#LT fanfics

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Call Me When You Get Home - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: I decided to try my hand at writing based on prompts from these lists: one / two and my favourite characters from Top Gun: Maverick, so, here's the first one from my works list.

pairing: Jake Seresin x reader

prompt: no. 7 - "call me when you get home, so I know you’re safe.”

warnings/content: alludes to some spiciness, unlucky in relationships, ends in fluff. mild swearing.

word count: 1.9k

You’d never been one for relationships. You’d grown sick of broken hearts and forced apologies, and constant letdowns, and at this point in your life, you didn’t want to waste any more time being unhappy or anxious or scared that at any moment, the one thing you’d grown to rely on being there could be taken from you without warning. You were tired of the constant back and forth on holidays to visit family members neither of you could stand, and who frankly, couldn’t stand you either. You were sick of the way that everyone put relationships up on a pedestal, to be coveted and desired more than anything else in life. You were over it all, and you had convinced yourself it was for your own good, that it was better this way. 

That was, until you met him.

Lieutenant Jake Seresin had wandered into your life last fall. You’d been home to attend your aunt Penny’s wedding, her having finally gotten married to Captain Pete Mitchell, after several years of back and forth between them. At first glance, Jake was exactly the type of guy you’d go for - he was single, and preferred it that way. He never wanted to be tied down or have someone waiting for him at home - he claimed it was just “who he was”, but you knew there was more to it than that - he was afraid of the same things you were, in a sense. In Jake’s mind, if he had no one waiting for him at home, then he’d never have to worry about there being that chance of him not coming home from a mission. He wouldn’t have to worry about leaving someone behind, and that was just easier for him and his life as a Naval Air Force pilot. 

However, your cousin Amelia and your new uncle had different plans in mind. They saw the two of you as one in the same - you were both running and hiding from the same thing, in a sense. You refused to fall in love out of fear of someone getting hurt. They had “accidentally” seated the two of you at the same table at the wedding, side by side. Jake had been drinking a beer while you sipped a vodka-cran, the same one you’d been nursing for the previous hour since cocktails were served before the reception. His tall, tanned figure looked like heaven in his white dress uniform, his blonde hair gelled upwards slightly in the front, trimmed and neat in the back. He was gorgeous, and boy, did he know it. 

After countless drinks shared between the two of you (and you were eternally grateful that night for Captain Mitchell’s deep pockets and the idea of an open bar), a brief fling in the back of Jake’s truck, and an exchanging of phone numbers over coffee the next morning as you both sobered up, you’d found yourself wondering if, maybe, just maybe, you could be open to something with him - not a relationship, but an agreement of sorts. No dates to speak of, no pressure to label things, and no timelines forcing either of you to do anything - just, enjoying each other’s company on your own terms, without the awkward “I love yous” and breakups that you were used to, and without Jake’s fear of having someone be left behind if anything were to happen to him. Just...more than friends. 

It was a few months into your arrangement of “more than friends” the first time he said it. You were surprised it was Jake who said it first - you’d never thought of him as being the caring, thoughtful type, he’d always been so laidback and carefree, with a hint of arrogance to him and his teasing, that it completely caught you off guard when he said it after a night spent at his apartment off base. 

“Hey, just, you know…call me when you get home, ok? So I know you made it home safe?” he’d said.

His soft smile and the kind look in his green eyes, his hand resting on the door frame as he looked at you, standing there in a tight fitted white t-shirt and his sweatpants as he said goodbye to you before you headed back to your house that morning. Any other time, he would have just given you the same, standard, “I’ll text you later.” or a basic “I’ll call you, yeah?”. Normally, him saying he wanted to know you made it home safe would have sent you running - you knew what it meant, or at the very least, what it could lead to, and you didn’t want anything ruining what you  and Jake had together, even if it wasn’t supposed to be anything in particular.

The second time, you said it to him, and as you said it, you knew you were doomed. Doomed to be headed down that pathway of boyfriend and girlfriend, only to almost certainly be heartbroken in a few months when he decided that it wasn’t you, it was him, or that he’d met someone else. 

When you said it this time, Jake had been on his way back to the base for a mission last minute. He’d grumbled when his phone went off, interrupting a moment between the two of you, and you knew almost instantly what that meant - he’d be gone for an indefinite amount of time, and you’d see him when you saw him. He could be gone for a week like the last mission, or for months, depending on what it was and how long it would take to complete. It was always classified, and he never really had details until he was already in the middle of it. 

