really good. I promise.”

Hotch rested his forehead on yours then kissed you, the tenderness returning.

“I like when you do that,” you said, your cheeks reddening.

“Me, too,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to help, if you don’t want to.”

“What, and miss showering with you?” Hotch smiled. “Just lead the way.”

In the shower, the two of you washed up, and you couldn’t knock the smile from your face if you tried, until you thought about showing up to work Monday morning.

“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked.

“The team’s gonna know,” you said.

Hotch thought for a moment. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, well, I wouldn’t have done it in this order, but would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?”

You blushed, despite the state you were both in. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Hotch smiled. “I’m asking you on a date, yes. I have to be honest, though, I’m out of practice.”

“If tonight was you out of practice, I think tomorrow will go just fine.”

Hotch laughed and kissed you again, something you hoped would never fade in your memory.

************

ForeversTaglist:

@lizziedizzie3 @heavennleeee-blog @hunterswearingplaid @thisismysecrethappyplace @geekinator9 @ronnie248-blog @oliolioxiclean @phonegalhelp @because-you-never-know-when @roonyxx @keithseabrook27 @ericaprice2008 @heythereamigodude

[suuuupernovaaa]

new beginnings

summary: joel finds out he’s going to be a father

age gap, joel 50s, female in her 30s, pregnancy, HEA, fluff

TW: mention of pregnancy loss

MASTERLIST

For the third day in a roll, you skip patrol. You wake up exhausted as if you haven’t slept a wink all night, your stomach rolling until you get a few bites of toast down, and the smell of your body wash makes you nauseated all over again.

You know what it is. What it all means. But you’re pretending you don’t. You’re pretending this isn’t familiar territory, that you haven’t been here before and therefore don’t know what it could be.

It’s just a stomach bug. It’ll pass. Never mind that you’ve missed not one, but two periods.

That could be stress. You bury the word down deep, the very idea of it, and go about your day. By noon, you’re feeling better, able to help out down at the restaurant for a while until Joel returns, finding you there serving drinks in the early evening.

You’re dead on your feet, gray circles under your eyes, but you won’t admit it to yourself.

“Darlin’, you look bad,” Joel says by way of greeting as he saddles up to the bar.

You scoff. “Hello to you too, asshole.”

A whiff of whiskey hits your nose and you turn, gagging into your elbow. You take a few deep breathes, in through your nose, out through your mouth, and it passes.

“What is going on?” Joel asks, his voice thick with concern.

“I’m coming down with something, or maybe I ate something that didn’t disagree with me.”

“Every day the last two weeks?” Tommy mutters as he carries a case of supplies behind you, and you glare at him.

Joel looks from you, to his brother, then back to you.

Unfortunately, Joel is smart. You could have found yourself an idiot, but no, it could only be Joel for you.

“Let’s go home,” he says, his eyes wary and full of recognition, and you sigh and join him on the other side of the bar.

He zips up your jacket for you, all the way to the top, and you slap his hand away with a teasing grin.

“I’m pregnant, not disabled,” you chide him, and his jaw falls slack.

He says nothing, though. Not on the walk home. Not when you take your coats and shoes off inside the door. Not when you follow him into the kitchen, where he fills a kettle and places it on the stove.

“What are you doing?” you ask finally.

“Tea helps, I hear,” he replies, and you just nod.

After another tense, silent moment, you ask, “Are you mad?”

His eyes widen as they meet yours. “Mad? No, honey, just… shocked.”

You laugh and shrug. “We’ve been doing a whole lot of the thing that makes babies.”

He shakes his head. “Well, yeah, I know that. I’m just, when did you find out?” He steps closer to you, reaching out to hold your hand in his.

“Well, I guess I’ve known a while. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared,” you look down at his hands, strong and calloused, holding yours. “I lost the last one.”

His lips form a thin line across his face. “You never told me.”

“I never told anyone. I was young, 20. Only made it maybe, 10 weeks. It hurt like hell. She’d be 15 now.”

“She?”

You shrug. “I had a feeling. Could’ve been wrong.”

He shakes his head. “No, moms know.”

Something about that - moms know - breaks a dam inside of you, and you fall forward into his arms, a mess of tears. You’re mourning your lost child all over again, and so scared for this new one, all at once. The sobs are heavy, your body heaving, your bones tired.

“Oh, baby, it’s all right,” he says, scooping you up and setting you into the kitchen counter, and holding you tight in his arms while you cry. “It’ll be okay. I’m with you, whatever happens.”

The kettle begins screaming then, and you let him go so he can take it off the stove.

“I want this one to stick, Joel. Especially because it’s yours.”

He walks back to you, and places his hands on either side of your tear stained face.

“Me too. I’m old as hell, but I’d love nothing more than to be a father. To have a kid with you.”

A small smile graces your lips, and a giant one crosses his. “We’ll go to the clinic tomorrow. Make sure everything’s okay. It’s supposed to be a good sign, that you’re sick. Mean’s the baby is strong.”

You perk up, new tears filling your eyes. “Really?” You feel hopeful, for the first time since you knew you could be pregnant.

“Really.” His hand trails down, and rests on your stomach. It will be a while before you’re showing, but he does it anyway. “I love you. I’m here with you, for all of it. You and me.”

You rest your forehead on his and take a deep, steadying breath.

“You and me.”

[nineteenninety-six]

Jack with wife having their newborn baby being brought it, baby can’t stop crying. And like many it’s robinavitch’s shift but like at one point she finally lets herself cry and line Jack puts a hand on her shoulder and she turns around in his arms crying.

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Reader

TW: sick babies. medical inaccuracies.

AN: I don't think this is what you wanted exactly but I kinda struggled with it, so sorry. In all honestly I tend to struggle with requests that are similar to ones I've done before, especially when they're requested close together or just after I posted one.

Pregnancy was particularly challenging for you. Intense and relentless morning sickness accompanied you from the early weeks, along with a lack of appetite and an aversion to most smells, making your pregnancy even more difficult. Pregnancy was not your friend, so you eagerly counted down the days until your little bundle of joy arrived, and when they did, it was the best day of your life.

Jack was on paternity leave and ensured you lacked nothing while he was home. He handled the cooking, cleaning, and even fed the baby while you rested. Jack was not only a wonderful husband but also an amazing father. He took care of the early morning feedings and always soothed the baby when they woke up in the middle of the night before you even stirred. He eased your anxious new mother worries, calming you with his extensive medical knowledge. So when young Elena woke up sick, crying nonstop, you weren’t completely terrified because you had Jack. However, the fearful look he shot you after examining her almost made your knees buckle from fear.

"Go take her to the truck, I'll be right behind you." Jack instructs you as he pulls out his phone, quickly dialling a number and shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder as he picks up the diaper bag and passes you the car keys.

You cradle Elena in your arms, trying to soothe her crying as you slip into some sandals and hurry towards the garage, "Should we call an ambulance?"

Jack shakes his head, "Quicker to drive. I'm calling Robby now."

You try to swallow the fear but your hands shakes as you strap your sweet girl into her seat in Jack's truck. She briefly quiets down, so you wipe her tears and press a kiss to her soft cheeks before you step back, closing the backseat door before joining Jack in the front, sitting in the passenger seat.

Elena quickly started back with her cries, her wails piercing your ears as she squirmed in pain. You couldn't stop looking back at her, calling out her name and resting your hand in her tiny lap so she knows you haven't disappeared but it doesn't stop her cries.

Jack's hand on your thigh pulls your attention over to him and he flashes you a comforting smile before he returns his focus back to the road.

"She'll be okay. The fact she's constantly screaming and crying means that she can breathe, she'll soon tire herself out." Jack comforts you, "The screaming, the crying, it's the only way she can communicate with us that she's in pain somewhere."

Jack pulls into the staff parking lot of the hospital and turns off the car before he turns to you, "And it's my job to find out why."

Soon you're walking through the doors into the emergency department, Elena in Jack's arms as Robby quickly saddles up next to you, guiding you into a private room. 

"Symtoms?" Robby asks getting straight to work, snapping on some gloves to begin his examination of the baby.

"She woke up crying, and hasn't stopped all day." You tell him as you run your fingers over your baby's sparse hair on her head, "She hasn't eaten either, she doesn't stop crying for long enough for me to even try to use a bottle."

"And last night? How was she?" Robby asks as he uses his stethoscope.

"Fine, no issues. She woke up at the usual times throughout the night too, nothing different." Jack says as he stands behind you, a comforting hand on your hip.

"I'm going to call for a Paeds consult but it seems minor to me. I think we'll start her off some fluids and antibiotics and monitor her for a few hours."

You deflate in relief, the fear that there was something seriously wrong with your daughter dissipates and you turn in Jack's arms, tucking your face underneath his chin before you begin to cry.

Jack soothed you as you cried in his arms, rubbing a comforting hand up and down your back and muttering reassuring words into your ear in between kisses to your forehead.

"She's fine, she's okay" Jack murmurs, "She's our brave, strong girl, don't worry."

You nod and sniffle, wiping your tears with your sleeve before you turn back to your daughter who was now in Robby's arms, significantly quieter.

"Maybe she just wanted to meet her uncle Robby," Robby jokes as he swayed Elena from side to side, "She just got a little bit impatient."

Jack rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn't take Elena from Robby, "Well enjoy the two minutes you have because once I get Dana and Collins in here, you won't get another chance."

Robby doesn't even look away from Elena, "Yeah well ask Dana to bring the IV and antibiotics whilst you're at it."

Jack shakes his head with a laugh but does as he's asked anyway, giving you one last kiss on the cheek before he leaves the room to get the charge nurse.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Plan-Books (Inherited) : Riddle habitually carries a planner with all his tasks. A physical one, not an app in his cell phone like most students choose. You find it easier to manage and swap to paper-and-pen alternatives at his recommendation.

Tidiness (Inherited): Riddle is a nit-pickier when it comes to physical presentation. His habits of pressing his uniform, laying his clothes out every night, and dressing conservatively rub off. He has a point - ironed trousers do make a difference. Every morning he will redo your uniform tie. It's never knotted to his 'standard', and is his preferred excuse to greet you before class.

"Now, isn't that better? Surely you are more comfortable in ironed linens than those rags you'd been wearing as pajamas. You seriously found them lying in Ramshackle? Were you not given an allowance to buy basic needs? Ridiculous! The Headmaster's irresponsibility holds no bounds!" <- Utterly appalled that you've been sleeping in century-old robes. He supplies you with seven sets of pajamas, a spare uniform, and an iron + board for Ramshackle. All after reaming the Headmaster for neglect in the last dorm-head meeting - either Crowley coughed up the marks or Riddle will supply from his own bank. Seven have mercy if he chooses to become a lawyer instead of a doctor.

No Heels (Developed): Riddle has a height complex. He won't make a show of it, but you wearing heels does emasculate him. Especially if you're already taller naturally. For his sake, you choose to slay your outfits in flats.

"Are those new loafers? Oh - no, they're lovely. The embroidery is exquisite and I can see why Pomefiore's Housewarden models for their brand. I merely thought you preferred the heeled saddle-shoes we saw during the past weekend trip. I must have been mistaken. Never mind me. You look wonderful."

Playing Brain Teasers (Inherited): Riddle has this thing with memory - you don't know if he's really into preventing old-age Alzheimer's or what. He carries a book of teaser games like Sudoku, etc. for when he has downtime and you eventually get into them too.

"Oh! My Rose, would you care to join me for lunch? Trey's siblings recently mailed in a large collection of cross-words. You'll find they are both educational and entertaining - hm? I do not seem the 'type' for word-games? I assure you, even I can relax on occasion. There is no need to look so surprised." <- Riddle's been making a grand effort to do things he enjoys and become more personable. Trey's siblings did not send the collection. Riddle went into town and picked it out on his own. He also found a book on organizing excursions since he's big on quality time. He is dead-set on not being a neglectful or 'boring' partner.

Swear Jar (Developed): Tired of Riddle collaring Ace for his vulgar tongue, you suggest a Heartslabyul swear jar. When the jar gets filled, the money can be used to fund things like study materials and renovations for the dorm. Riddle liked this idea, but now implements it on anyone who sets foot in the Heartslabyul. Considering you spend most of your time there, you've had to develop a vast vocabulary beyond swearing. Oh - you also unironically use the word 'fiddlesticks' now.

Habits he steals:

Useless Expenses (Inherited): You are an enabler without a doubt. Riddle has always functioned with the bare bones - with function and efficiency being the number one priority. Ever so slowly - you've spoiled him with aesthetically pleasing stationary. At first all the needless purchases felt redundant - why buy the pillowcases with flowers when plain white is cheaper? You can invest in a higher quality this way. Yet you've ruined him with gifts that he had no choice but to use. Now he needs to buy the pens with little hedgehogs on them because studying doesn't feel the same with a plain ballpoint.

Slang Dictionary (Developed): With each passing day, all the students in Heartslabyul get more creative at bending the rules. That includes you. Riddle takes it upon himself to carry a 'little-black-book' full of all the sang words he is unfamiliar with. He does want to be a bit more 'hip' to understand you more, but at the same time he wants to bust any student being a smart-mouth. It's an ongoing battle *sigh*.

"Apologies, could you repeat that term for me? Surely it must be relevant to my lecture if you and Ace are whispering. 'Let him cook'? Do you think we are in a culinary lecture?! Have you not been listening to - ah. So it's in reference to letting me finish before interrupting...One moment. I need to make a note."

Chewing Gum (Developed): This is an ode to psychology. In short, eating is tied to a person's fight-or-flight. Instincts dictate that our bodies need to be in a calm state to eat comfortably. One day when Riddle was at his wits end, you tossed him a pack of sugarless gum and told him to chew. Disregarding Trey's unholy dental screeching, Riddle develops a gum dependence for when he's stressed out. On the bright side, his jaw has never been so sharp.

