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kaliforniahigh · 3 months ago

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Requesting a story about your wedding night with Noah. It's neither of your first time, but your first time as husband and wife so it's more special... a combination of fluff and smut? 🩷

I hope it was a good ratio of fluff and smut. Thank you so much for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one <3 I'm drooling thinking about Noah wearing a suit on your wedding night.

Warnings: 18+ marriage, smut, unprotected p in v (wrap your willy), shower sex, oral (male receiving), fluff, a litte dirty talk, Noah is a little tease. I think that's it.

Requests are closed for now.

WC: 3.1k

You and Noah decided to distance your wedding venue from Los Angeles. The buzz of the busy city too much for such an intimate moment. So you decided to choose a wedding venue up North in the state of California, inviting your friends and closest family only.

The day was beautiful, it was everything you imagined your wedding would be. You cried, you danced, you kissed and called Noah your husband a million times, not getting enough of the fact that you got to marry your best friend in the entire world.

For the party, you changed into a flowy dress and a pair of Converse, feeling like you worn heels for long enough already. Now, though, as you and Noah made your way back to the hotel you were staying at, all you wanted was to take a warm shower to wash your hair and the make up off.

Your hands were intertwined in the middle console of the car, and took the chance to observe your husband. He looked so good the whole night, you actually wanted to drag him into a random room in the venue and have your way with him.

Now the fire burned even brighter inside of you. He discarded his suit jacket, only wearing a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos on his arms on display. And if the lights from the streets illuminated him just right, you could see the tattoos on his chest underneath the fabric of his shirt.

His hair was tousled from his - and your - hands running through it. He played with your wedding ring on your left hand from time to time, and you decided to tease him a little.

Grabbing his hand, you started to move it away from the center console and closer to your thighs. Your dress rode up a little bit from you sitting down, so his hand felt warm on your skin. You turned sideways a little, so you could face him more head on, back partially resting against the car door.

He knew what you were up to. He noticed your looks throughout the whole night, and the way you desperately kissed him on the dance floor one too many times. He was glad the lightning was low, preventing the guests noticing his cock straining against his slacks. He had to go to the bedroom and adjust himself in his pants a couple of times.

The air inside the car got hotter and hotter as the seconds ticked by, even with the AC on blast. He stared briefly at you and saw the sluttiest look taking over your face. His hand on your thigh gripping the flesh tighter.

"What are you doing, princess?", he asked, voice low and eyes focused on the road ahead of him, but his mind was filled of thoughts of you.

"Nothing. Just getting comfy", your voice was sweet, not at all masking the true intentions of your actions.

"Don't act as if you wouldn't like if I slid my had up just a little", he inched his hand a little higher to get his point across, "and buried my fingers inside your sweet little cunt"

His lewd words made your breath come quicker and you spread your legs a little wider.

"Would you do that?", your voice was smooth and a little persuasive, be he wasn't caving in so easily.

"Nah, you're gonna have to be a good little wife and wait to get want you want", he took another look at you and saw your face fall a little, a whine falling from your lips. "Look at you. We haven't even been married for a day and you're already begging to be fucked", his tone was condenscending, but his words were true. You were begging to be fucked by your husband.

"I can be a good wife and wait", you told him.

"I bet you can, baby", his hand smoothed over your skin, caressing it this time, a stark contrast compared to the firm grip he had before. A signal that he was satisfied with your answer.

As soon as he parked the car, you pratically stumbled out the door, hearing Noah laugh behind you. You shared a few kisses in the elevator up to your room. It was late, so you didn't expect anyone to interrupt you.

"Hold on", he said, before you made your way to the door of your room.

You felt your feet leave the ground in a second, Noah scooping you up in his arms, bridal style. You laughed at the sudden motion, but crossed your arms over his neck anyway, gazing lovingly into his eyes that were so full of adoration for you.

The mood from the car shifted from lust to an undeniable sense of love filling both of your hearts. He leaned his head close to yours, giving you a slight eskimo kiss. Neither one of you bothered to be standing on the middle of the corridor.

"Hello, wife", he mumbled, giving you a peck on the lips.

"Hey, husband", you returned the kiss. "It's so high up here", you looked around yourself.

"Ok, smartass. Let's get you inside that room", with that, he started walking down the long hallway.

Getting the card in the door was a little bit of a hassle, but you managed it, and Noah made an exaggerated motion of stepping in the room with his right foot.

The hotel room was cozy. Warm colors adorned the walls, and the lightning added to the ambiance. The king sized bed in the middle.

"I don't know about you, but I'm crazy to try out that shower", Noah said, still holding you in his arms as he walked over to the bathroom, not even waiting for an answer.

"You read my mind. I'm in desperate need for a warm shower", you hummed in satisfaction just thinking about it.

"That's why we got married, babe", he finally put you down on the floor. He started to unbutton his shirt, but you stopped him in his tracks, grabbing his hands and putting them back by his sides.

"Your wife is undressing you today", you said as your nimble fingers started to undo button by button. You took your time, caressing his chest as you went. You saw him close his eyes, just enjoying the feeling of your fingers on him. After you were done with the front buttons, you moved to his sleeves, unrolling them and undoing the buttons there.

You untucked the shirt from his slacks and let it fall to the floor. Before moving on to his pants, you planted soft kisses all over his chest, provoking goosebumps all over his arms, hairs standing on end. Smelling his cologne on him and focusing on his breath that was starting to pick up, you fumbled with his belt with your lips still on him.

Pulling it off, it joined the shirt on the floor, and soon his pants were meeting the same fate. He helped you along, taking off his shoes and socks.

His hands went to your hips, as he maneuvered you to turn your back to him. He kissed down the column of your neck, moving your hair to the side with the softest touch, his lips moving over your shoulder blades, lips skimming over your skin. You felt his breath on you, warming you up inside.

He delicately started to zip your dress down, his fingertips grabbing the thin straps that rested on your shoulders, pulling them down. Your dress fell to the floor with ease, slipping down your frame. You turned to look at him in the eyes, gauging his reaction.

The lingerie you had on underneath managed to render Noah speechless. The lace had an intricate pattern, the bra wasn't padded, so he could see your pert nipples underneath. He wanted to bite you.

"You look so fucking good in this, baby", his words were breathless, eyes not able to stay locked on yours, as they wandered all over your body. "But I need you naked right now", his gaze darkened with his words.

He reached behind you to unclasp your bra. He took it off, setting the delicate piece on the counter behind you, hands going to your breasts that were now free for him to palm.

He slid down on the floor to sit on his knees, hands sliding down your torso to hook his finger under the waistband of your panties. Taking the last garment of clothing off your body, he kissed his way back up again, kissing you on the lips and placing you on the bathroom counter.

You hissed at the feeling of the cold marble on your bare ass cheeks, but hooked your legs on Noah's hips nonetheless, feet clawing at his boxers, urging for him to take them off. He complied, parting from your lips briefly.

When he was bare in front of you for the first time that day, you couldn't help but reach for his member, that was already hard and an angry shade of red, desperate for attention.

He threw his head back at the feeling of your small hand working him up and down, entertaining the moment for only a few seconds, before he pulled your hand away from him.

"I'd love to just slide inside of you right about now, but I was serious about that shower", he stepped back a little. "I'l get the water ready in the temperature I know you like. You just sit here and look pretty for me"

You decided to be a little shit and slap his bum lightly just as he moved towards the shower. He yelped a little at the feeling, but laughed at your antics.

Fumbling with the shower handle for a while and putting his hand under the stream of water to test the temperature. You took the time to get some bobby pins out of your hair, setting them on the counter. Shortly after, he beckoned you over, finally finding the perfect warmth.