“Call me when you’re home, so I know you’re safe, ok, Jake?” You’d said, your voice low and soft, almost in a whisper as the words escaped your lips.

Jake frowned as he went to respond, almost looking as if he was at a loss for words, which was never like him. Instead, he sighed and nodded his head before heading out the door. A few weeks later, you’d gotten his phone call. 

“Can we talk about something?” he’d said, his normally overly self-confident tone was now quiet, and almost shy, like he was afraid to have this conversation with you. 

“Of course we can. Are you alright?” You’d asked as you absent-mindedly chewed on your bottom lip, anxiously running through all the different possible scenarios that could come from this.

“I’m fine, I promise, just…come over, please?” 

Within 15 minutes, you were on his doorstep, waiting for him to answer. He looked exhausted, his five o’clock shadow was evident, the sign of him not having been home long enough to even shave or shower since he got in. That was your first clue that it was something serious.  Your next clue was when, instead of making a comment about how your ass looked in your jeans or how your shirt would look better on his bedroom floor, he gave you a hug. Jake was never a hugger - by all accounts from his friends and your own observations over the last half a year up to this stage, you’d never seen him hug anyone before, not even once. Usually the best anyone got out of Jake Seresin was a firm handshake and his million dollar grin. But this time, this time you’d gotten a full-fledged bear hug when he saw you - his arms wrapping around you tightly, pulling you in for a passionate embrace, as if he’d gone years without seeing you and finally found you again. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Jake? You’re…you’re kind of worrying me.” You’d laughed as you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Right, that.” He’d begun, biting at the inside of his cheek as he mulled over the words he wanted to say, “I…don’t think our agreement is working out between us.”

You felt your cheeks turn hot and red, tears beginning to sting your eyes. Despite the boundaries in place, you fell for him, hard. You’d never tell him, and you didn’t even realize it yourself before now, but as he said that - those words you’d been trying so hard to avoid with him, you knew. You knew he’d reeled you in and there was no escaping it now. You were about to get heartbroken, again.

“Oh?” You kept your response cold and indifferent as you tried to mask your feelings as best as you could.

“Before you get upset with me, hear me out,” he started, holding his hand up to gesture for you to wait for him to collect his thoughts.

“Why, so you can give me the same old “it’s not you, it’s me” speech? So you can tell me how you’ve met someone else?” 

“No,” he said calmly, letting out a deep breath. 

“I don’t think it’s working because I think I’ve fallen in love with you anyways.” He sighed softly, shrugging his broad shoulders as he shot you an apologetic look.

“You...you’re in love with me?” You stammered and stumbled over your words as you spit them out.

“I think so. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire time I was gone. I just kept thinking about how nice it’d be to come home and see you again. And despite how it scares the living shit out of me to think that one day I may not be able to come home to you, I also don’t want to spend the rest of our lives not telling you how I feel.” 

Without another word being spoken between you, you wrapped your arms around Jake’s neck gently and pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss. He placed his hands firmly on your waist, pulling you in towards him, his lips moving in sync with yours. After a moment, he pulled away, his signature grin now back on his face.

“I’m going to take that as a “I love you too, Jake”?”, he smirked as he brushed a piece of your hair back off your forehead. 

“Just shut up and kiss me again, Lieutenant.”

Now, nearly 6 months into officially dating, you found yourselves constantly reminding each other just how in love you were. Jake would send you texts throughout the day when he could, updating you on what was happening wherever he was at the time, and you’d respond with playful teasing. You’d make sure when he came home that his laundry was done for him, because otherwise, he’d never remember to wash it, and he’d signed into his food delivery account on your phone so you could always order whatever you felt like for dinner when he was going to be coming home. You’d cuddle on the couch watching movies together, sharing a bottle of wine as you both took the opportunity to relax and unwind together. And despite all of the domestic life you’d taken on together, you did manage to keep one boundary together.

You’d always call to let the other one know you were safe.

[dataentryspecialist]

Me when I realize I can use a random throwaway line to build a whole ass story

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

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Chapter 10: Happy Birthday, Mr. President

You were buzzing with excitement. You were currently getting ready for Bradley's birthday dinner at the White House. He'd made sure all of his friends from the Dagger Squad were granted special leaves and permissions to be in D.C. You were excited to see all of them again and celebrate his 37th birthday.

You were even more excited for the surprise you had planned for him later.

You were currently putting the finishing touches on your outfit. You carefully fastened your earrings before slipping your wedding rings on. You held up the front of your beaded lavender sheath dress as you waited for Bradley to come and zip it for you.