“Mimicry? You must be mistaken. Even if my influence has affected their person, surely there are only positive developments” == Riddle denies any changes if confronted. In truth, he’s well aware of how much you’ve helped him grow. It’s the opposite accusation that spikes concern. Riddle does not want others thinking you’re a mini-version of him. Rumors are not kind and neither is his current reputation. Making those amends is his burden to bare. He is flattered to see you paying attention to his mannerisms, and secretly proud that your bond is strong enough to affect the psyche.

Habits you steal:

Whistling (Inherited): Trey whistles while working in the kitchen or doing general chores around the dorm. He's not very loud with it, so not may students are bothered. Since you laze about in his shadow the tunes he goes through do become repetitive. Now you do the same when cleaning up Ramshackle. Grim wants to knock you both out because he can't take it anymore.

"Ah -- How'd you know it was me in here? Just because I bake for the un-birthday parties doesn't mean I live in the kitchen, you know. My whistling? Huh. Never thought that would be my calling card but there are worse things, haha"

Head-Scratching (Inherited): Trey's got a habit of scratching the back of his head when he's uncomfortable or nervous. That, or rubbing at the nape of his neck while adverting eye contact. You start doing this too whenever you're being scolded or put in a tough situation.

Dental Hygiene (Inherited): By far the most obvious shared trait. Trey enforces his dental habits onto everyone- you are no exception. You now own four different kinds of floss, two toothbrushes (one being electric), and have a strict hygiene routine. Your pearly whites have never been so clean. Eventually you become somewhat of a secondary enforcer, policing anyone who sleeps over your dorm to take care of themselves before bed. All of Heartslabyul learns that there is no going back when you scold Riddle for not brushing after his teatime tart, and live to tell the tale.

"Hey - uh, weird question? Were you handing out floss to the Spelldrive Team yesterday? Seriously? I though Grim was pulling my leg - oh, no! It's not weird at all! Those guys should have a better routine for all the meat they eat when bulking. I'm just shocked you got through to them." <- Very proud. Mildly cocky. He's been itching to get those negligent jocks to floss after their banquets his entire tenure, but steered away from that conflict like the plague. Thank you for making his dreams come true. Now if you could maybe get them to stop picking their gums with toothpicks?

Habits he steals:

Overbuying Food (Developed): Being a baker's son, Trey's good with finances and money. He's also meticulous with the ingredients he purchases for his bakes. You are not. You go to Sam's shop, buy whatever is on sale, and then bring it back home to improvise. This ends poorly more often than not, and behold! Trey has two Ramshackle sluggers snooping around his kitchen for eats. This is unpredictable and therefore he now never knows what amount to buy. You've ruined him.

Phone Calls (Developed): Texting is easier. Especially since phone calls can be a commitment that Trey dislikes being wrapped up in. Whenever Cater's name pops up as the caller, Trey knows he's getting an ear full. The thing is that you never. answer. your. phone. Either the text gets lumped in with the hundreds of missed messages you have, or Grim stole your cell to play mobile games. So Trey gives up and only ever calls. Either Grim will answer or you'll pick up thinking it's the snooze of your alarm.

"Hello? Prefect, where are you? It's me, Trey. Just calling to see if you're still coming to the Un-Birthday party? Riddle's getting a bit nervous since the schedule's set for the next hour. Grim's already here with Ace and Deuce - uh, want Cater to send a double to pick you up? I have a sinking feeling that you're asleep...Call me? Please?" <- He was correct. You called back not a moment after, half-asleep and hauling ass not to be late.

Speaking in Propositions (Inherited): Trey's normally good at keeping neutrality in a conversation, but getting a clear answer out of Yuu you is like solving a rubix cube. Either it's easy and instant, or a long game. Eventually your habit of indecisiveness rubs off on him and he asks questions more than answers them. Evidently this gets his younger classmen to stop asking for favors unless they really need to.

“Aha - really? I didn’t notice at all. Okay. Okay, I picked up on a few hints. What’s so wrong with them taking after me? It’s cute, right?” == Trey is the observant sort that picks up on his influence quickly. Not just anyone carries floss in their pocket at all times - and the looks from his dorm-mates when you offer some up is enough for the realization to click. Trey’s used to playing the respectable sort, and finds it endearing that you’re taking his good notes to heart. In truth, most of Trey’s mimicry is intentional. He’s a flexible guy who doesn’t mind altering his habits to fit your needs. Easier this way, y’know?

Habits you steal:

Speaking in Acronyms(Inherited): Now this is scary. The first time it happened, you had to take a pause and just re-evaluate your entire life. You don't use them nearly as often as Cater does, but somewhere along the line your brain must have rewired to speak in internet lingo. O-M-G you're TOTALLY twinning with him right now, period :)

Nicknames (Inherited): Again, frightening. You once swore against ever calling him Cay-Cay. It isn't very slay-slay. Yet you can only hear him use nicknames for so long until you're unconsciously calling people by them too. Especially since he's always dishing gossip. It starts in your head, which is fine. It's not like they know. Then you call Lilia 'Lils' and that old fart is just grinning behind his sleeve because ohoho~ young love <3

"Did you just- AHA! OMG DO IT AGAIN?! Wait, gotta get my camera out for this - wha? Oh, that's totes not fair! C'mon. Call me Cay-Cay. Just once! I won't even post it to Magicam, please? Lils won't believe me without proof! Pleasssssseeeee - " <- He actually doesn't want you to call him Cay-Cay all the time. Cater likes you using his given name, since it's more personal. Although the way it obviously slipped out on accident is just too cute to ignore.

Reality TV (Inherited): At first you don't like the gossip. It's cheesy, a bit annoying, and the shaky camera-work for nearly every show is headache inducing. Cater likes his dose of drama in his free-time, and Ramshackle has a tv that no one is using. It starts with him watching while you do other things around the dorm. Yet each time you pass the living area, you take longer to leave. Lingering around like one of the ghosts. Then he pulls you in with snacks and starts giving the low-down of what's going on, pulling out a bottle of tangerine shimmer polish to paint your nails. It's just one episode, watch it for him? Please? Oh no. No. No. Suddenly you're invested in who's the baby-daddy of little Ricky and what Chantel is going to do because her sister just lost the house to foreclosure.

"#KingdomOfDeadbeats - am I right? Ugh. I'm so glad we met if that's the dating scene back home...What?! I know it isn't real! Don't be a dummy, I was just joking! Ah! Stop! Don't hit me!" <- Half-hearted jokes about going on one of those talk-shows one day. You're an alien, after all - imagine the juicy drama and views his account would get from doing an interview? It's all jokes though. Cater likes spilling the tea, but hates being it. Don't ever abandon him and go out for milk though, kay? He doesn't want to pay Grim's child support. Otherwise he might have no choice smh

Habits he steals:

Phone/Web Games (Inherited): Cater's phone is mainly full of social media. He's not too into the gaming scene, it's not his peeps y'know? Alas, you download a few dress-up games and one MMO on his phone. First off - props on getting his phone. That's Cay-Cay's lifeline and not just anyone gets to play with it. Pray tell - what is this Wonderstar Planet (props if you know what is being ref.) and how can he become the most influential digital streamer on it? Congrats. He's addicted.

"Who's this Muscle Red and why's he bombing our raid - AH! He just tea-bagged me! So not cool...Prefect? STOP LAUGHING WE HAVE BETS ON THIS MATCH! There goes my collab opportunity, big fail" <- Muscle Red continues to make an appearance. Eventually he becomes Cater's official rival on stream, and Lils is all to invested in the tea cater drops during club meets. Side note. You're the one who gave 'muscle red' Cater's domain code. The lore thickens.

Internet Caution (Developed): This goes without saying, but Cater's well-known in the Magicam scene. He's very forward and knows his way around using charisma. Since you're not in the scene as much, he becomes more cautious of where and when he does streams. The change is so subtle that only the most observant people will pick up on it - but Cay-Cay doesn't want any creepos popping in if y'know what I'm saying. His sisters were the ones to instigate this change.

“Awe~ SRSLY?! That’s fresh news to my ears but good, right? Ne, are there any clips or pics? I need my evidence, y’see. Especially if my cutie is off taking notes from their one and only. C’mon, spill the tea!” == Cheeky Cater is well aware of what’s happening. He’d humor anyone out for some light teasing - after all, he isn’t by your side at all hours. His walls are probably the second most difficult in all of campus to bypass, so he’s both sweetened and nerved to see you picking up on his mannerisms. That’s proof of a strong attachment, after all.

Habits you steal:

Knuckle Cracking (Inherited): Deuce still does this from his biker days. It could be because joint pain from past fights, or possibly air retention in his knuckles from studying. Regardless, Deuce cracks his knuckles at least once every few hours and you began to mimic him. Some people groan at the popping sounds but it really does feel good to release the tension. Let's just hope neither of you dislocate any fingers on accident.

"Stop that! G-geez, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you broke a finger...your hands are stiff? That just means you're studying a lot! I think...uh, let's break? I think there's some leftovers in the kitchen." <- Deuce 100% gets needing to pop those air bubbles. His hands get stiff from studying all the time, but don't crack them too much or you might dislocate something. Side note - he shows you how to wrap your fingers with a soothing salve. He used to do it after fights, but now it's a great help after class.

Double Notes (Developed): Deuce tries. He really does. Yet the lad just isn't great when it comes to book smarts. Seeing that he is dedicated to turning over a new leaf, you make a habit of copying all your notes. He isn't allowed to share them with Ace or Grim - else all bets are off. Sometimes you leave little 'good job' stickers on the last page for him. Is he a toddler? No. Does he peel the stickers off and save them? Totally. He is a good noodle. Suck it Ace.

Sewing (Developed): He breaks things. Most of the time it's an accident. You've learned to carry a mini-sewing kit for all the rips in Deuce's uniform. Same for mini remedies for stains and other problems. It's not like he's trying to get grass stains all over his under-shirt or to split the seam in his gloves (nearly every week). It just happens, and every time he comes to you with a kicked-puppy look with a promise of it being the last time. It is never the last time.

"Uhm...hun'? It happened again. I'm so sorry for bothering you but Housewarden is going to kill me if he sees the tear in my blazer! Can you fix it?! I can't handle another collar with my exam tomorrow! I need to breathe to focus! - really!? I owe you one! Snacks are on me tonight."

Habits he steals:

Bottomless Stomach (Developed): Have leftovers from dinner? Bring them over. He'll get the tubba-ware back in 1-2 days. Coupon for buy-one-get-one at Sam's? He'll take the extra and polish it off in less than a minute. Deuce becomes a human garbage disposal and is taking the unwanted condiments off your sandwich to eat. Just pick them off and leave 'em on the corner of his lunch plate. Even if he dislikes it, he'll down it so you don't have to.

"Mm. Oh, thanks hun' - its that all you're eatin'? You don't like the steam bun? It is a bit dry, but wasting food is disrespectful to the cooks! I'll finish it for you so have my fruit instead. You still need to eat" <- 10/10 very thoughtful and not picky at all. He is grateful to eat your cooking and will gobble up all leftovers at Ramshackle, but doesn't think twice to sharing meals in the cafeteria. He will notice though if you do not eat enough. Restocks the snack cabinet if he sees it's empty. Is touched if you routinely share things you know he enjoys, like saving half your frittata on purpose.

Early Riser (Inherited): See - even if you hate the mornings, there is no choice at Night Raven College. As Ramshackle Prefect you need to be up to take care of business before class. Deuce becomes your personal alarm clock because he wants some time with you before everyone else joins in. Mind you that he lives with three other dudes who threaten to end him every morning because his alarm wakes them up too. Eventually he can wake up without it, but the time leading is unpleasant.

"W-what? Seriously? I've been trying to be more like them! They're a good person and responsible so I've been trying to follow their example. To think we've been doing the same thing this entire time...." == Why would you ever imitate him? He's been trying his damn best to become an honor student worth respecting, and has a long way to go. To think you're comfortable enough with him to mimic his mannerisms? It's a pipe dream, one he doesn't grasp until it's put right in front of his face. You don't let anyone else pick off your plate other than Grim. The next time his clothes tear, he's already handing off his tie before realizing just what's happening. When you wrap his knuckles after a six-hour lock in at the library? He can't help but feel proud at how neat the bandages are. Suddenly the dark memories of hiding bruised knuckles from his mom are pacified with healing balm. Deuce views this development as a gift, and is grateful. Very, very grateful.

Habits you steal:

‘I owe you’ cards (Inherited): Ace's favorite social invention - the 'solid'. Nothing spells new-low like getting your friends to do stuff in exchange for a favor in the future. Most of the time Ace counts on people forgetting he owes them one, but you're not so gullible. The only difference between you both is that while Ace never fulfills his solid, you have a conscience. Give it a few more years. He'll get ya.

"I know this is the third ticket this week but - Oh! C'mon, cut a guy some slack, would you? I'm sorry for bein' late to our date. Yeah, it was shitty. I'm not trying to fight it, aright? I'm here now so let's have some fun and you can chalk three strikes on my tab. I'll even buy ya some candy - Ah! Okay! Two candies but that's where my charity ends!" <- Evidently, the 'I-owe-you' tabs cancel each other out from how often you both call in favors. It's just an excuse to do acts of service or express apologies without being too mushy. Ace is definitely keeping a track record of them though. Expect an ongoing log that dates back to the week you met, when he showed up homeless, collared, and looking to couch surf.

Profanity (Inherited): Ace swears like a sailor. Maybe not so much in his dorm because *cough* he's being policed. He holds no such reservations when you're both alone at Ramshackle. Unfortunately his potty mouth has a mind of it's own - it taints you, and you are a sham of a prefect. Ace earned a week-long collar for teaching you some Twisted-Wonderland exclusive curses. Riddle is not pleased.

Leaving the Windows Unlocked (Developed): There are only so many times he can sneak in through your window before the adrenaline-induced charm wears off. You have class in the morning, and can't be bothered to deal with him on nights he can't pass out in his dorm. Thank seven you have all of Ramshackle to yourself - because Heartslabyul sounds like a nightmare with the roommate situation. You can't leave the front door open for obvious reasons, but most nights the guest-bedroom window will be left slightly ajar in case he needs a place to crash.

