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PEDRO PASCAL wearing his 'Materialists girl' tee

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Sly Stone & his newly wife Kathy Silva, 1974.

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Hiiiii i have a request 😛

bob floyd gets a concussion and is flustered and embarrassed when wife!reader tells him they’re married, and he doesn’t believe her because she’s so pretty

muaahahahaha😈😈😈 I absolutely loveee this !!!

warnings/tags: v minimal hospital stuff, anxious reader, (y/n) used like twice, fluff, bob is sooo in love lololl, very quick nsfw mention, also bob is southern because I SAID SO, reader is lowkey southern too cause i am and i’m projecting🥀

wc: 1.2k

a/n: sighhh i love bob so much, this was so fun to write :] thank you for the req !! plsss keep them comin !

It wasn't very often you were invited on base. You aren't not allowed there, you just never really had much of a reason to spend the day over there. So that's why you're a little fidgety as you make your way through the parking lot of the small hospital on base. That, and you had received a worrying phone call this morning.

You were lounging at home- enjoying your day off- when your phone rang. You recognized the number from the very few times you had been called by one of your husband's supervisors. A doctor had informed you that your husband had had to make an emergency eject during training and hit his head pretty hard.

You had panicked immediately but the doctor assured you Bob would be just fine; he just has a fairly serious concussion and his memory and motor skills are a bit wonky at the moment. You finished up the phone call and rushed over as quickly as you could.

You aren't waiting in the lobby very long before a nurse leads you back to your husband's room. Your heart almost breaks at the sight of him in his hospital bed, looking absolutely pitiful. He's sitting up slightly with his head tilted back facing the ceiling, his eyes closed and his breathing a bit slower than usual.

"Bobby? Honey, how're you feeling?" You're by his side in an instant, one hand caressing his arm and the other brushing along his forehead as his eyes flutter a few times before his head tilts toward you. His eyes are a bit fuzzy, unfocused, but he's still got that light he's always had- like the sun itself has taken root in him and couldn't help but shine through. "'m doin' okay, how're you?" He mumbles, his tone completely serious. You can't help but laugh at him; those southern manners imbedded deep in him. "I'm okay, just worried bout you, Bobby." You run your fingers along the edge of a small bandage on his forehead, before turning and reaching for his glasses.

Carefully, you slide them onto his face and watch in amusement as his mouth drops open. You go to speak, but he beats you to it; "I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." A pretty flush rises to his cheeks and his eyes stay wide open, like he doesn't want to blink and miss any microexpression you might make.

"Oh, thank you, handsome." You grin, cupping his chin with one hand and leaning in to brush your lips against his gently. You're shocked when his shaky arms do what they can to push you away- there's not much force behind his wobbly movements, but you back away and look down at him with furrowed brows. "Nonononono, stop stop- 'm married." He frantically tries to get out despite the slur in his voice.

"Baby-" You start, fighting the giggle in your voice. He shakes his head, a beautiful pout taking over his features. "I love my wife. She's perfect- you gotta back up." His eyes screw shut, he turns his head away from you, and his shaky hands rub his eyes. "Her name's (y/n), she's fuckin' great- pardon my l-language." He mumbles, mostly to himself at this point.

"Bob. My name is (y/n). My last name's Floyd. I'm your wife." You reach out to gently grasp his wrists. Bob whips his head toward you so fast he's dizzy for a few moments. You keep your eyes on him, unsure whether to laugh or call for a nurse. Once his eyes really focus on you he seems to deflate, his arms falling to his lap and his cheeks quickly heat up a bright red. He looks.. nervous. "You okay?" You hum, slowly reaching out for him.

A beat of silence passes before he opens his mouth, his bottom lip trembling, "I missed youuu." He finally says- his hand shooting out to meet yours. He overshoots it a bit, though, and smacks your shoulder. You let out a relieved laugh, grabbing his hand and interlacing your fingers together. God, he really scared you for a second. "You're really my wife? How?" He asks, looking absolutely amazed as you run your fingers along his cheekbones.

"It's a very long story, Bobby. But I love you." You grin, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He lets out a dreamy sigh, reaching up with his free hand to grip onto your shoulder. "Yeah? God, you're so pretty." He blinks up at you, unable to fight the smile on his face.

For a moment, you're stunned by just how beautiful he is- pink cheeks, wide eyes, and a boyish grin; a little beat up and bruised but easily the most gorgeous man you've ever seen. You chest seems to swell up with all the love you feel for your husband. You feel a tugging at your shirt and realize he's said something to you. "Sorry, what'd you say, honey?"