He let you step in first, the water soaking your hair and your body. He got in after you, hugging your frame from behind, bodies sticking together under the warm water.

Noah reached for the hotel shampoo on the shelf. You brought your own, but it was in your suitcase and you couldn't be bothered to break this moment of pure bliss just to retrieve a bottle of shampoo. So you let him lather it up on his hands and spread it all over your locks.

You loved it when he washed your hair. His strong hands firm on your scalp, giving you a delicious massage, as you closed your eyes and leaned your back on his chest.

He asked you to step back under the water to wash off the suds, and after you were done, you did the same with his hair, struggling a bit with the height difference, but you made it work.

You really had to focus on what you were doing, his hard dick poking your stomach making your mind go to places that would surely deviate you from the task at hand.

After both of your locks were squeaky clean, you couldn't ignore your desires anymore. Softly pushing him against the shower wall, he went without resistance. It was his turn now to hiss at the cold feeling.

You didn't waste any more time, as you sank to your knees in front of him, taking him in your hands once again, giving him a few experimental strokes. He sighed in satisfaction at the feeling.

"Fuck, baby", his right hand went to your head, prompting you to take him into your mouth. "I've been waiting all fucking day for this"

You complied with his request, sucking on his tip first and going down his shaft little by little. His breath was ragged, and you looked up at him, to find his tattoed torso glistening with the water, making him look like a god above you.

He was looking down at you, mouth hanging open and eyes half lidded with desire. This made you work your mouth on him faster, wanting to draw from him the noises you knew he could make.

"Fuck, you're taking me so fucking well", he grunted, his voice already sounding so fucked out. You took him as far down as you could, your gag reflex making you choke on him, saliva dribbling from your chin and tears coating your eyes.

"Fucking look at you. Taking my cock like the good wife that you are", the words falling from his lips made your head feel dizzy. All you've ever wanted was to make your husband feel good.

"Gonna cum in my mouth?", you asked him, eyes red with tears as he ran his hand over your face.

"Hmhm, you gonna swallow everything?", you nodded feverishly, taking him back inside your mouth.

You knew it wasn't gonna take long for him to cum. The grunts and sighs slipping freely from his mouth now, only urging you to take him further down your throat. His grip tightened on your hair and his thighs started to shake. You were a little scared he was going to slip at some point.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum", he said in a high pitched voice, holding your head still as you felt him release inside your mouth with warm spurts. You kept him in your mouth until he let you go, body sagging slightly against the wall. He was mindful to help you up from the floor.

"How's your knee?" he asked you, pulling you in for an embrace. His skin was hot on yours, chest littered with red splotches.

"They'll bruise a little, but it's ok", you caressed his hair as you answered his question.

Turning you both around, he caged you in with one arm resting on the wall, the other going down your side to hitch one of your legs over his hips. He pressed his cock on your center, the feeling making you whimper.

"Noah, please...", you said into the air, your hand gripping his neck.

"What do you need baby? Tell me what you need"

"I need you", you pleaded again.

"Yeah? Need your husband to fuck you real good?", he teased with a smirk on his face. You noticed his hand pumping himself a few times, getting himself ready once again.

The leg that was over his hips nudged him forward.

"Please, need my husband to make me feel good", you emphasized your words with a roll of your hips.

"I'm going to, baby. Hold on to my shoulders", you placed both hands there, planting your feet firmly on the ground beneath you.

You felt him lining himself up with your entrance, a moan already leaving your lips from how sensitive you were.

"Shhh, I'm not even in yet, sweet girl"

"It feels so good", your voice was strained with anticipation.

"I know, baby. I know"

A few seconds later he was all the way inside you, filling you up so nicely you couldn't even fathom words to describe the feeling. He kept himself still for a moment, before rolling his hips at a slow pace.

Despite your desperation, you let him set the rhythm, not wanting to rush anything.

"Shit, I swear you feel even better now that I finally made you my wife", you could only moan in response, agreeing with his statement.

He gripped your bum and pushed your bodies closer together, picking up the pace and hitting that spot inside you perfectly, making your noises grow louder, mixing with the water still falling from above.

"Noah...", you called out his name, he hummed in acknowledgement. "I'm not gonna last long", you let him know, voice breathy and full of need.

"It's ok, babygirl. I'm not gonna last long either"

He slipped in and out easily and you felt everything. His chest, his damp hair on your hand, and his lips as he started to kiss your neck. The sensation was too much for you. You already felt the butterflies swimming in your belly, ready to be released and make you fly into cloud nine.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum", you mumbled almost incoherently. "Please, please, please", you didn't even know what you were begging for, but you kept pleading.

"Cum for me, baby. I'm right there with you", his words were all you needed as you felt the sensation of your orgasm take over your body. Your moans the loudest they've been tonight.

You could hear Noah grunting and cursing under his breath, his hips stilled and he gripped your body tightly, keeping you in place.

The two of you just stood there, reveling in the feeling of one the best sex you've had together.

"I think my legs are gonna give out", you let him know. They felt like jelly under you, as you unhooked the leg that was resting on his hip.

"I got you. I'm holding you. Don't even know how I'm standing myself", he let out a little laugh, still a little out of it.

"Hey", you called for his attention. You took his face in your hands, pushing his hair back on his forehead. "I love you so much. I'm so excited to live the rest of my life with you", he smiled the most beautiful smile you've seen on him, and nuzzled his nose in yours just like earlier in the night.

"You make me the happiest man on this planet. I can't wait to create so many memories together", he kissed your lips passionately.

Regaining a little bit of balance, you bodies disentangled from each other.

"We should probably finish this shower, or they'll curse us for the water bill", he noted and you giggled, not really knowing how long you spent there enjoying each other's bodies.

Minutes later, you both laid in bed, completely spent from the day and the activities that just took place in the shower.

Noah studied your left hand, the one that now carried a beautiful gold band.

"Sometimes I'm scared I won't be a good husband", he thought out loud. You turned your body on the bed to look at him.

"Sometimes I'm also scared I won't be a good wife", you confessed yourself. You haven't seen many happy marriages throughout your life, but you felt from the beginning that you and Noah were different from everyone else, and that's what prompted you to say the next words. "But we're us, and we're gonna figure this out together, no matter what happens. And we'll let each other know if one of us is not being a good partner"

Communication was always key in your relationship from the very beginning. You struggled a bit at first, but soon realized that if you wanted it to last - and you desperatly did - you had to communicate with him, and him with you.

"We have each other, we're gonna be just fine", he decided.

"Yes, we are" you agreed with him.

Turns out you didn't really need the king sized, because you slept snuggled so close together, that most of the space in bed went unused - until you woke up in the morning and Noah decided to have you in every position inaginable.

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simstorian-blog · 1 year ago

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I have been rebuilding rebuilt my Oasis Springs from the ground up. The goal was to have it look like the bright and colorful side of Palm Springs, California. Here are the commercial lots:

Desert Bloom Public Pool - Done

The Palm Royale Spa - Done

The Palm Royale Lounge/Karaoke - Done

The Palm Royale Condo (Residential)- Done

The Palm Restaurant - Done

Rio Verde Wedding Venue - Done

The full, 21 lot, makeover can be found HERE.

#simstorian #the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 simblr #cc #build #sims 4 build #oasis springs #palm springs #sims 4 community #showusyourbuilds #showusyourdecor

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gucciwins · 10 months ago

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okay i don’t know if u still talk about this series but i LOVED harry & bels story it was so beautifully written that i stopped writing my dissertation to finish it today!!! how do u they bel & h would be in 2024?? 🫶🏻🫶🏻

sweet angel! thank you so much for reading 💜 hope the dissertation is going well. I loved writing for harry and bel so here is an update for you.

word count: 1,383

love on tour

Y/N loved weddings.