"Pssst! Oi! Prefect! ...ugh, Grim! Wake them up, man! The latch is stuck. Don't go back to bed you furball! HEY! IT'S FREAKIN COLD OUT HERE SO LET ME IN ALREADY" <- Please let him in. If Ace has to spend one more night in that stinky dorm with three dudes, he'll string one of their dirty gym socks over your bed. No mercy.

Sleeping with Earplugs (Developed): Bitch Ace snores.

Habits he steals:

Notes Memo (Developed): Ace is bad with remembering things. Anniversaries? Dates? Allergies? He admits to not putting in a great amount of effort, but you can't say he doesn't try at all. He has a notes block on his phone dedicated to things like your go-to takeout orders and preferences. He even has a few alarms set days before any important events because even if you say no-gifts or plans...yeah, he's not that stupid.

Excessive Yawning (Inherited): You're always tired - it wasn't Ace's problem before but now he does feel a bit guilty. Dragging you into his messes felt different when you were just the prefect, y'know? Regardless, it's human instinct to mimic each other's demeanor so he'll openly yawn all the time - normally in succession of you.

"Hey...you're dozing off again. Am I seriously that boring to hang around? - Nah. Just messin' with you. I'd suggest taking a nap during next period but I doubt a goody-goody like you is gonna take that advice. Let's just ditch juice at lunch and go back to the dorm. Don't get mad if I forget to wake you up though"

Medications (Developed): Ace is the last person to become a human apothecary, but he's always got a pack of pain-reliever meds in his pocket with a few bandages, etc. He also attached one of those tiny capsule bottles to his keyring with some stomach meds inside. You took a spill running laps? Dang man. That sucks. Here's a band-aid for your knee. Curse you for making him the slightly-more responsible one.

"Eh..what, like it's a shock? You saying I'm a bad influence? Cause yeah, that checks. Nothin' I can do if they want to take a card outta my deck though," == Ace is entirely neutral on the topic. He is definitely smug that you're coming over to the dark side, but he doesn't need anyone to point it out. He was your first after all. Maybe the start could have been a bit better - but hey, you came around. It's not like he's hurting anyone by helping build your backbone. Although Ace will instantly deny going soft for you in any way, shape, or form.

[spider-stark]

EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Touch me.” 

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears. 

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?” 

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps. 

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.” 

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?” 

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?” 

“In my room.” 

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs. 

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he? 

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy. 

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection. 

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around? 

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one. 

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.” 

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out. 

You almost snort. Clearly. 

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable. 

The others would like having him around. 

You like having him around. 

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?” 

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth. 

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.” 

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out. 

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.” 

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

Probably because you are. 

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist. 

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come. 

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.” 

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea? 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door. 

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.” 

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night. 

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion. 

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic. 

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you. 

“Why?”  you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?” 

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping. 

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.” 

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks. 

“Go downstairs.” 

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.” 

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“What did you say when I came in?” 

“Go downstairs.” 

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!” 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

“Make me.” 

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk. 

“Do you know why I brought you in?” 

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs. 

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang. 

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam. 

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past. 

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone. 

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it. 

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.” 

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless. 

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete. 

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.” 

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this. 

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.” 

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered. 

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?” 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. 

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought. 

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you. 

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away. 

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this? 

“I don’t get what you’re asking.” 

“Stop making me repeat myself.” 

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?” 

Shock. Confusion. 

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something. 

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.” 

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?” 

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in. 

You’re not fucking him, though. 

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.” 

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting. 

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.” 

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension. 

It was excitement. Anticipation. 

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist. 

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you. 

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.” 

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out. 

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them. 

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan. 

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.” 

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?” 

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again. 

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.” 

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie! 

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit. 

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right? 

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling. 

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan. 

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care? 

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me. 

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks. 

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away. 

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin. 

Because you didn’t make me sick. 

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks. 

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t. 

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious. 

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows. 

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before. 

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?” 

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots. 

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said. 

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time. 

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” 

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine. 

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.” 

So you do. 

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.” 

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles. 

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?” 

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap. 

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe. 

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting. 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak. 

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. 

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? 

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.” 

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.” 

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling. 

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet. 

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core. 

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.” 

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck. 

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.” 

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted? 

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists. 

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?” 

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half. 

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me. 

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed. 

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give. 

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more. 

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

[doctorbeth]

In Honor of Memorial Day: The tale of Navy Goat

Navy Goat came from the US Naval Academy, but it had been years since he left and he had been loved by two generations and was planning to join a third generation in their childhood adventures. But before Navy Goat could join those adventures, he needed a bit of rejuvenation.

Here are the original photos his person sent for diagnosis:

Since he was going to a new generation, we agreed the best treatment would be a gentle spa, followed by restoring his horns and his saddle blanket.

Here he is in his bubble bath (the start of his spa):

Next up, he got all new polyfiber stuffing. It’s hypoallergenic, so the new youngster shouldn’t have any problems hugging him. But a small amount of his original stuffing was preserved in a heart in his chest. Here’s his heart being made and installed:

And finally, after some surgery, and some costume repair, he was ready to fly home:

His family wrote:

Navy Goat made it safe and sound! He looks wonderful. Thank you so so much. And he got here just in time to welcome our new daughter!

[scarletmika]

Even More Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

PART TWO OF Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: The Best Man and the Maid of Honor...you and Bob Floyd fell in love in the most cliché of ways, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Now, it's your turn to say 'I Do.'

Warnings: insane amounts of fluff, established relationship, language, Hangman is Hangman sometimes, female reader, reader is very creative and can dance, UCSD info might not be accurate I don't go there, suggestive and steamy but not explicit, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol), a part two that you'll def need to read part one to understand at times

Word Count: 14,328 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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

"My Siren, my Ikea...my best friend...will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

It had only been a year since that fateful night of Natasha and Bradley’s wedding, but Bob Floyd had known before he’d even had the chance to kiss you that he wanted to marry you.

Smooth, comfortable, loving, there was no shortage of words Bob had to describe what getting to be with you, what getting to love you, was like. Good morning and good night texts that had him blushing at his phone, random little texts in the middle of the day, just to check in and make sure he was safe in the skies. Mornings where he stayed over at your place, or vice versa, were some of his favorites: to wake up with you curled around him, right where you belonged, just to haul yourselves out of bed 30 minutes later to dance around the kitchen making breakfast. Being with you was everything little Bob Floyd had once wished on a star for.

He’d already known he wanted to marry you right there in the middle of Natasha and Bradley’s vow ceremony. All it took was one month-long deployment, only 2 months after becoming official with you, to solidify it in his heart and his head. 30 days without you, only able to talk through emails, had him dragging Natasha off to the local jewelers the second they were back on the mainland to buy the ring.

It was fast, but Bob had never been more sure of anything in his life.

Now, here you stood in the Hard Deck surrounded by the pilots that had become family to you both, a year after he’d finally kissed you and confessed his love for the first time. Down on one knee in the same place he’d ever seen you for the first time, diamond ring sparkling in his hand as he looked up at you, your hands covering your mouth and tears already streaming down your cheeks as you nodded feverishly.

“Yes…Bob, yes!”

The cheers that rang out through the Hard Deck were familiar, the second engagement to happen here in just 2 short years, as Bob hadn’t wasted a second in sliding the ring onto your finger. 1.5 carats, oval cut, sitting on a gold band that wove like vines while holding smaller diamonds along it. Perfect, stunning, and everything Phoenix said you’d always dreamed of your engagement ring being.

Bob barely got to kiss you long enough, though to him, there was no such thing as a long enough time to kiss you. Natasha had already pulled you away, and just like you had at her own engagement party, there was no shortage of jumping and screaming in circles, especially when Penny and Amelia joined in, trying to get a look at the ring.

“Got to hand it to you, baby-on-board,” it was Hangman that saddled up to Bob’s side first, smirking down at him, but there was a fondness laced within it. “You did good, locking this one down.”

“Please,” Rooster scoffed, joining Bob’s other side with a grin, arm wrapped around his best friend’s shoulders. “He bought this ring over six months ago. If it were socially acceptable, they’d already be married with a whole brood of kids running around.”

Bob could only shake his head, fighting off the red rising in his cheeks at the thought of the pair of you with children. Nope, not an appropriate thought to be having in the middle of the Hard Deck at all.

The second Nat had let you go, you were slotted back into Bob’s arms, not that he had any qualms with it. Tucking you under his arm that was wrapped tight around your waist, your left hand resting right on his chest with the ring sparkling in the light, you both knew there was no better place to be than surrounded by your dearest friends.

“To the two of you and this next chapter,” Maverick was the one to start the toast, drinks passed around to the entire Dagger Squad, and you and Bob. Penny was tucked under his one arm, and Amelia at his other side, as he raised his glass to you both. “I think it’s time Bob got a callsign update, because our baby-on-board is getting married!”

Laughter, stories, and simply just a night together was the best way to spend the moments after your engagement, and that’s what they got. Bob watched from the sidelines as you won a game of pool against Hangman, who was now zero for 12 in pool games against you since meeting, high-fiving Payback, who you’d subbed in for to beat Jake. And every so often, Bob would watch as you looked down at the ring on your finger and smile, and he’d smile too.

The sun had set hours ago, the night winding to an end, when you’d caught Bob’s eye again after delivering a new round of shots to the pilots. He gestured toward the door that led out to the string-light lit back deck of the bar, overlooking the ocean, and you quickly nodded and followed your now fiancée outside.

Long before you, and even as he was falling in love with you, Bob Floyd had been an awkward man. He knew he was attractive, at least a little bit, but flirting and being overly forward had never come easily to him. With you, now, Bob was an entirely different man.

You both had barely been outside for a second before Bob had you pressed up against the railing of the deck, hands splayed across your hips and tugging you into him as his lips hungrily devoured yours as if he were a starved man. There wasn’t a single word of protest from you, not that he expected one, arms finding their usual position around his neck and fingers instantly carding into his hair as you kissed him back with the same passion.

“Well, hi there, Robbie,” a smile couldn’t help but stretch across his lips as a giggle fell from you as you spoke, his grip on your hips tightening as he stole another kiss from you.

“Hi to you, too, future Mrs. Floyd,”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, bumping your nose against his with a permanent smile etched onto your own lips. “Think we can skip the ‘future’ part and just make it happen?”

“Say the word, and we’ll be at the courthouse first thing in the morning, darling,”

You threw your head back laughing like a little kid for a moment before pulling yourself back up to look at Bob, who was only laughing. He watched you as you swatted him playfully on the shoulder, but there was no real bite to it.

“Don’t tempt me. No, we’re doing this right,” he nodded along with you, simply smiling just from watching you and holding you, squeezing your hips once more in his hands just to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming. You were his. “We’ve got to make the guest list, pick the venue, find vendors, I have to wedding dress shop- Bob, I’ve never even met your family!”

“I haven’t met yours either!” another laugh was shared between you both as Bob simply shrugged in response. “It’s fine, we’ll find time to get both the families down here to meet. They’ll love you, I swear it. My sister already does, and all you’ve done is FaceTime her.”

“That’s because I promised to call some friends and snag her some Broadway tickets,”

Bob shrugged once again, finding himself stuck just watching you, just looking at you. There was nothing left to memorize from looking at you; every piece of you had been committed to Bob’s memory from the first time he’d ever looked at you here in this very bar, but you were Bob’s favorite work of art to admire. Now, he gets to do it until the end of time.

“There’s one more thing we have to add to your list,” you hummed in question to his statement as Bob leaned into your hands as they tugged slightly on the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’ve got to move in with me.”

He watched as you seemed to pause, head tilting as you watched him in silence for a moment, trying to gauge the level of seriousness in his statement. Bob simply kept an innocent smile on his lips as he watched you.

“...Bob, what did you do?”

“Well,” the smile on his face was slowly forming into a smirk. “My lease ends at the end of this month, and I remembered there was that townhouse over in Mission Valley you fell in love with on Zillow the one night-”

“Robert Floyd, shut up, you did not-”

“It’s ours,” one of his hands left your waist as Bob curled it around your cheek, cradling it in his hand as his thumb swiped over the skin of your cheek delicately. “Well, technically mine since I signed the lease, but ours if you want to. I know I should’ve asked you first, but y-you fell in love with it on the app, the price was amazing, and it’s the perfect distance between UCSD and the Naval Station here on Coronado. And I know your lease was ending at the end of this month, too-”

You’d cut off his incessant rambling with a passionate kiss, hand tugging the back of his neck until his lips crashed into yours. Bob would never get over it, never get over the feel of simply kissing you and holding you, being the only one who would ever get to have you like this.

“Yes, a million times yes,” there was a smile on your lips as you spoke against his lips, and one spread across his own as well as he pulled you back in for yet another heated and feverish press of lips against lips. “Now, I know they’re all in there celebrating us, but can you do me a favor?”

“Anything you want, whenever you want-”

“Take me home and fuck your future wife, Bob Floyd,”

“...yes, ma’am,”

That night was how Bob found himself, barely two weeks later, standing in the living room of your brand-new townhouse. After seven grueling hours filled with the entire squad unloading, driving to reload, and unloading the rented out U-Haul over and over again, the furnishings between Bob’s old apartment and your own had finally been consolidated and brought to the appropriate rooms. 

Hangman and Rooster had argued over the positioning of the living room couch until Phoenix had knocked her husband on the head, begrudgingly agreeing that Jake’s layout made more sense, before moving off to the rest of the heavy furniture. Maverick had used Coyote and Fanboy as his assistants, mounting the living room TV on the wall and setting up the internet throughout the home. Bob had only gotten glimpses of you throughout the last few hours as you passed by the kitchen in a hurry with Natasha, Penny, and Amelia hot on your heels, moving boxes of decorations throughout the home. He and Payback had been relegated to organizing the kitchen.