"'m tryna sweep you off your feet, sweetheart- you're makin' it hard." Bob grumbles, letting go of your hand to grip at the front of your shirt so he can tug you down with both arms. You let out a breathy laugh, allowing him to pull you closer. "I'm so very sorry." You grin against his lips before giving in.

He tastes the same, he's got the usual enthusiasm, his technique's just a bit wonky. You honestly wouldn't change it for the world. The kiss only breaks when he's gasping and you have to push him away or he won't stop. It's his favorite thing- drowning in you; in your eyes, your lips, your pussy. God, just the thought of having you has blood rushing to his dick so fast he's a bit lightheaded.

You press one last lingering kiss to his lips before you're pulling back and turning to grab a chair. "Doctor said you gotta spend the night here so-"

"Need my pillow- need to move my pillow." Bob's voice is urgent when he interrupts you and you're letting go of the chair and running your eyes over him to see if anything's changed. "Where? Are you okay? You hurting?" You question him as you carefully slide the pillow out from behind him. He just furrows his brows and chews on his lip as you hold the pillow beside him for a moment. "Where do you want it, Bobby?" You repeat, worry clawing up your throat.

"My lap." One of his wobbly arms grabs onto the pillow and tugs it toward him- you don't let go just yet, your fear turning to confusion. A "Huh?" tumbles from your lips and Bob is grinning. "So pretty, my wife.. Gave me a kiss and I popped a boner." He sighs, still fighting with you for the pillow as he starts to giggle to himself over the word 'boner'.

You let go of the pillow with an incredulous laugh and watch as he settles it over his lap. Surely there's no way he's at full mast with all the pain meds in his system- you almost want to check- but you just shake your head and settle into the chair next to his hospital bed. You thread your fingers with his and settle your head onto his boner-hiding pillow, keeping your eyes on his as he traces his unsteady fingers along your features.

Bob stares at you in wonder, wondering what he could've done to ever possibly deserve having you. "My wife." He murmurs, reverently, like he can't quite believe it.

"Maybe we'll renew our vows when you aren't so hopped up on pain meds."

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A woman lying down on the floor, smoking cigarette, surrounded by record albums, including “Lonely Girl” by Julie London, released 1956. 

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Satyam Shivam Sundaram (1978)

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Sorry to hear you move been going through it™️ 🩷

If you’re up to it, how did reader announce the first pregnancy to Beau and how did he take it? Were they trying? Was she a whoops? I need answers!😂

<3 here ya go!

It had been a random Saturday morning. You’d woken up with a strange feeling — one part nerves, one part excitement, two parts nausea. You weren’t late by much, but there’d been a softness in your body lately, a kind of stillness that you couldn’t quite explain. 

You hadn’t been trying exactly — but you hadn’t been not trying either. After a few long conversations filled with “what ifs” and “not yets” and “somedays,” you and Beau had landed in a space that felt like: if it happens, we’ll be ready. 

But nothing prepared you for the sight of those two pink lines. 

You’d taken the test alone while Beau had gone on a walk to get coffee. And then, because one test wasn’t enough, you took two more. All lined up on the counter, as clear and bold and life-altering as anything you’d ever seen. 

You cried. A little. You laughed too — mostly from disbelief. Then cried again, sitting on the closed toilet lid, whispering, “Oh my god,” over and over like it might settle the butterflies erupting in your chest. 

You wanted to tell Beau in a way that felt right. Not dramatic. Not scripted. Just you. You were too excited to wait, so you tucked a test into a little bag, grabbed your jacket, and called him to meet you at the boardwalk where he liked to people-watch on slow mornings. 

As you strolled, you suggested getting photos taken in the old photo booth by the pier — the one you both had used once during your first year of dating, where the film had jammed and all you’d gotten was one blurry strip of your laughing faces. It had become your thing ever since. 

This time, you sat down next to him in the booth with a small, nervous smile. Beau raised an eyebrow at the camera lens, already suspicious, but obliging.

You climbed onto the bench beside him and slid some bills into the slot. The countdown blinked on screen.

3… 2… 1…

First photo: a regular smile. His arm over your shoulder. Yours tight around his waist. You were vibrating.

Second photo: you shakily pulled the test from your jacket pocket and held it up like a secret about to be spoken. His eyes dropped to it, brows drawing together.

Third photo: realization dawned in his eyes — jaw slack, eyebrows raised, that slow, blinking disbelief.

Fourth photo: he turned his head toward you, eyes glassy, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face. And you? You were already crying. Smiling. Shaking. He leaned in and kissed you then, soft and grateful and reverent. 