She loved the joy it brought the couple and everyone in their life. She loved seeing pieces of the couple scattered around as she tried her best to piece their story together. Y/N loved the cake, the food, and the open bar, where she loved to drink as many Shirley Temples as she liked until she gave herself a toothache. There was so much love in the air that Y/N always wanted to step back to see how happy everyone was to be there. The dance floor is where Y/N liked to be most of the night dancing from partner to partner.

The wedding of Naomi Hart and Sarai Barrera is something Y/N had waited ages for after the engagement last year when on vacation in Italy with Y/N and Harry. It was a week-long celebration for her best friends, seeing as Y/N and Harry didn’t see them after the organized engagement party at Harry’s home, where their family gathered.

While the ceremony today had been beautiful, Y/N could not stop crying. She delivered her speech and said everything correctly with no tear in sight, but after she pronounced them married, Naomi and Sarai shared a beautiful kiss, and the waterworks began. Harry pulled her to the side, squeezing her tight as she let her tears drip down her face, knowing she’d steal a moment to fix her makeup, although she knew it wouldn’t budge. Ailany, her makeup artist and close friend, promised a bucket of water would not move her makeup.

Y/N was finally done with pictures and ready for a cold beverage. Still, because brides were busy, she was given a list of miscellaneous tasks that Y/N happily passed on to Naomi’s brother, who was excited to have something to do running away from any more photos. Y/N and Harry grabbed photos together. She knew they would be going up around their house in London. Harry had plastered his favorite pictures of them, from one hanging in the kitchen to a few scattered in the hallway next to the art pieces both had acquired through the years. Three were placed on the mantle, and each had their respective picture on the nightstand at the side of their bed. Their love is scattered throughout the house, easily seen by anyone who visits them.

She was running away from the large greenhouse and into the venue before someone could stop her. Y/N would also be keeping an eye out for her boyfriend. She needed a kiss to make it through the next hour. As Y/N turned the corner, she almost bumped into someone, but she quickly stepped away, noting the person had drinks in their hand. The familiar vanilla smell filled the air around her, and Y/N instantly settled.

Harry.

She had found Harry.

“Bel, you alright?”

Y/N nods, “Need a drink.”

Harry grins at her, raising one of the glasses in his hand. “Fancy a water?”

Y/N shoots him a bright smile. “Did you know I love you, Harry Styles? Because I do. So much.”

His cheeks turn pink, “it doesn’t hurt to hear from time to time, my love.”

She takes a long drink of water, sighing in relief. They happened to get married on the hottest day in California. Winter was like no other here, but today felt like the start of Spring. Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s and began to walk with her. Y/N didn’t question where he was taking her. She was happy to steal a moment away with him.

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, the comfort of being with her person enough to soothe her.

Harry had led them to a dead-end that faced the ocean, the windows long and tall, allowing her to view every inch of the outside. He carefully helped her sit on the bench to smooth her dress.

“Alright, amor?”

“Perfect.”

They settled close to each other, Harry resting his hand on Y/N’s lap as she once again leaned her head on his shoulder. It’s a beautiful day, and Harry can’t help but think that one day, it will be Y/N’s and his turn to marry. They both want it, and he has the perfect ring for when the time is right.

“Back to filming soon?”

Y/N sighs, “Let’s not, estrella.”

“You’re going to leave me.”

Harry knows she loves her job, but after the time they’ve spent at home together, he selfishly wants her to stay with him as he enjoys his break and begins the process for his next album.

“I love you, Harry. You promised to come with me for a week or so.”

He had agreed. Of course, he would be going, but there was something special about simply being Harry and Y/N inside the comfort of their home.

“I will. You have the last of the award season soon.”

Y/N frowns, “I was invited, but my films are releasing this year since everything was pushed back.”

“But Lily Gladstone, my love.”

Y/N laughed. “She’s going to win. We’ll send her a bouquet of flowers.”

“I will be attending the Brits,” Harry reminds her.

“Will I be your date?”

“If you’re free?” He teases, knowing very well she has this date saved in her schedule.

“Dork.”

The silence floats around them, and Y/N knows they must head back soon but makes no move to stand up. Instead enjoys the quiet of being with Harry.

“Y/N?” Harry voiced after five minutes.

“Hmm…”

“What do you picture your future like in a few years?”

She detects the tremble in his voice and moves her body to face him. Her hands snaked up his suit, and her fingers briefly played with the lace collar before settling on his cheeks. Y/N loves Harry. He’s never afraid to speak his mind, but sometimes he even overwhelms himself.

“Well,” she starts. “Our future is us living in London. It’s a place we love, and I don’t picture us living elsewhere unless you magically convince me to live in Italy, which I would never oppose. We’ll have two dogs because you promised we’d get one this year,” she reminds him.

“We’ll make it happen,” he promises.

“In a few years, I hope we’ll be married. You’ll be touring, and I’ll be your groupie, having quit acting.”

“Y/N,” he deadpans.

“Kidding,” Y/N giggles. “I hope to have directed a few films, one I love with a cast and crew who support me every single step of the way. I want to continue to create a safe environment and continue to pave a path for Latinas. But mostly, I hope we’re happy. We continue to encourage our dreams and hold each other’s hand when things get tough. I hope to love you for as long as I breathe. How does that sound?”

Harry’s eyes shine with tears. He gives her a single nod. “It’s perfect. Everything I want.”

He closes the gap, needing to kiss Y/N. Needing to express that he wants everything she stated. He feels the world pause around them, and he knows at this moment there is no one else in the world who could ever come close to making him feel as loved and cared for as Y/N makes him. Soulmate is a big word, but he knows it’s the one for them deep down.

Y/N giggles against his lips, “You love me?”

“Te amo,” he responds.

“I love you.” That is Y/N’s answer.

Harry pulls her in for another kiss, full of passion and familiarity. So much is being said at the moment, and Y/N knows they won’t ever forget it.

Y/N loved Harry. She knew he was her person. The person she was meant to spend the rest of her life with knew he felt the same.

2024 so far had brought them lots of joy, and with Harry’s birthday coming up, she knew it would only get better. Ultimately, Y/N had no idea what 2024 had in store for them, but as long as she kept loving Harry and he loved her, she knew everything would be alright.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry and bel #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles fic rec

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 2 years ago

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Left at the Altar - Hangman (Part 3)

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Reader (Ex-Girlfriend!Reader)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Some Light Angst; References to Sex; Second Person POV ("You"), No Y/N, No Physical Descriptions of Reader

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Summary: You struggle with your life back in Texas. Is California calling your name?

A.N. I double-checked and I'm pretty sure that I added everyone to the tag list who requested it and has their age on their blog, so hopefully this works.

Part 1 Part 2 Epilogue

Master List

Sitting on the couch of your childhood home, you held your wine glass close to your chest.

It was officially two days after you were left at the altar and the last forty-eight hours of your life were practically a blur.

After your night with Jake, you were forced to deal with reality. You moved out of the apartment that you shared with your ex and went through the process of literally cutting him out of your life one photo at a time. Literally. Your name wasn’t on the lease since you moved into your ex’s bigger apartment a few months ago, which worked to your advantage.

You dropped off anything to do with your wedding at your ex’s family’s home, including your wedding dress, since they paid for it and told them to do whatever the hell that they wanted with it. Or they could bring it back to you and you’d burn it.