Now that he was getting a chance to stand in the living room, your living room together, Bob couldn’t help that he was getting slightly choked up. It was his couch in the living room, the one you both had so often fallen asleep on many times watching movies after long nights at the Hard Deck, but decorated with the multitudes of throw pillows and blankets from your apartment that Bob had a habit of stealing on cold nights. The bookshelves on either side of the expertly mounted TV were a combination of both of you, a mixture of your countless romance novels and the many astronomy books that Bob had since he was a child. A finished LEGO set of the Up house took up an entire shelf (something you’d insisted you build together after Bob cried one night watching the movie for the first time). Multiple bouquets of LEGO flowers decorated the other shelves (a staple item that Bob loved buying for you, seeing how much you adored flowers).

Countless photos sat on those shelves, too. Photos of you when you were younger, latched to Natasha’s side, beside pictures of a young Bob, taken from science fairs and even countless school dances. The side tables on either side of the couch held the photos of you and Bob: one of the entire wedding party at Natasha and Bradley’s wedding, one sneakily taken by Coyote of the two of you on Coronado Beach, and then a photostrip you’d both barely been able to keep your composure for during a trip to the San Diego Zoo. You’d thankfully listened to his one request, and that was to hang the photo of you at the Tony Awards red carpet (a photo that Bob adored and his sister was incredibly jealous of) years ago next to the frame holding the playbills of the numerous Broadway shows you’d been a part of.

It wasn’t just a place to live, it was a home. It was your home, together.

The second arms wrapped around his midsection, a head pressing against his shoulder blades, he knew it was you.

“It’s our home,” Bob turned in your arms to tug you into his chest instead, hands cradling your head as he pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” you’d look up, chin on his chest, and pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he laughed down at you. “Where are the others?”

“They’re making use of the fire pit in our backyard already. Bradley ordered pizza, said he and Nat would go pick it up along with some beers for a proper welcome party,”

“Not surprised,” he’d laughed again as you extracted yourself from his arms, walking around the living room and just silently observing the decorated space. “Though, I could think of a thousand better ways we could celebrate…alone.”

All this time later, Bob could still simply listen to you laugh on repeat. His grin never fell as you shot a look back at him, shaking your head with a tiny roll of your eyes.

“What happened to my awkward and charming WSO, huh?” you commented as you returned to his arms, Bob pulling you in and spinning you around for a moment as you laughed again. “You’re turning into a mini Hangman.”

“I resent that statement. If I ever get even close to Seresin levels of confidence, please whack me over the head,”

You shoved him off playfully with another eyeroll, stalking toward the dining room he’d yet to look at as you called over your shoulder.

“Oh yeah, my parents called earlier. They’re going to come visit next weekend, so I called your sister, and she’s going to bring your parents out that weekend too!”

That was news to Bob. His eyes grew wide as he hurriedly followed you in the direction of the dining room.

“We have a week to plan a literal engagement party?”

“Don’t worry,” you were sitting on top of the dining room table when Bob finally rounded the corner into the room. “Nat said she’d handle everything, we just have to let her ‘beautify’ this place as she sees fit.”

Whatever comment Bob had died in his throat as he looked at you, sitting on top of the dining room table with a teasing smile on your lips. It only clicked in his head when he finally looked down at the table itself, unable to control his laughter.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t the ‘GRÖNSTA.’ My mortal enemy,” you shared in his laughter, arms finding their place around his neck as Bob slotted himself between your open legs, pulling you closer to him by the belt loops of your pants. He gave the table an affectionate pat before raising an eyebrow at you. “Thought we agreed we were keeping my table, not yours?”

“Didn’t feel right to abandon this one, honestly. It all started for me with dropping this table on you, after all,”

There had been so many moments over the course of being with you where Bob Floyd knew he was in love, that he would never be able to love someone else the way he loved you. There was the time he’d brought you lunch, weeks after making it official, during one of your classes where your students teased you endlessly until your cheeks were as red as the shirt you were wearing. Or the night when he’d woken up at almost 3 a.m. to see you sitting on the balcony of your apartment, wrapped in a blanket, just staring up at the stars until he’d joined you, naming off little constellations for the rest of the night. 

He’d never forget the day before the team had left for deployment, how you’d been there to see them off. You’d held yourself together to hug Coyote, Hangman, Maverick, and the others, barely held yourself together for Bradley, and then started to break when you pulled Natasha into a hug neither of you wanted to let go of. Then, you had fully broken the second you were in his arms, muttering ‘I love you’ like a prayer and making him promise to come back. Bob knew then that, as long as he knew you were waiting for him, he’d find any way possible to come home. San Diego wasn’t home, you were.

“T-Thank you…for loving me,” the playful atmosphere in the room dissipated as Bob’s hands cupped your jawline, cradling the most precious thing he’d ever had in his hands. “For choosing me.”

“I didn’t choose you, Bob. I didn’t have to,” was your response. “From the moment I started to fall, there was never going to be another choice for me.”

Well, when you put your love so eloquently, what more can Bob do besides kiss you? Slow, but firm, full of every ounce of love he could muster in his body, and vice versa. Your teeth pulled at his bottom lip just barely, tongue ever so slightly brushing past his lips as your own lips swallowed the groan Bob let out without even realizing it. One of his hands immediately found your waist, pulling you straight to the edge of the table and flush against him as he-

“BOBBY, SIREN, IF YOU TWO ARE STARTING THE BABY MAKING PROCESS ALREADY, YOU BETTER GET THOSE CLOTHES ON-”

“Hangman, knock it off!”

What a strange, sometimes annoying, family you’d both gained with this eclectic group of pilots. But god, did you both adore them all, even in their most annoying moments.

Thankfully, they’d elected to leave the two of you alone for the entire week to…’settle in’ as they called it. Hangman had joked every morning for the entire week about Bob seeming ‘more sluggish’ or that he ‘looked a little sore,’ and the rest of the group had only laughed along with the comments. It didn’t help that Bob never denied them, only shook his head and turned his attention back to basic training.

The crew didn’t need to know that their ‘innocent baby-on-board’ was far from innocent when not in the public eye, or at least, when he was with you. You managed to make him throw every inhibition he had out the window, especially since that night of Rooster and Nat’s ceremony that was permanently burned into his brain forever.

Innocent…what was so innocent about how he’d claimed to you that one of the perks of moving in together meant christening every surface of your new home? You may not have believed him when he said ‘every surface,’ but by the time Friday rolled around and Natasha was running around your house preparing for the engagement party the following day, you knew never to underestimate how much your future husband wanted to worship you ever again.

“Zip me up?”

Now, if Bob ever said no to that request, he’d have to ask Rooster to personally bury him in the ground.

Natasha and Bradley were fussing around downstairs, ordering the rest of the squad to make sure everything was set up exactly as they’d planned for it to be. Poor Sydney, the receptionist from the college that you’d grown close to, was roped into the fray, too. All for good reasons, given that the Floyd family was seconds from arriving, as was your own. 

You and Bob were in your bedroom (god, he was never going to get over saying that: YOUR bedroom, together), putting the finishing touches on your outfits.

A sleek, navy colored button down tucked into a pair of Bob’s nicest jeans, and topped off with the cowboy boots that he’d been wearing for years sitting right beneath the bottom edge of his jeans. Put together, fancier than anything he ever wore for work or even to the Hard Deck, but you were the vision in his eyes. The prettiest white, v-neck dress that hit just above your knees and showed just the appropriate amount of skin. Intricate pink flowers were woven into the bodice, sleeves fluttering down your shoulders and out around your elbows, with matching white pumps to pull it all together.

Radiant. Entrancing. Classy. Tasteful. The most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen, and you would soon be his forever. Bob would never stop thanking God for making this dream of his come true.

He didn’t answer you, just simply appeared behind you. His fingers delicately held the zipper on the back of your dress, dragging it up the back as his fingers just barely brushed over your spine. His eyes never left yours in the full-length mirror you both stood in front of, simply smiling as he watched a small shiver run through you at his touch. The second the dress was secured, Bob’s arms encircled your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, and you both heaved out a sigh, knowing what awaited you downstairs.

“Did we have to have an engagement party?”

“Yes, because you didn’t think ahead like Bradley and just get everyone at the Hard Deck to celebrate as you proposed,” he knew you were just joking around with him, but Bob still pinched your side for the comment, drawing a small laugh out of you. “I’m kidding! Yes, love, we have to have an engagement party. Your sister threatened that if our families didn’t meet, she’d personally ‘throw hands’ with me.”

“She would never hurt you, she knows I love you too much,” your head turned to look at Bob as he leaned in, stealing a sweet kiss from you that ended all too soon for his liking. It could’ve lasted just a tiny bit longer if not for the squealing of Natasha ringing through the house from the living room, drawing a laugh out of both of you. “Judging by Phoenix’s scream, I’m going to assume that means your family is here.”

“Yes, probably celebrating getting to see their ‘second daughter,’ as they’ve always called her,” laughter was shared once again as you spun in Bob’s arms, adjusting the collar of his shirt for him before stealing yet another kiss. “Let’s go get this show started, Lieutenant.”

Watching your parents excitedly embrace you as your mother gushed over the ring on your left hand, had Bob’s anxiety through the roof for the first time in days. He’d just barely said hello to them over FaceTimes over the past year, but that was the extent of it, and you hadn’t been back to visit your hometown since moving to San Diego. In short, their daughter had moved to San Diego, gotten a boyfriend within 6 months, and was now engaged and newly living with her fiancé, whom they had never met, barely a year later…Bob was on edge. And the ‘reassuring’ looks Bradley, Fanboy, and Hangman were shooting him across the living room were not doing anything to help him.

“Oh, is this my future son-in-law? Finally, I get to see this handsome pilot!” your mother’s demeanor, on the other hand, was enough to calm his nerves. You were the spitting image of her, same little wrinkle around your eyes as you smiled, that same award-winning smile that he adored, it was a gift in and of itself to meet the woman that had given him you. He easily let her pull him into a tight hug, not a single argument from him.

“Weapons Systems Officer, technically, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs-”

“Absolutely not, you’re about to be my son,” yeah, you were your mother’s daughter in ways beyond just your looks. The stern, yet playful glint in the older woman’s eyes as she pulled away to point a finger at him reminded him so much of you, he couldn’t help but let his smile grow even larger. “Just call me Amy, and my husband here is William.”

William. Your father. That was what intimidated Bob the most, especially as the man simply grunted and stepped forward, holding out his hand. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, taking your father’s hand in his own with a firm shake. Your dad only responded with another simple grunt and a nod, but when he glanced at you and the little thumbs up you gave him, he knew that was all the approval he needed.

“Hey, baby-on-board!” Hangman’s voice cut through the house, drawing the attention of everyone lingering around the living room toward the front door. “I found some Floyd stragglers outside the door, they belong to you?”

“Baby-on-board?” Bob had heard your father mumble to himself before Bob’s older sister was practically launching herself into her brother’s arms with a laugh.

“Alright, alright, Sophia, relax!” Bob laughed out, quickly able to separate his older sister from his arms, just for her to immediately hit him on the shoulder. “Hey-! What was that for?”

“For not letting me come here sooner and meet my future sister, optical wonder,” he rolled his eyes at the old nickname from their childhood, swatting her hands away as she tilted the glasses on his face. She let out a gasp, practically shoving him to the side, when she’d finally caught sight of you. “MY SISTER!”

Sometimes, he really wondered how they’d gotten such starkly different personalities. Bob liked to think that Sophia just sucked all the extrovertedness out of his mother when she was born that she’d left nothing over for him, leaving him the awkward, introverted man he was today. But he was thankful for her extrovertedness, as it seemed to immediately calm down whatever nerves you had as you tightly hugged his sister back as if you were childhood friends. In reality, your actual childhood best friend was currently hugging your parents as if they were her own.

“It’s so nice to finally see you outside of screens!” you’d laughed when Sophia finally let go of you enough to take a step back. “Oh, I called a friend from New York the other day! He said to let you know that whenever you plan that New York trip you want to take, he’ll hook you up with tickets for whatever show you want to see.”

“You know, if I didn’t already know my brother was so in love with you he’d cry if you ever left him, I’d marry you myself just for that. Now, you have to let me pick your brain later about what it was like to be in the original cast of The Great Gatsby…”

Bob could’ve watched the interaction for the rest of the night between you two and died happily—two of the most important women in his life, his sister and his future wife. But, alas, one of the OTHER most important women in his life was tugging him into a tight hug, tearing his eyes away from you.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Robert,” his mother sounded as if she was crying as she hugged him tightly, and Bob didn’t hesitate to hug her back just as tightly. “You picked a good one with her, I can tell.”

“Thanks, ma. And yeah, I know, I’m not sure what I did to deserve her,” Bob said that sentiment often to himself, and he still couldn’t believe it. When she’d finally let go, his father had pulled him into a similarly tight hug with a pat on his back. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, bucko. Why don’t you introduce us so we can get this party started?”

Natasha and Bradley had managed to steal Sophia away after you’d introduced her to your own parents, promising to go and introduce her to the rest of the squad she’d heard so much about. So, when Bob turned with his parents, you were already waiting with a smile.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd,” like your mother had with Bob, Bob’s mother was quick to bring you into a hug and wave off your comments.

“Please, just call me Carol Anne, darling. And this is my husband, Joseph,” you’d been passed off to Bob’s father for a hug as well, before Bob was quick to pull you back into his side, hand finding its place on your waist where it belonged. “Oh, you two just look so darn perfect together! Like it was meant to be. Just wait until I get a few drinks in me, I’ll be telling all your friends here stories about my little Robert. Did you know he tried to build a model volcano in the seventh grade once, and it exploded so badly they had to call the fire-”

“Please, any story but that one,” Bob groaned as your laughter filled the air, your hand similarly around his waist, giving him a squeeze in comfort. Your mother was the next to step up and laugh, gaining Bob’s parents' attention.

“You think Robert was bad? Natasha’s mother and I once had to go bail our girls out of getting expelled because they decided to try and hack their teacher’s computer to pull a prank on him!”

Carol Anne Floyd had laughed loudly at that snippet of a story from your mother, Amy, while your father was passing off a beer to Joseph Floyd. The men shared a small nod, engaging in light small talk while your mothers became best friends almost instantly, leading their husbands through the house as they swapped stories back and forth.