“You’re serious?” He’d whispered, leaning his head against yours, foreheads touching, both of you laughing with the kind of joy that only comes from stepping off a cliff together and loving the freefall. 

The machine whirred and clicked, and the strip of freshly printed photos slid out from the side of the booth with a mechanical sigh. 

Beau grabbed it first, eyes darting down the line of images, each frame more unreal than the last. He didn’t say anything at first — just stared. 

“Are you happy?” You asked, voice soft. 

He looked at you, the strip of photos still pinched between his fingers. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m happy. I’m gonna be a dad.” He reached out, cradling your jaw with his free hand. “And you’re gonna be the most incredible mom.” 

You let out a tiny laugh, partly from relief, partly because the word mom still sounded surreal. 

When you got back home, you hadn’t said much. You didn’t need to. Beau walked straight into the kitchen, grabbed a magnet, and immediately placed the photo strip right on the fridge — next to the old one from the early days. It was unspoken, but clear. This moment belonged right there, next to the beginning. 

Weeks later, after your first ultrasound, you added the sonogram.

Then another. 

And eventually, a small collection of baby-shaped shadows and photo booth strips stood side by side — your love story, told in refrigerator snapshots. Beau would sometimes pass by and pause, touching the newest one with a quiet smile. You caught him doing it more than once when he thought you weren’t looking. 

And somehow, every time you opened the fridge door, it felt like you were opening a chapter of your life that was still being written — frame by frame, photo by photo. 

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The History Of Rock 1968 Marianne Faithfull, page 76-77.

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Mr. Pascal, I’m kindly asking you to let us BREATHE

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I’m dying to know what Beau and readers wedding was like 😍😍

love this ask! it's been so fun getting back to beau and reader. i've been going through it y'all so this was a nice distraction :)

The afternoon was warm with salt and sunlight, the ocean just beyond the palms humming its soft rhythm like a blessing. Strings of lights were strung between trees, swaying slightly in the breeze — a canopy of celebration. Everything was exactly how you’d dreamed it: simple, elegant, and full of heart. 

You didn’t want to be walked down the aisle. Not because you didn’t deserve to be — but because the life you had built, the strength you stood in, had been yours alone for a long time. So you entered the ceremony solo, the back of your dress a sculpted cross of silk and bare skin, sunlight catching your shoulders as you made your way down the aisle line with wooden chairs draped in ivory flowers. 

Every step echoed with certainty. With choice. 

And at the end of the aisle stood Beau. 

He wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve in public — but this was different. The second he saw you, something in him broke open. His hand moved instinctively to his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Tears welled up, fast and unashamed, and when you finally reached him, he took your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. 

There were a few dozen people there: his family, your chosen family, your tightest circle. All of them beaming or teary-eyed, soaking in the stillness and sanctity of it all. There was no music blaring, no extravagant decor — just the scent of flowers, ocean air, and the quiet murmur of love. 

The ceremony was short, heartfelt. Your vows were simple and true. His voice cracked as he promised to never let you go, not in fear, not in failure, not even in the quiet spaces where life slows down. You laughed softly when you almost dropped the ring — a beautiful, slightly imperfect oval diamond set in gold — and he caught it with a smirk like, “You always keep me on my toes.” 

You kissed to a round of cheers and clinking glasses of cocktails garnished with white orchids. The cake — two tiers of vanilla bean with soft buttercream — was as unpretentious and lovely as the rest of the day. And your reception under the lights was a warm, magical blur: barefoot dancing to Van Morrison, stolen kisses, slow moments in the grass. 

Later, when the crowd had started to thin and the night had deepened, you and Beau slipped away to sit quietly together, away from everyone else. You leaned into him, your fingers tracing the edge of his lapel. 

“You okay?” He whispered. 

You looked up at him, eyes turning glassy again. “Yeah,” you said, voice thick. “I just… I didn’t know it could feel like this.” 

“Like what?” He asked. 

“Like home.” 

And you were right. It wasn’t just your wedding day. It was the beginning of something sacred. You had built a life already — now you were anchoring it. Together. 

Just the two of you… before the chapters of little feet, and drowsy 3 a.m. feedings, and the chaos of building a family. 

But on that day, under the glow of the string lights and vows whispered into golden air, it was enough. It was everything. 

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Flashbacks next ep

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'nina simone live at montreux' cd packaging, printed 2011.