And your last spiteful move against your ex was cancelling your honeymoon reservations and the extra ticket that he bought his mistress the night before they were supposed to fly out. And the best part was that they had already checked in. Your ex tried to angrily text and call you after he got to the airport, but you just blocked him and moved on.

And now here you were: moved into your childhood bedroom, with your life in a suitcase and a bunch of taped up cardboard boxes. Truly living life to the fullest. Well, at least you had some wine that your mom may or may not have stolen from the reception venue.

The night chill seeped through the screens on the windows and the back door and forced you to pull on a sweatshirt. It was one of Jake’s old faded UT ones that he got when you were both sixteen. He quickly grew out of it and you were happy to take it off of his hands. You kept it in the deepest corner of your closet when you were living with your ex-fiancé, but now, you wore it openly.

You thought that it would have been inappropriate to wear an ex-boyfriend’s sweatshirt in the apartment that you shared with your fiancé. Of course, you thought that fucking someone else would have qualified as inappropriate, but perhaps you didn’t have your priorities straight. You should have started wearing it months ago.

Taking a sip of your wine, you sighed and leaned back against the couch.

Even in the darkest days of your relationship with Jake, he never once degraded you like your ex-fiancé did. Sure, Jake could be an asshole and you were the first person to tell him that he was being an asshole, but he wasn’t irredeemable. He had his faults but his heart was always in the right place.

Your ex on the other hand; there was absolutely no way to justify his decision to break up with you over text on the morning of your wedding day. You were done with him and with the whole picture. Luckily, you already deleted and cut up all the remaining photos of the two of you together.

The sound of footsteps caused you to open your eyes and turn towards the stairs. Your mom slowly walked downstairs and smiled softly when she saw that you were still awake. Making her way over to you, she sat down beside you on the couch and squeezed your shoulder.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked softly.

“Something like that,” you replied, just as quietly.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” you answered honestly, trying to force a small smile.

“Did you hear from Jake?”

“Yeah, we’ve been texting a lot. He apologized for fact that he had to run out.” You nodded slowly, pursing your lips together as you let a breath out of your nose. “But it’s not his fault. That’s just how it always goes with the two of us.”

“Why does it have to work out like that?” your mom asked softly.

“That’s just how it’s always been, Mom. You know that,” you replied, turning to stare down at your wine glass. “When we’re together and alone, everything is perfect. Everything feels right and I never ever felt like that with someone else. But then reality hits and we have to go back to the paths that we picked and . . . we’re separated in the end again.”

Your mom nodded solemnly, though her expression gave away her opinion on the subject. Straightening up, she glanced out the window at the rose bushes that sat right below your childhood bedroom window. The ones that were planted there for a very specific reason.

“I remember when your father bought those bushes,” your mom stated wistfully, causing you to pick your head up and turn around.

“You mean when he tried and break me and Jake up?” you mused, shaking your head.

“He was trying to prevent you from sneaking out and Jake from sneaking in,” your mom corrected you with a small smile. “And how well did that work?”

“Not even in the slightest,” you replied without skipping a beat. You smiled softly as you glanced out at the familiar bushes, working through some of the associated memories. “I remember when he fell into them one night. He showed up the next day to school looking like he lost a fight with a cactus. Told his parents and everyone that he fell off a skateboard and they somehow bought it.”

“And did he come back after that?”

“He might have,” you stated with a shrug, earning a look from your mom. “A few times.”

“Exactly,” your mom responded, folding her hands in her lap. “He kept coming back. He keeps coming back to you no matter what life throws in front of the two of you.”

“He does,” you agreed quietly.

“I mean, how many times have the two of you been in a relationship?”

“A few,” you replied, earning another look from your mom. “Seven or eight, depending on factors that I need to be a bit little drunker to discuss with you, Mom.”

“My point is,” your mom continued, resting a hand on your arm, “you two keep finding your way back to each other. Over and over again. And honey, I have to tell you this honestly. I’ve never seen you happier than you are when you’re with Jake. You could combine your love for all of your other exes and it still wouldn’t compare to the affection that you have for Jake. And we can all see that.”

“I know, Mom,” you replied softly, trying to not choke on your emotions. Letting out a breath, you sunk further into the couch. “I was so stupid for thinking that marrying anyone else was going to solve any of my problems. Or make me happy.”

“Well, the good news is that your ex looks like a complete ass and now you get to go on and live your fairytale without that burden on your shoulders,” your mom stated, squeezing your hand. “And, honey, I want you to have your fairytale. I want it for you so badly.”

“I know, Mom.”

“And I think that Jake is that person for you,” your mom reiterated, rubbing your arm soothingly. “You let him go and he let you go because you two loved each other and you wanted what was best for each other. But despite that, you two still found your way back together so many times that you can’t even keep track. And that sounds a lot like love to me.”

“I love him, Mom,” you confirmed for her. “I do. I love him so much.”

“Then why are you staying here?” your mom asked you, causing you to sit up more. “Honey, I know that you love living here, but I don’t want you to hold yourself back from your happiness because you’re scared of taking that first step out.”

You nodded slowly, not really sure what else to say. Your mom pulled you in for a hug. Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, like she did when you were a kid, she squeezed you tightly to her chest.

“I just want you to be happy, sweetheart,” your mom whispered to you. “And I know that I taught you to not rely on other people for your own happiness—and you still shouldn’t—but you always just seem happier when you’re with him.”

“I am happier when I’m with him, Mom,” you agreed, burying your face into her shoulder.