With most everyone in attendance having migrated to the kitchen or the backyard, Bob and you were left in a comfortable silence for a moment, before you both turned your heads to look at each other.

“You and Phoenix almost got expelled?”

“You blew up a volcano?”

“Darling, that’s objectively not as bad as almost being expelled,” you could only laugh, leaning your forehead down on his collarbone as he pressed a firm kiss to the crown of your hand, hand gently rubbing at the back of your neck. “Hey, the worst part is over. They met and they like each other!”

You peeked your head up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And they’re about to drink so much alcohol and tell so many embarrassing childhood stories that Hangman can hang over our heads AND Nat’s head for the rest of time,”

“...point taken, l-let’s go cut them off before they even start drinking,”

Cutting off the alcohol from them did nothing. By the end of the night, Hangman had so many stories of you both as children that you both knew you would never hear the end of it.

Those stories, though, were overshadowed the second you handed a soccer ball to Natasha in the middle of dinner in the backyard. She stared, confused, until she read the Sharpie writing on the side of the ball.

I’ll let you be my Maid of Honor, as long as you promise not to hurl one of these at my head at the wedding like you did in Kindergarten.

A sweet sentiment, and a cute idea, until Nat had almost hurled it through the glass of the window leading back into your home. Bob would have to remember to thank Coyote for the excellent diving save he made to protect your home that you’d barely been in for a week.

Natasha had sobbed, just like you had when she’d asked you the same question over a year prior, repeating the simple phrase of ‘yes’ until you assured her that you’d heard her the first time.

So, when Bob handed a pair of new aviators over to Bradley with a sticky note attached to them, it wasn’t shocking to Bob that his best friend managed to get choked up almost immediately, realizing what was happening.

You told me that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor are destined to fall in love…and you were right. I’d want no one else to be my Best Man on my special day.

It was an immediate yes, both men trying to hide their tears at the fact that they were able to be there for one another in this way. The tears didn’t stop, though, as Bob handed another pair of aviators over to Fanboy, asking him to be a Groomsman as well, which was met with another resounding ‘yes!’ from the man.

That was met with an ear-splitting scream from Sophia Floyd when you handed another soccer ball to her. She hadn’t even had to read the words, already tossing the soccer ball into the air (another thank you to Coyote for yet another stellar diving catch) and throwing her arms around you with cries of joy.

Natasha Trace-Bradshaw, Bradley Bradshaw, Mickey Garcia, and Sophia Floyd, the four who would get to stand by your sides on the greatest day of your lives.

Now, when you and Bob were the Best Man and the Maid of Honor, you had a lot on your plates. But being the Bride and Groom this go around? It started to sink in for you both just how much you really had to do in order to prepare an entire wedding.

“What if we just go back to your last idea and head down to the courthouse and make it official?”

Bob laughed from his place on the couch in your office, simply lounging back on it as he enjoyed the lunch he’d brought you both on another one of his rare days off. Hunched over your laptop, you shot him a look for his laughter, which only managed to get another small laugh out of him.

“Darling, you’re the one who said you wanted to do this right-”

“And I do want to do it right, but we’ve been looking for two months and haven’t found a venue that we like!”

The frustration was written clearly on your face as you huffed, turning your attention back to your laptop. Bob felt the frustration, too, it had been extremely difficult to pick a venue. 

There was the pretty rooftop in La Jolla that was accentuated by the ocean in the background, but La Jolla just felt too local for both of you, like it was a safe option. Bob had joked multiple times that he only planned to get married once, so there was increased pressure to make sure the venue was everything you both wanted it to be.

There was a pretty ranch located outside of San Bernardino with views of the San Gorgonio Mountain in the distance. But, for as gorgeous as it had been on the walkthrough, it felt huge in a way that neither of you had liked.

For a moment, you’d both almost chosen the beach club located north of Los Angeles. Perfect views, gorgeous indoor venue, and the price hadn’t been half bad. But a single comment from Fanboy about how he’d love to play some dogfight football right where the ceremony would be held, Bob and you had quickly realized that giving any of your fighter pilot friends access to the beach would probably not end well.

“Come here,” Bob’s voice was gentle as he beckoned you over, and you hadn’t hesitated. His eyes tracked you as you closed the door of your office, flipping your sign to signal to your student that you were ‘out’ for the time being, before practically crawling into his outstretched arms.

Bob smiled to himself as you slotted like a puzzle piece into his side, leaning back against the armrest as you essentially lay half on top of him, leg slung over his own, and head nuzzled into his chest. He didn’t waste a second in letting his fingers tangle into your hair, nails gently scratching into your scalp as you hummed, letting the peaceful silence envelop you both for a moment.

“What was your dream wedding when you were little?” Bob glanced down at you questioningly as you broke the silence.

“My dream wedding?”

You nodded, shifting so your arms rested on his chest, chin sitting atop them so you could look at him. Bob let his hand travel down your back, resting along your hip with a squeeze and a soft caress of his thumb along the skin exposed at the end of your shirt.

“Yeah, your dream wedding. Come on, everyone has one. Natasha and I had Pinterest boards of ours, though I’m sure most guys weren’t that crazy about it,”

He’d laughed, silence settling over the office again as he was lost in thought, only the faint sound of your favorite playlist playing off your laptop in the background.

“This ranch back in Montana,” he’d spoken quietly after a moment, his other hand coming up to swipe a stray strand of hair out of your eyes as you watched him in silence, a tiny grin spreading across his face as he spoke. “Was in the Rockies, near Flathead Lake. I was there in high school, one of my older cousins was getting married. Said her vows right out in the field, next to this little pond, and the mountains behind her. But the reception was in this pretty barn, not too big but not too small, and I remember thinking…this is what I want. The beauty of nature that came with a ranch, with those warm, yellow string lights hung around the barn,”

One of your hands reached out for the one cradling your cheek now, as Bob watched you bring his palm to your lips, leaving a small kiss directly to the center with a smile.

“It sounds beautiful,”

“What about your dream?”

“I brought Nattie along to this wedding of a fellow castmate of mine back in New York years ago. It was over off the Long Island Sound, so they had plenty of money to blow on whatever they wanted,” soft laughter escaped you as you shook your head, and Bob only watched with a loving smile. “Anyway…it was at this gorgeous vineyard, but the best part was the house. It was just a house, set on this gorgeous vineyard. They got married right on the back deck, overlooking the vineyard, and we partied the night away inside the house. It was rustic, in a way, while still having this modern elegance. It was intimate in the best ways. Nat had to watch me update my entire ‘Dream Wedding’ Pinterest board the entire Uber ride back to our hotel that night.”

“So, what I’m hearing is we need to find a rustic-type house with an intimate feel on a ranch,” Bob let out a short chuckle as you playfully swatted at his chest. “I’m serious! There’s how many wedding venues that are scattered up and down the California coast? There has to be something close to that.”

Bob adjusted himself as you sat up, bringing him back up to rest against the back cushions of the couch as well, throwing your legs over his lap before bringing out your phone. He tucked you back into his side, hand coming down to rest over your jeans overtop of your calf as he kneaded circles into the muscle.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to give it a look,”

There were ranches, alright, many of them. From San Diego to San Francisco, it seemed like there wasn’t a single stretch of a few miles without a ranch in the area. But it was in looking that both of your eyes landed on one ranch in particular, tucked just an hour North of North Island.

An old, Spanish-style ranch house, tucked on its own private ranch. Beautiful trees overhang the home, the ceremony area, and large expanses of flowers running up and down the sides of the houses, bringing a pop of color. A reception area decorated in those same warm, yellow string lights Bob had mentioned, and not to mention a view that encompassed everything beautiful about nature.

It only took one look between you both to know that this was the place. It also only took a single minute on the property, flanked by Bradley and Natasha for extra support, for all four of you to know it in your hearts: this was where you’d get married.

Bob thought back on that moment a lot in the coming weeks, of visiting the home he’d get to marry you at in a few months, for the first time. To watch you stand beside Phoenix in the same spot that a pastor would join you together forever, to know that someday soon, he’d see you standing there beside him in a white dress as he would inevitably cry over the sheer joy of knowing he was lucky enough to love you.

The younger version of himself was still pinching himself. To think that Bob Floyd, who’d grown up being labeled the little nerd among many of his classmates, who’d worked so hard to prove himself and better himself as he joined the Navy, who’d flown countless dangerous missions in his job, had somehow managed to get the girl.

The smile on Bob’s face was a permanent fixture when he was with you, as his fingertips just gently held tight to your own as he spun you around your living room. The coffee table had been pushed to the side, the remnants of dinner left discarded on the top of the little wooden table, as one of the songs Bob had coined as ‘your song’ (a staple on the playlist he’d made to always play in the car with you) played softly from the speakers.

For I can't help falling in love with you.

“I-I’ve been dying to ask,” Bob’s voice was low as he spun you back into his arms, hand not wrapped in your own finding its way to settle along your waist. “This song…was a bit of an ironic song to play when you were teaching me to dance that day. Was that on purpose?”

You’d laughed, leaning up to bump your nose along the edge of his own with a playful wink.

“I was maybe, sorta, subtly trying to make a point. Or plant a seed, whatever you want to think. But yes, definitely on purpose,”

“So I was just blind?” Bob joked as you giggled once more, stealing the glasses right off his face to slot onto your own, giggles only getting louder as he squinted his eyes to try and see you properly.

“You figured it out eventually. Though I still had to make the first move and tell you I was waiting for you to ask me out,”

Bob rolled his eyes, stealing back his glasses and slotting them back into place so he could see you properly again.

“I-I asked you to dance! Took a pep talk from the bride and groom, but I technically got the ball rolling that night,”

“Alright, I concede,” you’d thrown your hands up in fake surrender before Bob had stolen them into his own hands, tugging you back into his chest. “Speaking of our darling friends, they still won’t tell you what they have planned for our bach trip, will they?”

“Just that it’s combined like theirs was, but they’re being tight-lipped about it,”

“I’m hoping whatever it is, there will be a chance to get more blackmail on Seresin. Especially now that he knows all those stories about us,”

“See, I knew I loved you for a reason,”

Bob had terrible timing when it came to getting turned on, but there didn’t seem to be a single thing you could do that WOULDN’T turn him on at this point. But the teasing lit to your voice, that spark of mischievousness in your eyes, and that burning desire to make fun of Hangman any chance you could get was something he adored. That adoration, right now, was sending his mind on a trip of thoughts that included carrying you off to the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed, before dropping directly to his knees-

“Cabo San Lucas,”

If there was anything that could break Bob out of the horny, schoolboy thoughts invading his mind in that moment, it was that.

“Cabo-?”

“You left me in charge of the honeymoon choices, and I think I’ve decided on Cabo,” you quickly ran off from the room, coming back with a folder of printed off papers from the dining room as Bob just watched on with a little smile. “It’s relatively cheap compared to other places I’ve looked, and gorgeous. We can see the El Arco, those geological formations- we can even go whale watching! Not to mention the beach, there’s scuba diving, dining is all included with the suite and the flight is only two and a half hours, meaning we could leave right after the reception-”

Bob could’ve listened to you talk for hours on end, but kissing you sounded better. Truly, no matter what he was doing, kissing you was always the better option. He barely even had to look, snatching the papers from your hands and tossing them toward the chair in the corner of the living room. His large hands encircled your waist, sliding up under the edge of your shirt to ghost along the heated skin of your back and up your spine, pressing you into him as his lips slanted around your own, swallowing your words and the moan that followed them.

It was like lighting a spark when the two of you kissed, the way every anxiety and insecurity seemed to melt off of Bob Floyd in waves, replaced by an overwhelming sense of confidence rooted in love. You tried to speak, but his mouth pressed to yours harder, a feverish clashing of lips that conveyed every ounce of passion Bob carried in his body for you.

The backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch as he brought you down with him. But your time above him in the seat of control lasted for just a second before he had you pinned beneath him and the first few buttons of your blouse unbuttoned in less than a second. His eyes trailed over the flush of your skin, the redness that started in your cheeks and trailed down your neck, disappearing into the swell of your breasts and lower to places he’d seen more times than he could count, parts of your skin he’d worshipped for nights on end. Like a starved man, his lips attacked your neck, latching onto the spot just under your jaw that always drew such a delicious moan out of you. It only took a second for that moan to make it’s presence known, your body arching up into his as one of his hands found your hip, locking you to the cushions below you.

“I-If I’d known talking about Cabo, Mexico would-oh god-would get me this I-” the little breath you did have hitched, and Bob could hear your heart hammering out of your chest as his lips trailed their way down to your collarbone, leaving a mark just above the bone, before continuing their descent at a sinful pace. “I would have-Jesus Christ, Bob-I would’ve suggested it months ago…or every day.”

That elicited a laugh from him. That sense of humor that had gripped him from the moment you’d stepped into the Hard Deck so, so long ago, joking with him to take half the credit for keeping Natasha safe in the sky. Or the night you’d put Hangman in his place, the first time of many, asking Bob to be your partner in pool. God, that snarky little sense of humor you had, the very thing that could manage to break him out of every introverted thought he had and made him want to sing your praises in front of the world.

He’d pulled away from your skin, hovering over you. Breathless. Slightly sweaty. Flushed beyond belief, just as you were, and all he could do was smile down at you in a way that he could almost physically see the flutter that was sent through your chest.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” his words for airy as he looked down at you, almost in disbelief. “You said honeymoon and it just-it made it seem so real. I-It’s like I finally remembered…I get to marry you. I get to marry my best friend, and I-I get to do every day of the rest of my life with her by my side. Cabo-that’s great, whatever you want you can have, darling. I’d steal a jet and fly you halfway across the world if it made you smile.”

It was your turn to pull Bob down into a kiss, this one lighter, sweeter, but just as passionate in your own way.

“Well, in the wise words of my favorite singer…you knew what you wanted, Bob Floyd, and boy, you got her,”

You’d barely finished your words before laughing, Bob’s head falling against your chest with a tiny groan as he nipped at the exposed skin.