You quickly fired off a text to Jake and Jaycee to make sure they were still okay to help with your plan.

Soon, Bradley emerged from the bathroom with his lavender bow tie in hand. You took it from him before handing him your necklaces for him to fasten for you.

"Don't forget to zip me." You tease him.

"I won't, Sweetheart." He says as he drags the zipper up before smoothing his hands over the back and placing a kiss on your neck. You grin at him in the mirror before turning around in his arms with his tie in your hand.

You loop it around his neck, as your skilled fingers make quick work of it.

"You know," Bradley begins. "Before we were together, I bet I zipped a dozen and a half of your dresses. Since we've been married, I've lost count." He states. You look up from his tie and raise your eyebrow at him. A silent way of asking what his point is.

"And every time you have me zip it, I can't help but wonder what the things you have on underneath it look like." He finished as you secure the knot on his tie.

You smile at him sweetly before getting on your tip toes. You pull him down towards you and put your lips close to his ear.

"In case you were wondering about this dress, I'm not wearing anything under it." You whisper before kissing his cheek and walking out the bedroom door. It takes Bradley a minute to rest his brain after that remark.

....................

His birthday dinner is going fantastically well. Everyone is having a great time, and Bradley hasn't stopped smiling. Everyone has just finished dinner, and cake is being served when you leave your seat and head to a microphone.

"Good evening, everyone!" You warmly greet the crowd. "Thank you all so much for being here for this special occasion. I'm so excited to be celebrating my wonderful husband's birthday with all of you!" The room fills with applause.

"Now, I know he would rather do without, but I simply cannot let the day pass without singing 'Happy Birthday' to him, so I was hoping you all would be alright with that. Is everyone okay with that?" You ask. The crowd laughs and agrees.

Someone plays a few bars on a piano before you start singing to him:

"Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday, Mr. President,

Happy Birthday to you"

Bradley swears under his breath as he feels the crotch of his pants tighten. You look like a modern-day Marylin Monroe up there, and he's trying to figure out when would be the most polite time to steal you away and sneak out of his own party.

After a round of applause, the band picks back up again, and you make your way around the room, greeting guests, shaking hands, and thanking everyone for coming.

Bradley is tucked away in a corner, downing his third glass of champagne when Jake comes up to him.

"Easy there, Rooster, this isn't the Hard Deck," Jake jokes with him. Bradley rolls his eyes before setting the glass down.

"Hangman, why is champagne such a violent beverage?" Bradley asks him. "What do you mean?" Jake replies. "I mean, the more I drink it the more I think about when would be the best time to sneak out of here so I can go fuck my wife." Bradley clarifies. Jake almost chokes on his drink. He sputters out a cough before shaking his head and checking his phone.

"Well, I might be able to help you with that." He tells Bradley, and now it's his turn to look confused. Jake shakes his head before pulling a card out of his jacket pocket. "Mr. President" is written in your sleak hand writing on the front. "Have fun, Rooster." Jake says before patting him on the back and walking away.

Bradley opens the card to find three works written inside: "Oval Office, now."

He tucks the card in his suit and looks around the room to see that you have vanished. He makes sure that no one is watching before slipping out of the room and down to the West Wing.

His office is quiet and dim when he enters. He makes sure to lock the door behind him.

"Took you long enough," you speak. Bradley turns to find you perched on his desk. Your hair has been taken down from its neat updo, and your shoes are haphazardly tossed to the carpet. Your legs are crossed as you lean back on your palms and watch him walk towards you slowly, like a cat stalking it's prey.

"My, my, my. What do we have here, Mrs. First Lady?" Bradley asks you as he walks up to the desk and plants his hands on either side of you, trapping you in place.

"I just thought I'd give you an extra special present for your birthday, Bradley." You tell him. "And what might that be?" He asks you with a coy smile.

"Well, Mr. President," You begin as you reach up to remove his bow tie. "I thought it would be nice if the leader of the free world bent me over his desk and fucked me like a slut." You finished before unceremoniously tossing his tie to the floor.

You watch Bradley's eyes darken and his jaw clench. "Is that so? Does my perfect, smart, beautiful wife want to be treated like my play thing? Is she going to let me do anything I want to her for my birthday?" He asks cocking his head to the side.

"Yes, sir." You tell him. Any self-control Bradley had left vanishes. He crashes his lips to yours in a kiss that is all teeth and tongue. He pulls you harshly to the edge of the desk before running his fingers through your hair.