“Then I think that you have your answer, sweetheart.”

~~~~~

After another long day at work, the Dagger Squad decided to go out for a cold beer together before taking some time for themselves. Except for Coyote, that is, who made some excuse about having to run a random errand.

It was a warm spring afternoon, so the Dagger Squad gathered out on the back deck to get away from the afternoon rush. Hangman glanced down at his phone frequently, waiting for your text. After your shared night in the honeymoon suite, the two of you had been texting frequently. Obviously, you were both busy, but you tried to text a few times a day.

But today, you weren’t answering. Jake didn’t want to jump to conclusions on anything, but it still struck him as odd. Especially because he knew that you had the next few days off because you were supposed to be on your now cancelled honeymoon.

“If you don’t put your phone down, you’re paying for the next round, Hangman,” Phoenix warned him, taking a long sip of her drink. “Remember Maverick’s rule?”

“He’s not here,” Hangman replied back, though he still stowed his phone away. “No need to try and win the teacher’s pet award.”

“Says the man who always sits in the front row of every briefing,” Bob spoke to his pilot’s defense.

“He’s got you there,” Phoenix stated with a proud smirk.

“You know, I think that I speak for everyone when I say how happy I am that the two of you chose to keep flying together,” Hangman replied sarcastically, reaching for his beer.

“You get crabby when Coyote’s not here to back you up,” Rooster quipped as Hangman took a swig of his beer. “Actually, you’ve been crabby for a while now.”

“Been hanging around you guys for too long,” Hangman replied without missing a beat, setting his beer down on the table.

“You just had a break from us,” Rooster pointed out, shifting in his seat.

“Wasn’t long enough,” Hangman stated, reaching for his phone again.

“Well, Coyote’s here to cheer you up,” Fanboy announced, staring down the boardwalk. Fanboy frowned slightly and straightened up a bit. “But he’s got a woman with him.”

That announcement got everyone else at the table to whip around to stare down the boardwalk. Coyote was, in fact, walking over with a woman. And who was that mysterious woman who may or may not have spent half an hour in an airport bathroom making sure that she didn’t look like she woke up at three that morning to get to the airport to get to San Diego?

You smiled softly and waved to Jake, who was completely shocked to see you in California. And, of course, you wore a sundress that he bought you. He felt obligated to get it for you after the two of you got a little handsy in a dressing room while you were trying it on.

“Who the hell is—” Rooster’s question was cut off by Hangman practically knocking over the entire table with how fast he got up from the table. “Jesus Christ,” Rooster complained as some beer spilled on his jeans. “Really, Hangman?”

But Jake was already bounding down the boardwalk, slipping around the tourists, civilians, and other naval personnel. The Daggers stared after Hangman with mildly confused expressions and curious stares. Except for Coyote, who grinned when he spotted Hangman hurrying over.

“You know,” Coyote told you with an amused smile, “I think that Javier is a very strong name for a baby boy. It rolls right off the tongue.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you promised Coyote with a small chuckle.

Coyote shot you a wink before walking towards the Hard Deck. Coyote sent Jake a mock salute that Jake returned before continuing on his way. You stopped in your approach since Jake was moving fast enough for the both of you and simply held out your arms.

The rest of the Daggers watched as Jake scooped you up into his arms and spun you around. You laughed and hugged him back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist to avoid any risk of falling onto the weathered wood below.

“What are you doing here?” Jake breathed out, slowly placing you back on your feet.

“Well, I had a few days off,” you replied softly, smoothing down the creases on his shirt. “And so, I hopped on the first flight that I could get to San Diego. I thought that I would surprise you.”

“I’m certainly surprised,” Jake mused, resting his forehead against your own.

Gently guiding your chin towards his own, your lips met in a soft embrace. Jake wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You cupped his cheeks with your hands and deepened the kiss perhaps beyond what was respectable in public.

But hell, Miramar was a Navy town. This was far from the most indecent reunion kiss that this town had ever seen before.

Coyote walked over to where the other Daggers were gathered and took Hangman’s spot. If Coyote knew how Jake operated when you came to visit, he wasn’t going to need his seat back.

“Hangman has a girlfriend?” Bob asked Coyote curiously, assuming that he knew all.

“I think ‘girlfriend’ doesn’t really cover it anymore, honestly,” Coyote replied honestly.

Back on the boardwalk, you reluctantly pulled away from Hangman’s lips for a little air. Smiling goofily, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and just simply took in the fact that he was right here in front of you once again.

“How long are you in town for?” he asked you, slowly opening his eyes.

“Until Sunday,” you replied, meeting his gaze again. “So, we’ve got about five days together.”

“No time to waste then,” Hangman reasoned, picking up your bag from where you placed it on the ground. “This is it?”

“Yeah, I packed light because I needed to fly standby.”

“That’s fine. You won’t need to wear anything once we get back to my apartment,” Jake stated with a wink, earning a light smack to his arm.

Jake led you over to where his truck was parked. He put your bag in the backseat and handed you the keys. Jake sprinted back to the Hard Deck to pay his tab and gift Javy some beer for the surprise. Dancing around the invasive and curious questions from the rest of the Dagger Squad, Jake returned to your side as fast as he could.

“Ready?” he asked, shutting his door.

“Ready,” you agreed, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips.

Jake backed up out of the spot and started driving to his apartment. Once he put his truck back into drive, he reached over and grabbed your hand, threading your fingers together. You returned the gesture and squeezed his hand, trying to not melt into the seat when Jake pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

“I missed you,” you told him softly, smiling over at him.

“I love you,” he returned confidently.

“You always have to one-up me,” you sighed, shaking your head playfully. “But I love you too.”

“What’s not the love?” Jake replied with a playful wink.

“Did you want me to get out the list?”

“Harsh,” Jake stated, smirking a bit. “Don’t worry, I can think of a way that you can make it up to me.”

“I intend to . . . Lieutenant.”

Part 1 Part 2 Epilogue

A.N. I'm thinking that I might do an epilogue that's set a few months or years into the future. So, if you're not already on the tag list and want to be tagged in an epilogue, then reply or reblog with that request (though you must show that you're an adult with your age in your blog to get tagged). Thanks!

Tag List (First 50 since there's a limit):

@djs8891 @avengers-fixation @dreamsofouterspace @maverick-wingman @rosiahills22 @bethabear12 @laneylovesglen @blue-aconite @mercurio23 @awildewit @caitsymichelle13 @mamaskillerqueen @emorychase @the-romanian-is-bae @novagreen04 @gigisimsonmars @olliepig @laneyspaulding19 @clancycucumber230 @eli2447 @luckyladycreator2 @marantha @ashbatz @emilyoflanternhill @riri-is-agirlie @goslytherin @phantomxoxo @imaginecrushes @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @mizzzpink @miss-i-ship-it @topaz125 @healanette @sarahsmi13s @buckysdollforlife @looneylikesbooks @fighterpilothoe @lunamoonbby @fav-fanficssss @lorilane33 @angelbabyange @swanqueens-blog @ilovewriting06 @linkpk88 @mallerz @sky0401 @lunamooncole @potterheadandsherlocked @rogersbarnesxx @iammirrorball

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ranchevents · 2 years ago

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Best Wedding Menus San Diego Event

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rokwarn20 · 10 months ago

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From Vineyards to Beachfront Bliss: Diverse Wedding Venues in California

Whether exchanging vows amidst the vines of wine country, on the sandy shores of the coast, in the heart of the city, or amidst the rustic beauty of the countryside, the Golden State provides the perfect backdrop for every couple's unique vision. With its natural beauty, charm, and versatility, California is truly a dream destination for couples seeking a wedding that is as diverse and dynamic as their love.

#wedding venue california

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years ago

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Team Prime, Part One

CW: Unrequited love; pining; heavy angst.

Word Count: 5349

Other pieces: This is part of a mini-series.

AN: Not beta-read; barely proof-read. An angsty companion piece to @youvebeenlivingfictional's Jake Seresin piece (and upcoming Bradley Bradshaw piece).

When your sister, Hannah, gets engaged to her long-term boyfriend, she chooses you over your other sisters to be her maid of honor.

“Maid of horrors, more like,” you grumble, but you’re secretly touched by the trust she puts in you. She and Eric have dated since high school, and they’ve been through a lot—mostly long-distance during the years as she went to college and graduate school and as he joined the Navy. And yet here they are. Still together. Still in love. Ready to make it official-official.