“Don’t ruin the moment with song lyrics,”

“Too perfect an opportunity, Robbie. Besides, you love me,”

Yes. Yes, he did.

Bradley and Natasha had managed to keep all the details of your joint bachelor and bachelorette trip under wraps, neither of you had a single inkling of what they had planned for everyone. But like they had for the Bradshaw trip, the couple had gathered you both in their car for the trip, while Hangman had been put in charge of picking up the stragglers (including Bob’s sister, who Bob had to warn Hangman a thousand times to please NOT flirt with, but he was only met with a fly wink).

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really thanked you, Floyd,” Natasha had said to him, somewhere about four hours into their drive. Bob was leaning against Rooster’s Bronco as the tank filled up at a rest stop along the highway, watching with a smile as you and his best friend argued over snacks through the windows of the gas station. He’d turned to look at Natasha, raising an eyebrow at the girl who he considered one of the four most important women in his life.

“For what?”

“Loving her the way you do,” Phoenix bumped her shoulder with his, chuckling at the blush that instantly formed on his cheeks. “For taking our advice at the reception, for just…being everything I’ve ever wanted for my best friend.”

A small smile crossed Bob’s lips as he bumped her shoulder back.

“Thanks for letting me love her,”

“Bob Floyd, even if I wanted to, there’s no stopping that girl once she wants something. And, boy, did she want you,”

Bradley and Natasha had forced the pair of you into blindfolds soon after getting back on the road, saying it was all in the name of surprise. That left he two of you pressed to each other’s side in the back of the Bronco, whispering your conversations to one another through the darkness of your blindfolds, Bob’s hand resting comfortably on the bare skin of your thigh as he rubbed small circles into the skin.

“Alright, alright, both of you just stand right here-”

“You know, ‘nix, they’d probably appreciate if you took the blindfolds off-”

“Seresin, no one asked you! Okay, both of you just stand still for a second,”

Neither you nor Bob moved, Bob’s hand wrapped around yours as your best friends positioned you in front of the Bronco. The air was hot, the sun beating down on you all, as you both waited slightly impatiently to see what they had planned.

“Alright, welcome to your trip!”

The second the blindfolds were off, Bob could instantly feel himself get choked up. And with one glance at you, he could see you struggling to do the same.

That gorgeous home, nestled in the desert by the Colorado River, sat before you all. It was just as stunning as the first time you’d seen it, when you’d been here on the same trip for Bradley and Natasha. Bob could only watch as your hand flew to your mouth, tears welling in your eyes as you turned to look at the grinning husband and wife standing in front of you both.

“What-how did-”

“On the last night here, we were sitting out on the deck looking up at the stars,” Natasha told you, tears evident in her own eyes, and Bob could remember the moment like it was yesterday in his head. The moment he’d realized he loved you. “We were sitting there, talking about anything and everything like we always do, and you dropped the bomb on me that you were in love with my back-seater.”

“And not even twenty minutes later,” Rooster chimed in, shooting a wink toward Bob. “It was you at my door telling me that you were in love with our little Siren over here.”

“Long story short, what I think the lovebirds are trying to say,” Hangman chimed in front the front door of the home, where he stood flanked by Coyote, Fanboy, Payback and Sophia, that typical Seresin smirk on his lips. “Is why not walk you two down memory lane and relive this moment? Don’t worry, the married couple over here planned some brand new activities for the week so that it doesn’t feel like deja vu.”

“And!” Fanboy chimed in, jabbing his thumb back toward the house. “We already claimed rooms and made sure to leave you guys in the same room as last time. You know, nostalgia purposes and whatnot.”

Bob made a mental note to himself to buy Rooster and Phoenix several rounds of beers next time they were all that the Hard Deck for the most thoughtful trip they could’ve possibly thought of. It really took all his self-control not to cry just at the thought that went into this for them.

“It really does look just like it did all that time ago,”

You were right, that bedroom where everything had changed for you both looked exactly the same. The same quilted comforter, the same curtains, and the same people, just not the same relationship they had the last time they were in here.

Bob barely let you put the bags in your arms down before his own arms were encircling your waist, head buried in your neck as you giggled, the air he blew into the nape of your neck tickling your skin.

“You know, t-that night I told you that you were my best friend…what I really wanted to do was tell you I loved you,”

You spun around, fingers splayed across the nape of his neck as you pulled him into a quick peck, one that he chased after in hopes of making it last longer.

“I know. I was really hoping you would,”

“I got there eventually,” he’d quipped, pressing a kiss to your temple as his fingers flexed along the small of your back. “There’s no more secrets left to keep this time, I can do and say what I want…I can fuck you in this room like I wanted to so long ago.”

That flash of heat, that burning desire, was evident in your eyes just at his words alone, just like he knew it was in his, too.

“Well, Lieutenant, I’m pretty sure we’re sharing a wall with Fanboy,” you quipped with a smirk overtaking your lips. “Do you think he’ll mind if we keep him awake like we did at the Lafayette-”

“I CAN HEAR YOU BOTH LOUD AND CLEAR, HANDS TO YOURSELVES YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!”

If the first week he’d spent in this house was full of memories he’d never forget, Bob wasn’t prepared for what their best friends had in store for them for their own party.

Two full days were spent on Lake Mead, one on the shore and another on a cruise around the lake. What Coyote was dubbing the ‘Second Annual Dogfight Chicken’ games had commenced almost immediately when you’d hit the beach, a grueling few rounds of knocking one another off each other’s shoulders. But for the second time, you and Bob had come out victorious, even if the others complained that you’d won twice in a row now (though that sneaky move on Hangman to attack the single spot you knew was ticklish to give you an opening to shove him off Rooster’s shoulders was dubbed the ‘play of the game’).

Bob hadn’t been as distracted by your thighs on either side of his head this time, or at least, not as distracted as he had been last time. Besides, he spent enough time buried between them whenever he could be.

The second day hand consisted of a day trip to see the Hoover Dam, something Bob sheepishly admitted was on his bucket list of places to see that they’d conveniently skipped over last time. His dream trip didn’t originally include Payback and Fanboy trying to argue if you could survive jumping over the edge of the dam, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. The sunset cruise around the lake was the first time you’d all dressed up, and Bob groaned the second you’d put on the same slit dress you had worn to Vegas last time. Judging by the wink you’d sent his way, you knew exactly what that dress did to him, and you were doing it on purpose. It was all worth it for the free champagne shoveled your group's way by the entire staff of the cruise, the second it was announced that you were both engaged.

Las Vegas was a must, but this time it included an off-Broadway production of ‘Mamma Mia.’ A day and night well spent in Bob’s eyes, just to see the smile on your face as simply being around a stage, your hand excitedly grasping his and squeezing it throughout the performance, mouthing all of the words to yourself. Bob found himself watching you more than the musical that night, not that he’d complained.

You had vehemently tried to convince Hangman to go to another Magic Mike show, which ended in an embarrassing twenty minutes for the pilot as you showed Sophia Floyd every single video you’d taken as blackmail last time.

No matter what they’d done every day, between little hikes through scenic places like the Valley of Fire State Park, or even the days spent inside together, watching Coyote and Natasha almost fist fight over an intense game of Uno, were moments Bob would never forget. He’d cherish them forever, because you were wrapped under his arm for every single moment.

That’s where you found yourselves on your final night, on the deck of your rented home, sitting directly between Bob’s legs on top of the picnic table with a blanket wrapped tightly around you both, admiring the stars above you. And if you looked close enough with the naked eye, Bob swore you could see hints of the Northern Lights streaking through the light pollution-free night sky.

“When we get home, everything changes,” it was you who broke the comfortable silence between you both finally. “We’ll be in the home stretch. In just a matter of weeks, I’ll finally be Mrs. Floyd.”

God, he’d never get tired of hearing that, of imagining you with his name. He didn’t have to imagine it for much longer.

“You’re already Mrs. Floyd in my eyes, we just need the piece of paper that says you are,”

You’d laughed, like you did at all his jokes, swinging your legs over to the side so that you could sit sideways and see his face. Illuminated by just the moon, the stars, and the little porch light somewhere behind them, Bob wondered how it was possible you got more beautiful every time he looked at you.

“Everything will be confirmed, I’ll get my dress. Our families will all arrive, we’ll walk down the aisle and say ‘I Do’, then we’ll dance the night away before we jet set off to Cabo,” your head leaned against his shoulder, eyes never leaving his own as you spoke. “Then comes…the rest of it.”

“The rest of our lives,” Bob tacked on as you grinned back up at him.

“Full of bills, and I’m sure some petty arguments here and there,”

“Don’t forget babysitting our friends at the Hard Deck for eternity,”

“Hmmm…then there are kids,”

“Kids?” you’d had the conversation before, briefly in the past, so the little statement didn’t shock Bob. If anything, it sent that familiar flutter he’d felt for months as he was falling in love with you shooting through his ribcage. His eyes were locked on yours as your smile turned sheepish.

“Three, that’s my max,” your voice had become a whisper now, but still loud enough to be heard in the silence of the night surrounding you both. “Ideally, two girls and a boy. Not like we have much of a choice there.”

“Hmmm, then I hope the boy is older,” he’d shot back with a shy grin of his own, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “Let him look after his little sisters. We have to throw in a dog, too.”

“But none of those little dog breeds,” you shook your head, lips eternally morphed into a smile. “No, we have to have a big dog. I love big dogs.”

“German Shepard, maybe a Golden Retriever,” Bob nodded along in agreement. “Have to get them at the same time we have the kids, that way they can grow up together. Watch them run around the backyard together, grow up being best friends.”

“Teach them responsibility young, make sure they grow up with a good head on their shoulders. Can’t have them turning into their Uncle Jake,” that brought a laugh out of both of you. But as the laughter dissipated, Bob could see the change in your eyes, the softness that seemed to enter them. “Our own little family.”

Bob could feel it, his own features soften, as his hand reached up to cup your cheek, ghosting his lips over yours in a kiss. His words came out in a whisper next, fanned over your lips.

“Our perfect little family,”

Neither of you were privy to the fact that the entire Dagger Squad was lurking through the glass sliding door, taking as many sneaky pictures as they could. Or of Sophia, crying into Hangman’s shoulder as she continuously murmured about how happy she was that her brother had found you.

Alas, peaceful moments such as a trip out to the desert would always have to come to an end. And with your peace coming to an end, the final wedding preparations were finally underway. And those final weeks were more stressful than any of the weeks that had come before.

The guest list was completely finalized, the caterers from the venue were notified of the number of guests, and the menu for the night was set in stone. The photographer had confirmed themselves for the day. The cake order was in, a split chocolate and vanilla tiered cake, since you and Bob were so indecisive on a flavor. The flowers were set, Natasha and Bradley had taken care of ensuring the decorations were all prepared with the venue, and they’d meticulously checked to ensure that your chosen wedding colors of various shades of blue were accurately represented. Everything was falling into place.

You’d flown back to your childhood home with Natasha to pick up your dress that you’d flown out and chosen months prior, while Natasha was picking up her own dress as well as Bob’s sister’s. Bob, of course, hadn’t seen the dress, but was informed by his mother and sister that they’d instantly cried the second you’d walked onto the platform in front of them in it. He knew that was an indication that there was no way he was getting out of crying at the altar.

It was the twenty-four hours leading up to the wedding when everything seemed to finally sink in.

The guests were all in town, the venue was set, and the entire Dagger Squad and your families were at your side at the venue the day before, as the manager ran you through the rehearsal.

You weren’t even in your dress when you walked down the aisle toward him, listening to the instructions that the manager was giving about how this would all go down. You were in jeans, a favorite pair of his that hugged you in every way that made him want to swoon, and an old t-shirt of his that he noticed you gravitated toward wearing in every anxious moment you had.

Bob would’ve married you right there in that outfit if the pastor had been there to perform the ceremony.

The venue walked you through where you’d exit, where the Dagger Squad would be able to perform the Arch of Swords, and through the seating for dinner and the reception. Pizza, cooked by the venue staff, was served to you all for the rehearsal dinner, while everyone laughed as Hangman and Coyote gave fake speeches, prepared just for the night.

Your hand had never left Bob’s, and Bob’s had never left yours. You were in sync with one another, and the anxiety radiating off of you both was clear as day.

It only grew worse when it was time to part ways, both of you agreeing to stick to tradition and spend the night before your wedding apart. Bradley and the boys waited across the driveway of the ranch for Bob, while Natasha and Sophia were waiting patiently by her car, everyone knowing you both deserved one last moment with each other before everything changed.

“The next time I see you…you’re going to become my wife,” Bob tried his best to keep his emotions in check, but he knew tears were forming in his eyes as he looked down at you, the most precious thing that had ever been his and would ever be his.

“And you’ll be becoming my husband,” you were doing a less fantastic job of keeping your emotions under wraps, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you held Bob’s hands in your own, squeezing them as tightly as you could. “You’re my best friend, Bob Floyd…just don’t tell Nat that.”

He laughed, as did you; those familiar words he’d told you so long ago felt like a hug right now. You didn’t need to say ‘I love you’ in this moment, because that little line had said it all and more.

“You, Ikea, are my best friend too…just don’t tell Bradley,” a lump formed in his throat as you smiled up at him, words tumbling out of him before he could stop them. “You…you’re sure, r-right?”

Even in that moment, where you were professing your love to him in a way that only he could understand, Bob couldn’t stop his insecurities from talking to him, for taking the lead. You were a million miles out of his league; he’d known it from the moment he met you. It felt like imposter syndrome, knowing that he’d gotten this far, that you were just hours from being his forever.

You knew him, he knew you did. That’s why he knew you could see his anxiety talking, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks as you brought him down into a kiss that sucked the air straight out of his lungs.

“I wish I could accurately articulate to you how much I love you, but all I can say is…people spend their lives searching for exactly what I found in you,” you’d choked out through your own tears, wiping a stray one from his cheek as you spoke. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Robbie, than I am of loving you. I don’t think there’s a single thing that could stop me from walking down that aisle tomorrow.”