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THE GODFATHER (1972) dir. Francis Ford Coppola

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NUDES AND SMOKE BY DAVID LYNCH (2007)

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Harrison Ford as Han Solo Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope (1977)

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Fault Lines / Chapter 7

Pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x Wife!reader (Mitchell!reader)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Consensual, legal age-gap relationship; Estranged Father/Daughter relationship (Maverick & Reader); Named Simpson!OC child; Angst; Pregnancy; Mentions of birth complications; No Beta Reader

Synopsis: After the successful Dagger Squad mission, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell returns home — only to be blindsided by the revelation that his estranged daughter is married to Vice Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson. Maverick is forced to confront the years he lost and the family he never knew existed. Tensions rise between the two men as Maverick struggles to find his place in a life that has moved on without him, leaving the question — can broken bonds ever truly be repaired?

previous chapter

It had been nearly two hours since Beau arrived at the hospital.

The clock’s slow tick was starting to feel like a form of torture. Beau had stopped pacing. Maverick had stopped pretending he wasn’t running worst-case scenarios in his head. And still, the OR doors remained closed. 

Then — finally — they opened. 

A nurse stepped out, her expression calm, practiced. Maverick and Beau were both on their feet before she even spoke. 

“She’s out of surgery,” she said gently. “Everything went well. Both mom and baby are stable.” 

Beau exhaled so hard it came out as half a laugh, half a prayer. His hands dropped to his sides like gravity finally caught up to him. 

“She’s in recovery now,” the nurse continued. “We’re monitoring her vitals, she’s resting. Your daughter is in the nursery, getting checked, but she’s healthy. And loud.” 

Both men smiled at that — something shared, small but real. 

“Can I see her?” Beau asked. 

“In a few minutes, yes,” she replied. “We’ll bring you back as soon as she’s ready.” 

When the nurse walked away, Maverick say back down, this time letting out a long breath. Beau didn’t sit, not yet. He stood there for a moment like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that the worst was over. 

Then he turned back to Maverick. 

“You know,” Beau said, voice quieter now, “when she first told me about you… she barely said anything. Just that things were complicated. That she hadn’t talked to you in years. She never trashed you, never dramatized it. Just… closed the door and kept moving.” 

Maverick nodded, jaw clenched. “That tracks.” 

“But the thing is,” Beau went on, “I always wondered what kind of man raised a woman like her. Because she’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Brave. Smart. Heart bigger than she lets on.” 

Maverick didn’t respond right away. He was still staring down at the floor, eyes glassy. 

“I didn’t raise her,” he said finally, voice low and tight. “Not really. I was there, and then I wasn’t. I made some choices I thought were right at the time. And they weren’t. I missed out on so much. I let myself miss it.” 

Beau looked at him for a long moment. Then sat next to him again. 

“She’s letting you try,” he said. “And that’s more than most people would give.” 

“I don’t want to waste it,” Maverick said. “I just want to earn whatever time she’s willing to give me. However long it takes.” 

Beau nodded slowly. “Good. Then we’re on the same page.” 

A nurse appeared at the end of the hallway a few minutes later, motioning for them to follow her down the corridor. 

“She’s awake,” she said. “Still a little out of it, but she’s asking for her husband.” 

Beau touched Maverick’s shoulder as he stepped past him. 

“You coming?” 

Maverick blinked, surprised. “You sure?” 

“She’ll want to see you too,” Beau said. “You got her here. You sat with me. You waited. That counts.” 

So the two men walked side by side through the hospital corridor, toward the room where you were finally waking up — where your newborn daughter waited to be held, and where, somehow, the pieces of your family were starting to quietly fall into place. 

The recovery room was dim and quiet, the only sounds the low hum of machines and the occasional beep of a heart monitor. You were propped up slightly in the hospital bed, eyes half-lidded, hair messy and damp at your temples, a faint flush still in your cheeks from the fevered storm of the last few hours. 

Beau was through the door before the nurse finished holding it open, his eyes locked on you like he couldn’t believe you were real, safe, alive. You managed the softest, sleepiest smile. 

“Hi,” you murmured. 

He crossed the room in seconds and was at your side, brushing hair from your face as he leaned in and kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your temple. 

“You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. 

“You didn’t answer your phone,” you whispered back, half a tease, half truth. 

“I know,” he said, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

You could feel the weight of his fear still clinging to him. You reached for his hand and squeezed it, grounding both of you in this quiet moment after the chaos. 

Then you looked past him — because you felt it, that still presence just outside your line of sight. 

Maverick stood just inside the doorway, hands in the pockets of his jacket. He didn’t move until you gave him the tiniest nod. 

He stepped in slowly. 

“Hey, kid,” he said quietly, voice rough. “You look…” 

“Don’t say anything about how I look,” you said, half-laughing. 

Beau chucked under his breath and pulled a chair close to your bedside. Maverick stayed standing for a second longer, then sat down in the other chair across from you. 