“Eric’s best friend from the Navy will be the best man,” Hannah tells you. “I met him a few times. Bob Floyd. He’s nice. You’ll like him.”

Bob Floyd. Something about the name puts you in mind of a middle aged man with strong opinions about lawn maintenance and grilling meats, so when you finally meet the baby-faced Bob with his bright blue eyes and stammering flush at the engagement party, you find yourself surprised, knocked back on your heels.

-----

You were never the sort of girl who dreamt about her wedding day, but when Hannah foists much of the wedding planning onto you, you decide then and there to elope if you ever meet someone you want to marry.

The cake tasting wouldn’t be bad, but Hannah has an entire binder of ideas she gleaned from the internet. It’s difficult to enjoy the white cake with raspberry compote, for example, when you’re worried about how the pearl luster dust will hold up under the California sun.

The venue only rents out some things in-house, so you spend two entire weekends tracking down a dance floor, chairs, linens. You pick the wrong linens (white instead of cream), and you have a minor breakdown that night, crying in the shower at the stress of planning a party that isn’t even for you.

It’s a moment of weakness. At the engagement party, Bob gave you his number and mumbled shyly, “if you need help. You know, with the planning or anything.”

You hadn’t thought of it originally, but you’re tired and figure, why not reach out? He offered to help. Worst he can say is ‘no.’

He doesn’t say no. He says tell me what you need.

-----

What you need: help with the menu. Help with the seating arrangements. Help with the joint bachelor and bachelorette party.

For the menu, the two of you do a whirlwind tour of the local catering companies. Two of the three companies confuse you and Bob as the bride and groom, and you laugh to see Bob’s face turn bright red, the way he stammers to correct them.

“I apologize,” one woman tells you. “You make a really cute couple.”

Afterwards, pleasantly stuffed from peach and goat cheese crostini and tri-tip, you reach across the driver’s seat to where Bob sits to your right. You poke him lightly on his still-flushed cheek, call him really cute…which makes his face burn even hotter.

For the seating arrangements, he spends an evening at your apartment in Monterey. You split a pizza and a six-pack, and you pore over the massive guest list. You list out the people who can’t sit together—old family grudges, friendly rivalries—and you get a rough chart pulled together for Hannah’s inspection.

For the joint party—by then, you and Bob work like a well-oiled machine. You book hotel rooms in Vegas. You book tickets to shows, reservations to restaurants. You book dance lessons, since Hannah insists that everyone in the wedding party learn how to not stumble around the dance floor for the first dances. You send out itineraries, details. You collect money.

When it’s done, you sit back on your couch and heave a sigh of relief. Your head lolls back, and you turn to look at Bob.

“Team Prime strikes again,” he says with a soft smile, and you hold up a hand for a high five. It’s an inside joke between the two of you, a dumb joke about how you’re the first bridesmaid and he’s the first groomsman, the best of the best, the chosen-above-all-others. The Primes.

“Hell yeah we did,” you reply with an answering smile, and that’s when you first feel it: the pleasant little dip in your stomach at the sight of his smile, his blue eyes. The first little tremor of infatuation. Of burgeoning love.

-----

Two months pass, and after the initial press of planning, things stabilize. With Bob Floyd’s help, the wedding plans firm up, and you can breathe.

You stay in touch. You trade daily texts, checking in on each other. Sharing funny memes. Talking about movies you’ve seen, books you’ve read. Joking on the side about the main wedding party group chat.

Then the bachelor and bachelorette party in Vegas in upon you. You text Bob about your fear of flying.

Reassure me that it’s safe, you plead via text. Tell me I’m safer flying than driving.

You’re safer flying than driving.

You snort. Funny, you type back.

He doesn’t text anything in reply. Instead, he calls you.

Bob Floyd, graduate of Top Gun, walks you through the physics of flight. His soft voice, his slight drawl that comes out when he’s comfortable….he soothes you with his matter-of-fact discussion of lift and thrust, of yaw and roll. He tells you that planes are stringently designed to be safe, maintained for safety. That pilots train rigorously while any dumbass can fumble their way into a driver’s license.

He talks to you for an hour. He doesn’t quite talk you out of your fear; he doesn’t slay that dragon entirely, but he makes it smaller. Less scary.

“We’re on the same flight out tomorrow,” he points out. “We can try to switch seats and sit together.”

That first little dip in your stomach was nothing compared to the roiling now. It’s such a damned cliché, yet here you are: the maid of honor falling for the best man. Like a stupid Hallmark movie, yet you can’t stop the wide grin from splitting your face.

The next morning, you are able to switch seats after all, and for the entire short flight to Vegas, Bob holds your clammy hand in his, twists himself in his seat so that he can talk to you, low and soft, explaining each bump and lurch of the plane, making them seem like nothing scary at all.

-----

“You’re more sure on your feet than I would have expected,” you tease, and Bob gifts you a shy smile as he turns you gracefully across the dance floor.

“I guess I’m full of surprises.”

You hum in agreement, then look around the studio at the other coupled-off bridesmaids and groomsmen. After an hour-long lesson in ballroom dancing, few people other than you and Bob have grasped the steps of the easy waltz.

Two couples have given up altogether and are standing haplessly where they stopped on the dance floor. One couple is sorta doing their own thing, that awkward swaying shuffle that kids used to do at middle school dances.

Hannah and Eric are giving it an honest shot, but even from where you and Bob are, you can hear them bickering over who needs to lead, over which step is next. You glance at your own partner and see him watching them too. There’s a faint frown on his face.

“I think we’re the best dancers of the bunch,” he whispers, conspiratorial.

“I think you’re right,” you whisper back.

He turns his gaze back to you, and his returning smile makes his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Do you think if we show them up, they’ll kick us out of the wedding party?” he jokes.

“Oh, please,” you groan. “If there’s even a chance, I say we go for it. I’m so damned tired of earnest, late-night discussions about freesias and cake toppers.”

He laughs, and he squeezes your hand lightly as he turns you, an advanced move the instructor showed you earlier. “It can’t be that bad.”

You settle back into his hold and look at him. He’s been the most surprising part of the entire miserable wedding planning, this buddy of the groom that you’ve been paired with. Not a typical military guy at all. Bob is too sweet, too kind, too polite to be a complete dork…but even if he was, you’d still like him. He’s an easy guy to like. An easy guy to fall for.

“Nah,” you reply. “It’s not that bad at all.”

-----

The first day in Vegas is dance lessons and a nice dinner. The second day is a helicopter tour, which you politely skip, and then dinner and then dancing at a club. You and Bob had managed to book a VIP space, and you both volunteered to stay sober to help wrangle the drunks at the end of the night.

So for the first day and much of the second, you remain ignorant. You lean into all the feelings of your growing infatuation, but it doesn’t feel like your usual harmless crush. You like Bob Floyd. You really like him. There’s not a single ounce of artifice to him—he is genuinely just himself. Smart. Driven, in a quiet, steady way. Kind and funny. Despite his outwardly nerdy appearance, he seems fairly comfortable with who he is. He possesses a quiet confidence that you’ve never noticed in a man before.

You’ve dated in the past. You even had a semi-serious boyfriend, dated him for three years and talked vaguely of getting engaged, getting married. But nothing ever came of it; neither of you felt that elusive tug on the heartstrings that the other person was the one. So you broke it off amicably, and a month later, he met his would-be wife.

You remain single, and it rarely bothers you. You’re alone but not lonely, and you like your own company. You have your sisters. You have your coworkers and friends.

But in meeting Bob Floyd, you start to see the possibilities of finding someone and building a life with them…as long as that someone is…well…Bob Floyd.

For the first day and much of the second, you lean into the burgeoning fantasy. You play out how the wedding day will be. The reception. You wonder if Hannah will aim her bouquet toss at you, and if Eric will aim the garter at Bob. You wonder if there will be a moment on the dance floor, or maybe somewhere quieter. If Bob doesn’t make a move, you decide, you will.

The night at the club starts out great. The VIP area is elevated and set apart, so you can watch the dance floor but still have space to yourself. The champagne flows, then everyone switches to liquor. You and Bob are like hovering parents, easing glasses of water into people’s hands, checking in with them to make sure they are still coherent, cognizant.