Bob didn’t waste a second before pulling you into another kiss, the salty taste of both of your tears on your lips as he tried to convey every ounce of love he carried in his body for you through that single kiss. It would never be enough, though; there’d never be anything he could do or say to accurately explain it to you.

“Alright, Prince Charming and Cinderella, the princess needs to run along before she turns into a pumpkin!” Hangman’s voice called out across the driveway, pulling you both away from one another. “Hell, baby-on-board, we aren’t currently being shipped off to war right now, it’s a night apart. She’ll be all yours after tomorrow!”

You both laughed, as did all of your friends, and you both knew it was time to go. With a finally whispered ‘I love you’ shared, Bob had rejoined the boys, and you had joined your bridesmaids, and the first domino was finally falling on the day you’d both been waiting for.

Bob Floyd didn’t find himself wearing his Navy dress whites often, but this was the most nervous he’d ever been while wearing them.

The Groom’s suite was just him, Rooster, Fanboy, and his father, but Bob still felt like he was suffocating as he adjusted his uniform, ensuring there wasn’t a single thing out of place. It was the only thing he could think to do, it was distracting him from the thought of you on the other side of the house, getting into your wedding dress with the help of your mother, his mother and sister, and Natasha.

Holy fuck, Bob Floyd was getting married.

“Alright, bucko, it’s almost time,”

Bob turned to his father, the easy smile that sat on his lips, and he finally let out the nervous breath that he seemed to be holding in the entire time.

“Dad…respectfully, how the hell did you get married to Mom?”

The older Floyd laughed, clapping a hand down on his son’s shoulder with a grin.

“Truthfully? I was as nervous as you were, until your uncle forced a shot down my throat. Even then, I was nervous until she was standing in front of me at the altar. Then…the nerves just melted away,”

“And I might have pretended to be nice and confident for you and Hangman,” Rooster chimed in as he slung an arm around Bob’s shoulders with a grin. “But god, I was trying not to shit myself. Had to remind myself that Nat would’ve killed me if I had.”

The three laughed before their gazes turned to Fanboy. He simply held his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t plan on doing this for a long time. Unless that cute friend of Siren’s from work, Sydney, is interested,”

Another round of laughter was shared, and that seemed to be all Bob needed to give the three standing around him a nod of his head.

“Alright…let’s do this,”

Bob’s anxiety was still at an all-time high as he stood at the altar, the rest of their squad sat in one of the front rows, directly next to Mav and Penny. His family sat directly before him on his side, while yours sat on your own side. Now, all Bob had to do was wait, and pray he could remain calm.

He wasn’t kept waiting long.

That familiar music he’d heard a thousand times, in real life and in movies, kicked in as the guests all rose to their feet. Bob’s hands wrung together before him as Fanboy in his dress whites and his sister in a gorgeous light blue gown took their first few steps down the aisle.

Bob couldn’t help but smile the second he saw the dresses. If there had been a single doubt in his head, it was gone now: the dresses almost matched his eyes perfectly.

Natasha and Rooster followed right behind them, bright smiles on their faces as they looked to Bob. Rooster and Fanboy quickly took their places beside him, patting him on the shoulder for confidence, as Natasha and Sophia took their places opposite the men.

Penny’s daughter, Amelia, led Bob’s little cousin down the aisle, both holding the little pad for the rings as well as throwing the petals down on the aisle to ensure his little cousin didn’t drop the rings. It garnered a laugh from the entire room as they took their places.

Then the music changed, and you stepped out on your father’s arm, and Bob couldn’t hold himself together.

He’d seen this exact dress, one saying under your ‘Dream Wedding’ Pinterest board, and he always thought you would be the most gorgeous thing to ever grace this earth in it. And he was proven right. A billowing white ball gown, a sweetheart neckline with little off-the-shoulder sleeves you’d gushed about on so many other dresses, and a veil that shimmered like it was made from stars hanging from the top of your head.

A smile meant just for him, and a single tear slipping down your cheek that your father was quick to wipe away.

The older man handed his daughter over to Bob without a single fight, just a smile and a nod, and suddenly Bob was standing face to face with the love of his life, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He’d barely heard a word the officiant had said the entire time, until you handed your bouquet off to Natasha and took Bob’s hands, preparing to recite the vows you’d written yourself over and over again.

“I moved to San Diego for a job, and it just so happened that my best friend came as a package deal with it. I have so many things to be thankful to this city for, but I will never be able to repay it for the fact that it gave me you,” you’d swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to contain yourself in order to move forward, while Bob was slowly falling apart before you. “I’d never thought I’d find what so many of my friends over the years had found, too engrossed in my work and what I loved doing. But then you, this six-foot, awkward Naval Weapons Systems Officer, stumbled into my life, and I dropped a table on you, and I knew I was a goner. I vow always to be your biggest supporter, to be the most loyal partner you could ever hope to have, and to spend the rest of my life making jabs at our friends at the Hard Deck in your honor. In every universe…I hope it’s you that I’m standing across from to make these vows.”

Bob didn’t hesitate to reach out and wipe a stray tear from your cheek, gaining a slight laugh out of you that he couldn’t help but smile at. But it was finally his turn to speak, and Bob’s nerves were back in full force.

“You…you gave a speech at Bradley and Natasha’s wedding, and at the end you said something that stuck with me: “They say love is just a friendship that caught on fire,’ and I swear you looked at me after you said it. It might’ve been meant for our best friends, but that was for us, too,” he wiped away another tear that escaped down your cheek, the room laughing at the action. “I told myself that schoolboy crush I’d managed to gain on my best friend’s childhood best friend was nothing…then you dropped that table on me. I have never been more thankful for Swedish furniture than I was that day, because that put us here now. I promise to support you in everything you could ever want, to love and cherish the ground you walk on day and in and day out, and to give you the life that you deserve more than anything. For so long, I had no idea what I needed in my life…then you showed up, and now I don’t know how to live in a world without you.”

The officiant’s words were a blur. Bob barely remembered uttering that familiar phrase: ‘With this ring, I thee wed,’ or that you’d said it back. He didn’t remember saying ‘I do,’ he barely registered the ring that now would forever sit on his left hand. There was only one thing he remembered.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”

Bob had barely waited for him to finish, his hand taking you by the waist and pulling you into a kiss that had the entire room erupting into cheers, the unmistakable crying of Natasha in the background that could be heard clear as day.

“Hi, husband,” you whispered against his lips, eyes half lidded as they looked up at him. Bob couldn’t help the way his own stretched into a smile, looking down at you as he pressed you back into the kiss for a moment.

“Hi, wife,”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Robert Floyd!”

Surreal was the only word that Bob could use to describe the moment, and every moment after. It was like having an out-of-body experience as you’d walked under the Arch of Swords, as you’d been whisked off through the ranch with your wedding party in tow for an abundance of photos, the entire Dagger Squad dragging Maverick along for even more group photos. Bob’s eyes never left you, and not a single word needed to be said between either of you besides the smiles you shared.

They’d announced you both into the reception, and the hollering that Rooster and Hangman were doing had the entire room in laughter. Just like he had many, many months ago, Bob held his hand out to you, palm facing the sky, and you took it without a second thought, the music chosen for your first dance echoing around the trees of the outdoor reception air, lit by the warm, yellowed string lights all around you.

Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say…take my breath away. My love, take my breath away.

The same song that had played that night, on a dance floor similar to this, where everything had taken its definitive turn. Where you’d confessed to each other, where months of pining had finally reached its pinnacle, and where your lives together had started.

Bradley and Natasha's joint speech wasn’t something either of you was expecting when you’d been sat for dinner among your friends and family, but it didn’t disappoint.

“I’ve had the privilege of being best friends with our lovely bride, our Siren, since I chucked a soccer ball at her head in Kindergarten,” Natasha started, giving an innocent shrug when the room laughed at the story. “And when I got reassigned to North Island, back to Top Gun, I was given Bob as my backseater, not knowing he’d become one of my best friends.”

“And truly, when I watched Bob give our buddy Jake the nickname of ‘Bagman’ during a training exercise, I knew he was going to be my best friend,” Rooster shot a wink toward the two of you, who laughed along with the rest of the room. “And it took introducing these two just once for my wife and I to go home and say…man, they’d be great together, wouldn’t they?”

“To be fair, I’d had an inkling for months about it,” Nat made sure to interject. “I remember showing her photos of our nerdy little WSO, and suddenly she was very interested in learning more about him. And anytime I show him a photo of the girl I call my sister, his skin flushed so red you probably couldn’t tell the difference between him and a tomato.”

Bob shook his head with a groan as the room laughed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a moment as you pressed a kiss to his temple before Bradley continued.

“So, my wonderful wife and I devised a plan. Throughout the entirety of our engagement and wedding planning, since these two already had to spend so much time together, we were going to force them to spend even MORE time together until they got together. Come to find out…we didn’t even need to meddle, they found one another without any help,”

“And we are…so happy that you found each other,” Natasha was trying to hold in a sob as Bob reached over, holding your hand tightly in his as you too tried not to cry. “You’re our best friends, and we knew that we were going to have high standards for whoever our best friends fell in love with. But you fell in love with each other-”

“And I’ve never seen two people deserve each other more than you both do,” Rooster interjected, shooting Bob a wink. “They do say that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor are destined to fall in love, and they were right this time.”

“We love you both, and we can’t wait to witness your lifetime of happiness together, wherever it takes you,”

Bob thought he’d cried all the tears he could seeing you walk down the aisle, but apparently, a sentimental speech from your best friends was enough to bring him another round of tears.

You’d eaten together, you’d laughed, and then you’d danced the night away with every person you both held near and dear to you surrounding you on the dance floor. Bob’s eyes never left you, he never left your side, so when you’d both snuck off the dance floor to grab another drink and Bob held out his hand for you to take, you didn’t waste a second in trusting him.

Like two teenagers sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, he’d led you through the twists and turns of the ranch until finally finding what he’d found the night before at the rehearsal dinner: the private deck, well enough away from the hustle and bustle of the dance floor and the bar, surrounded by flowers and even more warm lighting.

“Couldn’t wait to get out of there?” you’d teased as Bob turned back to look at you.

“No,” he shook his head, taking a step forward and taking your face in his palms. “Just couldn’t wait to do this.”

Intense. Passionate. Loving. Full of desire. There was no shortage of words that could be used to describe what Bob felt as his hands trailed down to your waist, clutching you to him as if you were the last bit of oxygen left in the world, his lips moving against yours as if he hadn’t just kissed you not so long ago at the altar, claiming you as his forever.

You weren’t any better than him, though, one hand curling into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging on it, swallowing the groan Bob involuntarily let out with another kiss to his lips. Your lips, the nude lipstick sitting on top of them hanging by a thread from how passionately you kissed him, moving them down to his jaw, and leaving a lingering kiss just beneath his jawbone by the hollow of his throat, elicited yet another delicious groan from him that had you laughing.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Bob just barely managed to get out, breathless as he tugged your face back to look at him, an innocent smile on your kiss-bitten lips, and your teeth bit into your swollen bottom lip for a moment..

“Excuse me, you’re the one who dragged me out here to make out with me, Lieutenant!”

“Yeah, and I’m one more lip bite from you away from throwing you on top of that table over there and fucking you,”

Did Bob know where that sudden burst of confidence came from to utter something so sinful? Absolutely not, but that was just the effect that you always had on him—the effect you’d have on him for the rest of his life, now.

You’d only laughed, hands coming back to drag his face back to yours in another kiss. Softer. Gentler, but still just as passionate and full of love and desire as it had been moments ago. Then, you laughed, lips still pressed against Bob’s, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s so funny?”

You pulled away, and Bob could’ve swooned just by the look in your eyes. The pure love that shone in them, the adoration, as you chose your next words carefully with a gentle smile.

“The Best Man and the Maid of Honor fell in love…and now they’re married. How did we possibly get even more cliché, Mr. Floyd?”

Bob smiled, and suddenly he was back in that room at the Lafayette, your naked body lying under him for the first time as he’d kissed you for the first time. And he’d loved you properly, like you deserved, for the first time.

And then, he spoke.

“Somehow, we did. But…I wouldn’t have it any other way, Mrs. Floyd,”

[yeehawgust]

Yeehawgust 2024: Greener Pastures

Saddle up, folks! We’ve got greener pastures on the horizon, because it’s time for Yeehawgust’s 6th year this August!

Yeehawgust features daily art prompts as well as alternative weekly prompts, for those of us who are a bit slower on the draw. Don’t draw at all? No problem! Submit any art at all, be it illustration, comics, writing, fanfiction, photography, embroidery, sculpture, music, or whatever other creative endeavors you might enjoy. All skill levels are welcome, and this can be a great opportunity to experiment with new styles and techniques. 

Maybe you love media like Red Dead Redemption and Fallout: New Vegas, or classic westerns like The Magnificent Seven. You might enjoy the genre, and you’re looking for a chance to make a cowboy AU and put your OCs in chaps and your blorbos in a Stetson. Heck, maybe you just really want to draw horses. Whatever your reason, you’re welcome to join in, pardner!

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[sena-seastar]

Heart to Heart

Aemond x Wife Reader

Summary: Aemond spends time with your child so that you can have a much-needed break.

A/N: I'm back with more, Dad!Aemond, because I adore him so much. Aemond deserves someone who will love him as deeply and unconditionally as he loves them, and his baby definitely would. (Also, any dialogue in italics means the characters are speaking in high valyrian. I was too lazy to attempt to translate it.) No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

“Daenys, please calm down,” you plead as you try to pacify the wailing girl.

Though your words seem to fall on deaf ears, she continues to scream and flail in your arms. You want nothing more than to join in as tears well in your eyes. You were at your wit's end. Nothing seemed to placate your child. Not even the sweets you had tried to bribe her with. 

The nursemaids had changed her nappy several times. They’ve tried feeding, bathing, offering toys, and even taking her for a walk in the gardens. Yet none of it worked. They brought her to you as a last resort, hoping she might be missing her mother. Unfortunately, their hopes went unfounded.