He shoves your dress up your hips before pushing your thighs open. He's pleased to see that you were telling the truth when you told him you weren't wearing anything under your dress.

One of his hands leaves your hair to swipe through your slick folds. He easily slips two digits in and begins to expertly curl them into you.

"Mmmm, fuck Bradley. Feels so good." You praise him. But the words had no sooner left you mouth, and he was stopping. "Bradley, no." You whine as you attempt to grind your core against his fingers.

"Only good girls get to call me Bradley. But you're not my good girl right now, are you? You're my needy slut who needs to be taken care of aren't you?" He growls out. His words send another wave of arousal through you. You aren't sure how to respond. Bradley must not have liked that you didn't answer him because he gives a harsh smack to your cunt, causing you to jump.

"Answer me. What are you right now? He asks again. "Your needy slut." You tell him. "Exactly, so if you want me to keep touching you, it's Sir or Mr. President. Understood?" He tells you.

"Yes, Sir, Mr. President." You respond to him. He grunts in approval before starting again.

He speeds up his movements from before alternating between curling his fingers and scissoring your walls. He can feel you pussy clenching around his digits and he knows that you're close.

"Are you gonna cum for me? Are you gonna cum all over my hand like the slut you are?" He asks you as his thumb circles your clit.

"Fuck—yes! I'm so close, Sir, please don't stop." You cry out. Bradley has no intentions of stopping. No, he wants to push you over the edge until you're stupid and crying and shaking.

Your thighs are already there as he draws the first orgasm of the night out of you. He guides you through it before withdrawing his fingers and licking you relase from them. You slump against him, but he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.

"Aren't you going to say thank you?" He asks sarcastically." "Th—thank you, Mr. President" You stutter out.

"You're welcome." He bites back before pushing you to lay flat on the desk and kneeling between your wide spread thighs. "The cake was great, but this is the dessert I'd rather have." He mumbles before liking a stripe from your weeping hole to your throbbing clit.

He buried his face in your heat, fucking his tongue into you. His nose and the fine hairs of his mustache grazed your clit with each swipe of the firm muscle. One of your hands gripped the dark wood edge of the desk while the other grasped his curls. You wrapped your thighs around his head, securing him in place. The heel of your foot dug into his back. There would probably be a bruise from it. You didn't care, though. It wouldn't be the first time the two of you had left marks on each other from lovemaking.

You were approaching another peak when Bradley pulled off of you with a wet pop.

You let out a displeased cry.

"Look at me. He growled from his position. You leaned up on your elbows just enough to meet his eyes. They were blown with lust. Your wetness coated his face and chin. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and you could see the flush of his skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" He asks you. "You have no idea just how much power you have. I mean, look, you have the most powerful man in the world on his knees for you. No one else on earth can do that to me but you. I might be the leader of the nation, but for you, I'm a humble servant who is grateful for the chance to worship you." Bradley states as he kisses your thighs.

"Now, I want you to watch, while the president of the United States makes you cum all over his face." He tells you before diving back in.

His eyes never leave you as he works you up again. He slips his hands under your ass and pulls you closer to him as you grind against his face. Another wave of pleasure is about to crash over you.

"Sir—Mr. President— fuck!" You cry out as the band snaps. You try to keep looking at him, but it's too much. Your head lulls back, and you close your eyes as you ride the wave. Bradley doesn't stop his tongue until you're pulling him back because it's just too much.

He gets up from his spot on the floor and takes off his jacket before cupping your jaw and kissing you. "You okay?" He asks, pressing he forehead to yours. "Very." You assure him. "Think you can do one more for me?" You smirk at him. "I know I can, Mr. President."

Bradley smirks back at you before pulling you off his desk, spinning you around, and pushing you flush against the cool wood. He stops just long enough to undo his belt and push his trousers down to free his aching cock. Precum coats the tip of it.

He hikes you dress up even further, so your perfect ass is on display for him. He gives it a few harsh smacks as he fists himself. He loves the little mewls you let out with each strike.

He pushes into you without warning, your gummy walls gripping him as he begins to pound into you. The blunt tips of his fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips.

His taking you so hard and so fast that your body jolts forward with each thrust. He grabs the base of your neck to hold you firmly in place as he continues to pound into you.

A string of incoherent curses and moans leaves your mouth as he drives into you. Bradley smiles, knowing he's the only one who can make the oh so smart First Lady sounds like a babbling idiot.