It’s so damned easy to fall into the fantasy for these last few moments. There’s a sort of fraternity among the sober people in the club or bar: the clear, alert eyes that find each other. The knowing head nod, the little shrugs as if to say, “what can you do?” as you corral and tend to your drunken charges.

You and Bob—you catch each other’s eyes as you get a fresh pitcher of water. You smile at each other in the dim club lights. He rolls his eyes once, elaborate, and you laugh.

And when he wants to talk to you, he stands close, dips his head. Puts his mouth right near your ear so he doesn’t have to shout over the bassline, and that sets a low, licking flame of desire deep in your core, his warm breath fanning over you as he gently makes fun of your sisters, the other groomsmen. You wonder what he would do if you kissed him, if you took his hand after everyone was tucked in their beds and drew him into your room. Maybe you could kiss him, you think, you could press even a soft kiss to his cheek and see how he reacts. Maybe you could—

“I told Eric I don’t want any of this,” Bob says. You turn and look at him, and he gestures broadly with his hand. At the bridal party, half-debauched and fully drunk. At the wider space of the dark, loud club.

“Sorry?”

He dips his head near your ear again. “I said, I already told Eric I don’t want a big production.”

“For what?” you ask, but you already know—your body already knows, even if your brain hasn’t quite caught up. The flickering heat of your nascent arousal is doused, and your stomach flips like you might throw up.

“For my bachelor’s party. I just want a beer and poker night. Nothing wild. My fiancée would kill me anyway, but laid-back is more my scene.”

“For your…” you start to say, and then your brain catches up. “Oh. Oh.”

And then sweet, unassuming Bob Floyd tells you all about her: the high school sweetheart, the long-distance fiancée who is finishing up grad school. The woman finally ready to set a date and make it official-official after all these years.

The woman who will be Bob Floyd’s wife someday soon.

“Congratulations,” you manage to say, and you manage to make it sound convincing, and then you manage to make it to the restroom where you clutch the edge of the sink in a white-knuckle grip. You manage to take deep, gulping breaths as you choke down your sudden, bitter disappointment.

-----

Bob, Eric, most of the bridal party…they don’t really know you, so it’s easy to mask how you’re feeling.

Your sisters? Hannah? They recognize your poor acting performance from the start.

They must have conferred together, and they must have elected Hannah as their spokeswoman because on the second to last morning, she comes to your room, links her arm through yours, and says, “let’s grab breakfast, just you and me.” Her voice has that artificial cheeriness to it, so you guess what’s up.

“I’m not hungry.” You tug your arm from hers, turn away from her. You walk over to the window and peek out around the curtains to see the sun about to rise, the sky a pink wash of color.

“Bullshit. You’re always hungry.” Hannah follows you into the room, and at the window, she wraps an arm around your waist, hugs you from behind. A few inches taller than you, she hooks her chin on your shoulder and gazes out the window too.

“My stomach is off,” you lie. “I think I ate a bad oyster at that buffet.”

She hums, doesn’t reply for a long moment. The two of you watch the sun break the line of the horizon, washing the cityscape in a bright yellow light.

“You know you can always talk to me, right?” Hannah asks. “I know I’ve been a lot the past few months, but I’m always here for you. Always.”

You swallow thickly against the lump in your throat. “I know.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

You don’t bother to deny it. You nod.

“You love him?”

You shrug, jostle her where she’s perched on your shoulder. “I thought I did.”

Another hum, another beat of silence. “Probably wouldn’t hurt so bad if you didn’t love him.”

“What makes you think I’m hurting?”

“You’re my little sister. I know when you’re in pain.”

You huff out a quiet breath, a near-laugh. “When did you get so damned wise?”

She chuckles, squeezes her arms comfortingly around your waist. “I was born wise.”

You sigh, lean your head against hers. “That makes one of us.”

Hannah squeezes you again, then lays a smacking kiss on your cheek before releasing you. “C’mon,” she says. “Seriously, let me take you out for breakfast. Everything seems easier on a full stomach.”

“Hannah—”

She’s a few inches taller than you, and she’s much stronger. She man-handles you away from the window, turns you around to face her.

“I’m the bride-to-be. You can’t tell me no,” she teases, but then her expression turns serious as she studies you closer.

“You know there’s someone out there just waiting for you,” she adds, somber, and she gazes at you so earnestly that tears prickle in your eyes, and before you can stop yourself, you start to cry.

-----

It’s dumb, you decide. A dumb crush.

You’ve known the man a handful of months. He was helpful, and you were stressed, so maybe the help seemed outsized. Bob Floyd is just a regular guy, you decide, and you got wrapped up in his orbit because he seemed nice and kind and helpful and funny. Which he is all of those things, but to fall in love over it?

Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

You make the decision over breakfast with Hannah. Your wise older sister. She’s right, you think: life seems a little less unbearable when your stomach is full of eggs benedict and mimosa.

The rest of the day is sightseeing before another group dinner that evening. It’s your last day and night in Vegas; you fly out in the morning. You and Bob are on the same flight home, and you think—you honestly think—that you can get through it.

It’s just a crush. It will die off soon enough.

But over the course of the day, once the group has reconvened, Bob sticks close to you. He’s always right there. He’s in your line of sight, or right at your shoulder, close enough that you can hear his quiet breathing, or when he chuckles under his breath. Close enough to smell the cleanly masculine scent of him.

You aren’t sure why he never mentioned being engaged before. You suppose it never came up naturally, even though the two of you did the bulk of the wedding planning together. There were a hundred opportunities, you guess, for him to say, “oh, I’ll have to keep this in mind for my own wedding” or “I should tell my fiancée about this.”

Over the course of the day, and now that the fact of his own engagement is out, Bob chats with you about it. You get the entire fucking story. High school sweethearts who broke up briefly when they went to college in separate states. How they reconnected over summer vacation their sophomore year. How they’ve been together ever since.

How Bob proposed once and was rejected. “It was too soon,” he tells you with a rueful shake of his head, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from pointing out that when he proposed, the two of them had been dating for years.

How Bob joined the Navy. How he kept his budget tight to save up for a better ring. How his fiancée—Jessica, her name is—finally said yes.

And now, he tells you how the engagement has stretched on and on, so much so that his parents stopped teasing him and started asking when the hell he and Jessica are going to finish the thing.

“Eric and Hannah,” he says, jerking his chin in their direction. “They were the kick in the ass we needed. Once they got engaged, we finally set a date.”

“Yeah?” Your voice comes out a rough croak, and you’re grateful for the huge sunglasses hiding your eyes from him.

“Next June. A little more than a year from now.”

You force a smile. “That sounds lovely.”

Bob nods, then grins at you. “All this planning, it was good practice for me. Now I know what to look for in a caterer and a linen-rental company.”

“I’m glad.” You try to keep your voice light, conversational, but something in your tone must clue him in that something is off. His grin fades, and he peers at you closer through his thick glasses, his blue eyes swimming behind the lenses.

“Everything okay? You seem…off.”

You force the smile back on your face, and you swallow back the shakiness in your voice. Of course Bob would notice that you aren’t yourself. Any other guy wouldn’t even register your more taciturn nature over the past few days, but Bob seems to miss very little, and he’s kind enough to care, to ask after you.

“Just tired. I never sleep well in a hotel room.”

He peers at you a moment longer, then nods, but his expression looks doubtful. “You should head back to the room early and rest,” he advises.

It’s a good idea. It would get you away from him, at least. You nod, and then you go to find Hannah, tell her you’re dipping out early and will meet back up for dinner.

-----

It’s the final dinner when you finally snap. You reach the end of your ability to sit and smile and nod your head, and your earlier bravado melts away.

Of course Bob sits beside you. Of course Hannah and Eric are the picture of true, enduring love. Of course you’re feeling sorry for yourself, positively maudlin, and then Bob—between bites of steak—tells you that Jessica can make it to the wedding after all, and not to worry because Hannah was able to find space for her at the reception.