Daenys continued to thrash in your arms, and you struggled to keep a grip on her. She was surprisingly strong for someone so small. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” you coo, bouncing the fussy girl in your arms. “Are you tired? Shall we take a nap?”

Your questions only incite her fury. Daenys lets out an ear-splitting screech. You groaned, eyes closing in frustration at the situation. 

“How about we give your mother a break, hmm?”

You look up, finding your husband now standing before you. He takes your little girl into his arms, and for the first time in forever, she settles down. She doesn’t squirm and try to get away from him, and her wails turn into low whimpers and quiet hiccups. You watch as he handles her with such ease. Aemond pats her back and talks to her in a soothing voice, gently bouncing her in his arms. Daenys rested her head on his shoulder, her tiny fists held tightly onto his coat.

“I’m terrible at this,” you huffed, shame blooming in your chest. 

“No, you’re not.” Aemond leaned down, pressing a gentle, reassuring kiss to your head. “I’ll take her for a bit. Get some rest.”

You nod, grateful for his help. He waves Daenys’ hand towards you as they leave. You wave back until the pair disappear from your view. You sigh in relief as your body slumps onto the Grecian couch beneath you. You debate whether to continue with your book or take a quick nap.

-

Aemond holds Daenys close to his chest as he maneuvers himself off his saddle. Ser Rickard Thorne stands to the side, wearing his freshly polished armor and pristine white cloak. Aemond nods at him, and the white knight quickly takes Aemond’s horse by the reins, leading the horse away.

The dragon lord looked down, watching Daenys as she toyed with the wooden dragon in her hands. He smiled. The familiar warm fuzzy feeling that filled his entire body every time he laid his eyes on her returned. It was hard to believe that something so beautiful and innocent could come from him. But here she was. The two of you had created something- someone so precious. 

A loud grumble sounded in the air. Aemond lifted his head, observing Vhagar. The giant dragon was hard to miss, even from a great distance.

The overgrown grass and twigs squish and cackle beneath his boots as he walked into the open field where the ancient she-dragon resided. Vhagar had outgrown the dragonpit years before he had even claimed her. Vhagar turned her giant head to the side, watching them as they approached. She shut her eyes again when she realized it was just him.

Daenys let out a delighted squeal when her eyes finally landed on the giant dragon. Aemond struggled to hold her as she excitedly kicked her legs and waved her arms. Aemound cursed under his breath as the wooden dragon toy fell to the ground. Oh well, he would retrieve it later.

“What is it, my little dragon?” He asked enthusiastically. “What do you see?”

 Daenys clapped her little hands and babbled, “Vava!”

“Vhagar? Do you see Vhagar?”

She looks up to him and nods her head. Her violet eyes lock onto his, and the two smile at each other. Aemond planted a kiss on the girl’s temple, gaining sweet, girlish giggles in response.

“Very good, my little dragon. It is Vhagar.”

Daenys begins to squirm in his arms and tries to push him away.

“What is it? Do you want down?”

Aemond looks down at the grass, checking for any potential dangers. Your little girl grunts and continues to try to push him away.

Aemond huffs, “Alright, alright.”

His lips curve downward into a slight frown. The two of you had been very proud and excited when Daenys started walking. However, Aemond was a little saddened by the fact that his sweet little girl didn’t want to be in his arms all the time anymore.

His mother had told him that it’s normal for them to want to be more independent when they start walking. The man understood that, but he still did not like it one bit.

Aemond carefully lowers the little girl to her feet. Her chubby little fingers hold onto his hands as she tries to stabilize herself. When she finally stops wobbling, she lets go. Aemond’s heart races in his chest as he watches her take a small, shaky step forward. His hands immediately reach out to grab her, but he stops himself.

Daenys takes another step; this time, she’s a bit more stable. She holds her arms out, trying to balance her weight as she trots forward. Aemond follows closely behind. With each step, he felt a twinge of panic in his chest. The man struggled not to swoop her into his arms every time she stumbled.

Thankfully, they made it to Vhagar rather quickly. Vhagar gave a small huff as Daenys small hands smacked against her snout. 

“Gentle,” Aemond warned sternly, well aware of his dragon's short temper. 

The man kneeled next to her. He took one of Daenys little hands into his own, showing her how to pet Vhagar’s snout carefully. Daenys let out another excited squeal that made Aemond wince. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “It’s very exciting, but we must be quiet.”

Daenys pulled her hand away from his, wanting to try it alone. Vhagar remained still, resting lazily on her chin. Aemond stood back up. He rested his large palm against her warm green scales with a joyous smile. She truly is a sight to behold.

Vhagar was the largest and fiercest dragon in the world. Nothing could stand against her. And yet she decided that he, of all people, was worthy of her. That he deserved the privilege to call himself her rider. No one could question or deny his worth now.

“Vava, pay?”

Aemond looked down, watching as his little girl tried to get the dragon’s attention. Her silver curls fell onto her face. The man reached down, pushing the strands of hair behind her ears. He felt a bit sorry for her. Vhagar was nowhere near as active as Daenys' little hatchling, who resided in the dragon pit. She did not flap her wings or let out any shrieks of excitement like Daenys’ hatchling did when they saw each other.

Daenys tugged on his coat. She turned her head up to look at him. Her brows were drawn together, and her bottom lip protruded further than her top lip. The look on her face tugged at his heartstrings.

“Play? No, Vhagar does not want to play.”

Your little girl does not seem to accept his answer. She turns her attention back to the dragon, gently petting her scales a few more times. Daenys tries calling out to her again, but Vhagar still gives no response. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. Aemond initially planned to take her to the dragon pit, but he decided against it. Mostly because he wanted to come out and visit Vhagar. He could seldom go a day without coming to see his winged companion. 

Suddenly, a loud grumble echoed in Vhagar’s throat. The dragon, finally having enough of the child’s affection, raised her head. Daenys, who was balancing herself on Vhagar’s head, fell back, landing on her bottom with a loud oomph.

“Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī,” Aemond commanded as he swiftly took Daenys into his arms.

Vhagar did not move, nor did she make a sound. The ancient dragon merely eyed the two of them. When Aemond felt confident enough that she would not act, he turned his attention to Daenys.

The look on her face is heart-wrenching. Her wide eyes filled with tears, and her trembling lips stretched into a deep frown. Her breath hitched as she tried not to cry. It makes Aemond feel like he wants to cry as well. He pressed a kiss to the child’s temple.

“Don’t cry, my little love. You’ll be alright.” He tried to reassure her.

She blinks, and tears fall from her violet eyes. Sad, quiet whimpers escape from her lips. Tears started to well up in Aemond’s eye, his breath quivered, and a lump formed in his throat. He was never one to cry. It made him feel weak and small, something he despised more than anything. 

But when his little girl was upset like this, he wanted to cry. Sometimes, he still wanted to cry even when she wasn’t upset. There were many times when he would just watch her while she played or slept, and then suddenly, he would be hit with a massive wave of emotions. Aemond wondered if Viserys had ever felt that way when he looked at him or any of his siblings.

Vhagar let out a loud huff. A wave of hot air engulfs Aemond and Daenys. Aemond looks up, observing Vhagar carefully. The green dragon lowers her head, gently nudging her snout against the crying girl. Aemond raises his hand to wipe away Daenys’ tears.

“Look, she’s sorry for making you sad.”

Daenys sniffled and turned to look at Vhagar. The corners of her mouth turned upwards. She giggled as she rested her forehead against Vhagar’s snout. Her little arms did their best to hug the dragon’s giant head. 

Aemond chuckled lightly, raising his hand to give Vhagar a few rewarding pats. His chest was bursting with pride as he watched his favorite girls interact. The only one who was missing was you.

[grantspectortrash]

fantasies & thin walls

Pairing: Rex Sloan/Rex Splode x F!Reader

Summary: post s3 (minus Rex’s relationship with Rae), but everyone is alive and well! nothing bad ever happened! I don’t know what you mean!

You’re apart of the ex-guardians superhero team that are staying at Teen Team’s base. Your room is next to Rex’s, and he can’t ignore the noises he can hear through the wall.

Warnings/tags: Minors DNI, 18+ pls and thank you this is smut. Unknown mutual masturbation, porn reference, smut but no physical contact

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: for all my Rex girlies, because there simply aren’t enough fics so I’m coming out of hibernation after 3 years off.

___

Long days, intense fights, and constant training meant that when you finally crawled into bed way after the sun had gone down, you were knackered.

Your suit was discarded in a heap on the floor and you had told Cecil if there was another emergency tonight he could find someone else. You’d been through too much lately.

All you craved was some time to relax, and nothing seemed to be working.

None of your favourite shows were hitting the spot, you didn’t have the energy to read a book, and the thought of doomscrolling on your phone made your nose wrinkle.

There was only one thing that would help.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted it, but you knew you wanted that release, that blissful chilled out feeling only one thing could give you.

“Fuck it.” You sighed into the darkness, shimmying off your pyjamas and leaving those on the floor beside your suit.

Once you were naked, you loaded up the default porn site you always used in moments like these, and began scrolling.

Your actions started slowly, a hand tracing down your stomach to your folds, where two fingers traced lazily around your clit in circles.

You knew you were doing this just to feel something, anything, that wasn’t to do with fighting or training. Something that didn’t require losing any blood or killing anyone. You just wanted that release.

You just didn’t know the walls were so fucking thin.

For the third time in two weeks, Rex led in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the noises he could hear coming from your room.

He had no idea why the walls were so thin, or why it seemed as if your beds were pressed up against each other, or why he couldn’t bring himself to plug his ears.

He knew he shouldn’t listen in. It was invasive and wrong. But it wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose.

Rex was a good guy now, and he respected you. It just wasn’t his fault that your soft moans made his cock twitch.

He had restrained himself the first time, only allowing himself to listen for the first five minutes while he felt his cock get hard, before shoving headphones on to drown out the noise.

The second time he had truly behaved himself. He had listened to you all the way through, telling himself it was only because he was only curious to see how long it took for you to get there.

And once you had, he had forced himself to sleep while his dick fought against the restraints of his bed covers.

He had woken up in the morning with a wet patch on his sheets, and heat had flushed to his cheeks.

He wasn’t an asshole fuckboy anymore, so why had his dream-self done that to him?

The day after he had punished himself by training extra hard, only taking a break when Rudy demanded Rex had gone beyond the point of exhaustion.

But deep down he knew it wasn’t youthful impulses or ex-fuckboy tendencies that had made him feel that way about you.

Rex thought you were gorgeous.

You had everything he wanted in a woman. The perfect eyes, perfect figure - hell if he had still been the previous him, he probably would’ve saddled up to you the first day you joined the guardians with a “hey sexy mama” and would’ve tried to seduce you into bed.

And while half of him was still tempted to try that, he was different now. He admired you for your powers and skillset, and knew how much you cared about saving people. You inspired him, and in Rex’s eyes that added another level to your beauty.

So while he heard you, moaning and panting, he couldn’t help the reaction his body had.

He couldn’t help it either when he heard his name tumble out of your mouth.

Rex shot up from his bed immediately, his head slamming against the shelves above.

“Fuck.” Rex whispered angrily, a hand coming up to rub the back of his head.

He listened to see if you had heard, but you only paused for a second before the soft moans continued.

Maybe he had heard you wrong. Maybe he was going mad, the sounds of you driving him wild enough that he had reached delirium.

But there it was again.

The faint “Rex” slipping out of your mouth while you touched yourself, your phone and the porn you were watching discarded while thoughts of what you really wanted took over your mind.

You didn’t even know when you had started fantasising about Rex - probably when he dropped the full throttle dickhead vibe and became an endearing asshole instead. Probably before.

You’d fought beside the guy. You lived with him. You’d seen him in just a towel wrapped around his waist after a shower, and you’d seen him beaten and bloody, which shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was.

Each and every time you caught a glimpse of his hard abs, or each time the light hit his green eyes just right, you’d felt something stir deep within you.

And now you were wishing Rex was deep within you.

Your legs were spread wide, your hands desperately moving while one fingered your hole with unyielding intent and the other teased your clit.

It wasn’t enough, you wanted Rex, even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself or to him - ever.

But it was more than enough for Rex. He wanted you, and he didn’t want to hold back any longer.

Rex rested his head against the wall, and took his hard cock into his hand, pre cum already glistening at his tip in the low light.

He took one slow stroke, and bucked into his hand involuntarily. And as your sounds got louder, Rex matched your pace.

He moved his hand at the tempo of your rhythm, straining to control his breathing so he could concentrate on your own.

“Rex”, his name came again, this time a little louder and more like a whimper.

It sent a shiver across his naked body, and a silent “oh baby” crossed his lips.

He could hear your pace quickening, knew that soon you would be feeling that familiar tight cord across your stomach, knew that soon it would be all over and he would have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

But as he fisted his cock in his hand, he didn’t care about what would come after. He only cared about coming now. Coming to the thought of you, coming to the sounds of your pleasure, moaning for him.

He got faster as your panting got more erratic, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself,

“Fuckkk, come on mama.” Rex whispered low, his voice trembling slightly.

And then the band snapped, and you let out a long, breathy moan as Rex’s rhythm faltered and his dick released long, hot cords of cum across his stomach.

All he could imagine was pumping his seed into you, and his head felt dizzy from the high.

For a full minute, all he could hear was his own panting, his breath hitching in his throat.

His dark red hair was uncharacteristically messy, taken out of his usual bun, framing his face as he breathed hard. He blew a strand away.

“Fuck.” Was all he could manage to say.

He cleaned himself up and sunk back down into his bed, mind wild and heart racing.

He hoped you hadn’t heard him, but couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if you had.

And you hoped Rex hadn’t heard you, but as that sweet release enveloped you in a state of peace, and you started to drift off to sleep, you wondered what might happen if he had…

___

__

-

guys I am so nervous about posting this bc I haven’t written any fics in yonks and this is my first Rex and first smut fic ever. God it feels good to get back in the game. Love ya, Leigh x