“Thank you,” you told him, eyes locked on his. “For getting me here. For staying.” 

“You don’t have to,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper. “You called me. That’s all I needed.” 

You took a deep breath and looked between the two men — the one who’d built a life with you, and the one who was just beginning to rebuild something he’d once broken. It didn’t escape you how surreal this moment was. Bit it also didn’t scare you like you thought it would. 

“They’re bringing her soon, right?” You asked Beau. 

He smiled, finally softening into something other than panic and adrenaline. “Yeah. Said they’d be in with her any minute.” 

Right on cue, the door opened again. 

A nurse rolled in a bassinet, the tiniest bundle of swaddled pink tucked inside. You could just barely see the soft flutter of her chest, her nose crinkling as she adjusted in her sleep. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered and the tears came quickly. 

Beau stood and helped you sit up a little more as the nurse gently placed the baby into your arms. 

She was perfect. 

Tiny, warm, impossibly soft. Her hair was wispy and dark, her cheeks full, her lips slightly parted as she nestled into your chest like she already knew you. 

Beau was at your side in a heartbeat, his hand on your back, eyes full of something that looked a lot like awe. 

Maverick watched silently from the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable — but you saw his jaw tremble ever so slightly. His eyes stayed fixed on your daughter. His granddaughter. 

“She doesn’t have a name yet,” you said, still looking down at her. “We hadn’t decided.” 

Beau smiled, brushing a thumb over the baby’s tiny fist. “We were waiting until we met her.” 

You looked up at him, then over at Maverick. And then back at her. 

“I want her to have something strong,” you murmured. “Something rooted. But soft. Like her sister.” 

Beau nodded. “Yeah.” 

There was no final decision yet, but it didn’t matter in the moment. She was here. Safe. Whole. Yours. 

After a while, when the nurse came back to check your vitals, Maverick stood and moved toward the door to give you space. 

But just before he stepped out, you looked up at him again. 

“You can stay,” you said softly. 

He paused, surprised. “You sure?” 

You nodded, sleepy and raw and full of something new and unfamiliar — peace. 

“You’re family,” you said. “You should meet her too.” 

And Maverick stepped back in, slowly, reverently, to meet the granddaughter he never thought he’d be allowed to know. 

Maverick stood beside your bed now, quieter than you’d ever seen him. He hovered just at the edge, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to get closer. You could tell he was holding his breath — like if he moved too fast, he might wake up from all of this. 

You glanced at him, your baby tucked against your chest, her tiny fingers curling instinctively at the edge of your hospital gown. Her little breaths were soft, steady, completely unaware of the gravity of the room. 

“She’s got Beau’s nose,” you said, almost absently. 

“And your lips,” Beau added, running a thumb gently along her cheek. 

There was a pause. A weight to the moment that made it feel like it was balanced on a pin. 

You looked up at Maverick gain. His hands were still in his pockets, but you could see the way his fingers twitched. The way his eyes shimmered and stayed locked on the baby like he was memorizing every tiny feature. 

“Do you want to hold her?” You asked softly. 

His head jerked up slightly, startled. “Me?” 

You smiled. “Yes, you.” 

“I — only if you’re sure,” he said quickly. “I mean, I haven’t — I —“ 

You tilted your head, amused. “You’re not gonna break her, Maverick.” 

Still hesitant, he stepped forward. You gently handed her over, Beau helping steady Maverick’s arms as he cradled your daughter for the first time. 

She barely stirred, settling right in, and that was what did it. Maverick’s mouth parted slightly, his eyes shining as he looked down at her, holding her like she was made out of light. 

“Hey there,” he whispered, voice thick. “You’re… perfect, you know that?” 

You rested your head back against the pillow, watching him. And then, without even thinking twice, you said: 

“She’s gonna love her Grandpa Mav.” 

He blinked. 

Then looked up at you slowly, almost in disbelief. 

You smiled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes again, but this time from something good. Something healing. 

Maverick’s eyes dropped back to your daughter, his chest rising with a deep breath as he let the name settle in his bones. He rocked her just slightly, like it was instinct now. 

“Grandpa Mav,” he repeated, so quietly it barely made it into the room. Like he was trying it on. Like he didn’t quite believe it belonged to him — but he wanted it to. 

And in that sterile hospital room, under fluorescent lights and exhausted hearts, something shifted. 

Not perfectly. But enough. 

Enough to know that healing could be slow and quiet and still real. Enough to know that love — once buried — could still find its way back. 

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Joan Baez, France, September 13, 1971 ©️ Christian Rose.