“No need to redo those seating charts,” he chuckles, and then he tells you how excited he is for you to meet Jessica, how much he’s told her about the wedding planning, how much he’s learned, how much he can’t wait to get started on his own wedding planning.

It’s too much. Too much to take. You nod weakly at him, push your own meal around your plate with the tines of your fork. You keep your head bent, and you miss the looks people start to shoot at each other as they finally notice that the usually-chatty, usually-chipper maid of honor has gone sullen and silent.

It’s Hannah who gets up, makes a show of saying she needs to use the restroom. When you lift your head to look at her, she makes a “come along” gesture, and you stand up and follow her.

In the bathroom, she cups your face and stares at you, frowns.

“You look like shit,” she declares after a beat. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“’m fine,” you lie.

“I know you’re not. Why don’t we get out of here, huh? Get some air?”

You shake your head. “It’s the last night here. Please don’t…don’t let me ruin it.”

She laughs, then smushes your cheeks together. “You couldn’t ruin it if you tried. C’mon…you did all the shit-work for me, planning this wedding. The least I can do is get you out of here.”

You shake your head again, more emphatic. “No. Why don’t I just go? You can make up an excuse that I’m not feeling well.” You bite your lip, swallow hard against the lump in your throat. “I just can’t be around him anymore right now. I just need space to get my head right.”

“Oof, you got it bad,” she says with a sympathetic cluck of her tongue, but then she nods. “Why don’t I go grab your purse, and then I’ll make something up.”

You offer her a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

She nods again, then kisses your forehead, more motherly than sisterly. Hannah always had a maternal streak to her as the eldest sister, always was the first to tend to you and your sisters’ scraped knees and bruised hearts. She’ll be the family’s matriarch someday, you realize: the person who will hold you all together, who will gather you up for holidays and celebrations and moments of grief long after your parents are gone.

“A little distance from Bob Floyd will cure what ails you,” she jokes, and you have to agree. Tomorrow you’re supposed to fly out with Bob, and the thought of his hand in yours, his reassuring voice right by your ear…you can’t do it. You’ll snap and say something you won’t be able to take back.

That evening, in the hotel room, you call the airline and cancel your ticket. You book a rental car instead.

-----

You don’t see Bob Floyd again. The two of you are supposed to meet in the lobby the next morning to share a ride to the airport, but you wake up earlier and leave alone, bound for the rental car part of the airport.

Decided to drive back, you text Bob. Enjoy your flight and thanks for all your help!

He doesn’t text you back. He calls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his voice is deeper, edged in real concern. “You’re driving back to California? It’s eight hours or more.”

“I just wanted to clear my head.” It’s not a lie, and the reason falls easily from your lips.

“But you’ve not been sleeping well, and you were sick last night,” he points out. “Should you even be driving? Flying is safer anyway, and it’s only a two hour flight—”

You cut him off gently. You tell him that you’ve already cancelled your ticket, that an eight-hour drive is nothing. That you want a little alone time to think. That a road trip through the desert with the music blasting is sometimes just the cure for what ails.

“I promise I’m okay to drive.” You’re touched by his concern, and you realize that your bravado was false, that it isn’t just a dumb crush. Bob Floyd is a genuinely good man. Of course you fell for him.

And if it isn’t just a dumb crush, then the only way to handle it is to endure it. There’s no cure but time.

“Well, let me know when you make it home,” he finally concedes. “Team Prime looks out for its own.”

You smile in spite of your crushing self-pity. “Team Prime. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

You end the call, and you situate yourself in your rental car. Challenging situations always make you want to flee, but you were right too: a road trip is a good time to think, to turn over your muddle thoughts and sort them out. To clear the head, ease the heart.

You pull out into the Nevada sunshine and turn towards home: the sun rising at your back in the east, and maybe the possibility of finding love, as Hannah said, to the west.

*****

Bob frowns when you cut that call, and for the entire plane ride home (the seat beside him still empty; there were no standbys), he mulls it over.

You had been so gregarious, so funny and sweet in the months since he’s met you. Despite the overwhelming pressure of the wedding planning, you were level-headed. Managed to joke about it all. When he stepped in to help, you thanked him profusely, called him a life-saver, called him your hero.

It was easy to let it get to his head, a little. People rarely noticed Lieutenant Robert Floyd, and it made him feel good to be seen by such a sweetly cheerful woman.

Something happened in Vegas, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. It’s like a switch was thrown. The chipper demeanor disappeared, but it wasn’t like you were sullen or angry. You seemed pained, almost, on the verge of tears a few times that he noticed. You tried to pretend you were okay, and that made it sadder, more perplexing. Whatever you were going through, you were trying to power through it, hide it.

He tried to draw you out by talking about his own impending wedding, talking about Jessica…but after a while, something about that line of conversation made his stomach dip and twist unpleasantly.

He had been looking forward to the flight home. That got to his head too, the way you clung to his hand the entire flight to Vegas, the way you needed him to get through it. The shaky exhale you gave when the plane finally touched down. The shaky, embarrassed laugh, then the half-hug in your seats, the two of you twisted towards each other, as you wrapped your arm around his shoulders and thanked him profusely.

He likes being needed, he finds. Not in an extreme way, or an unhealthy codependent way. He just likes being needed by someone once in a while, for little things like that—sketching out a seating chart, being a bulwark against a fear of flying. Jessica never seems to need him, and it—

Bob pushes the thought out of his head. He won’t compare the two of you. He won’t.

The entire flight home, he mulls you over. The drive back to base too. He calls Jessica to hear her voice and he gives her the abridged version of the Vegas trip. He runs errands: restocks his refrigerator, does laundry, presses his uniform shirts and pants. He goes for a jog, then hits the gym on base, lifts until his arms burn.

He goes home and showers, and then he settles in front of the TV. He dozes off and wakes in the middle of the night with a start, his heart hammering in his chest and the taste of pennies in his mouth.

He has no idea what’s wrong until he checks his phone, notes the time…and notes that you haven’t called or texted.

Bob scrubs his face with his hands. He makes his way to the bathroom, splashes himself with water. He studies his own reflection, and even with his glasses off, he can see the worry writ all over his expression.

Maybe she got tired and pulled off for the night, he thinks. Or maybe she just forgot to let me know she’s home.

That’s what he imagines when he moves to his bed and tries to fall back asleep—he imagines you home in your own apartment, the cozy little space that is so perfectly you. He imagines you returning the rental car, showering off the road dust, then turning in for a long, well-earned sleep.

When he finally drifts off, his dreams are unsettling, and he wakes early, coated in a thin sheen of sweat despite the AC running at top capacity.

“Something’s wrong,” he mutters aloud to the empty bedroom. He can feel it in his gut. Something is off, and just as he makes up his mind to call you, to check in on you, even if it’s rude and even if he wakes you up, his phone lights up with an incoming call.

From Eric.

Eric, his best friend, his oldest friend. Eric, who rarely calls and who prefers to text. Eric, who only calls—especially at four-thirty in the morning—when there’s bad news.

Eric, the most unflappable man that Bob has ever known, openly, obviously trying to hide the tears in his voice. In the background, Bob can hear a woman crying—Hannah—as Eric relays the news: the only other member of Team Prime, the best of the best like him, was struck in a head-on collision by a speeding driver.

That you were life-flighted to the nearest trauma center, but that the prospects for your survival are so bleak that the attending surgeon told your father over the phone to not entertain much hope. That the doctor asked if you had a religion, if there was perhaps a priest or pastor or rabbi…someone who might come and offer final blessing, last rites, whatever.

“We’re trying to get everyone here,” Eric says. “Dude, what do I…I mean, what can I even do? If a doctor says…fuck, Bob, I don’t know what to do—”

Bob says the only thing he can think of, an echo of what he texted to you all those months ago.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, and he keeps his voice level despite the emotion—shock, sorrow, burgeoning guilt—coursing through him like electricity. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #top gun maverick #tropes and tales

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