"That's it, baby doll. Keep babbling like the dumb little slut you are while the president fucks you. Love how fucking stupid and needy you sound right now." Bradley growls out as he pulls you up flush against his torso.

"You're pretty little pussy is squeezing me so fucking much right now. Do you wanna cum again for me?" He asks against the shell of your ear.

"Yea—" you managed to squeak out.

"If you wanna cum, you're going to have to ask me nicely. Go on, use your words, Sweetheart." He goads you, knowing damn good and well that you can't because of how he's fucking you right now.

You want to ask him. You really do. You want to beg him to let you finish because you're so fucking close, but he's only giving you just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. You want to tell him how good he feels and how much you love him. You also want to tell him that this orgasm that is building doesn't feel like one you've ever had before.

You want to tell him that you feel like you're on fire. You want to tell him that you might cry if you don't get to finish soon. You want to tell him how badly you want it. But the only thing you can manage in your pleasure induced high is:

"Please, Mr. President." He chuckles at how pathetic you sound before pushing you over the edge. You feel the relief wash over you as your release flows out of you and coats your thighs and his. He continues to fuck you through it, drawing every last ounce of pleasure from you.

He close himself, and the feeling of you clenching around him and cumming harder than you ever have, has him on edge.

"Shit, that's it baby doll, fucking cum all over me. God you're pussy feels so fucking good. Fuck I'm so fucking close. I'm going to cum in this pretty little hole of yours and fill you up. Gonna fill you up so fucking good, you'll feel me in there for weeks baby doll." He cries out before painting your walls white with his thick release.

He collapses on top of you. Both of you are sweaty and panting. The air in the Oval Office is thick with the scent of sex.

It takes several minutes before either of you can speak.

"Happy Birthday, Dearest." You tell Bradley.

"What a birthday it was." He states as he pulls out of you. You can feel his cum leaking put of you onto the desk, but your entire body feels like jello and you can't move.

Bradley quickly grabs some tissues to clean the both of you up. He then scoops you up bridal style and makes a mental note to come back later and clean everything up.

He carries you back to your living quarters before depositing you on the bed. You motion for him to cuddle you, and of course, he does.

"Do I want to know how you orchestrated this whole thing?" He asks you. "Probably not." You reply.

He shakes his head and wants to ask you, but he thinks better of it. Somethings are better left unsaid.

Oh wow, babes! It finally happened! The Oval Office has been defiled!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @chicomonks @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby

[yellow-rose-lady]

Fanart for @generally-surviving ‘s Awsome fic:

[saturnville]

sleep well tonight, lt. curtis biddick

pairing: lt. curtis “curt” biddick x black fem oc

content: curtis isn’t a writer, but he’ll do whatever it takes to keep in contact with his wife during the war.

an: thanks to @turn-thy-paige, we’ve got some new content. thank you for the ideas!

Curtis wasn’t much of a writer. Most of his expression came verbally through run-on sentences or curt responses. But that wasn’t so easy being thousands of miles away from home with no access to a telephone. He hated writing, but he did it for her. He’d do anything for her.

The barracks were quiet. Most of the men had fallen asleep long before he had. The sky was dark, like a blanket had covered the sun. The sounds of wolves howling in the distance and insects chirping in the grass were a gentle melody to his ears.

Curtis tapped the blank paper on the bedside table and brought a pen in his hand. Slowly, he began to write.

Hey honey,

It’s been a long day. I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours and I still can’t seem to go to sleep. Crazy, right? I’ll try my best once I finish this letter.

How have you been? I hope you’re keeping that beautiful smile on your face and staying in the highest of hopes. I miss you dearly. It’s hard to sleep without you; but I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been married to someone for so long. I’ll be back soon, believe me.

How’s the baby doing? I’m hoping this will all be over by the time you go into labor. I try not to think about the possibility of me missing the birth of my son. And yes, it’s a boy and you can’t fight me on it, either. I can’t wait to see what he looks like. Will he have my eyes and your curly hair? Or will he surprise us both and look like a distant family member? Who knows; I’ll love him just the same.

The newbies are interesting to work with. Every time they put on their gear, they start shaking like a leaf. Their fantasies are gone and reality has sunk in. War isn’t for the weak. To be a soldier is more than saluting the flag and shooting guns. It’s a way of life. But, it gets tiresome.

I’m getting tired now and my hand is starting to cramp, but, whatever you do, keep the faith and rest easy. I’ll be home before you know it.

Sleep well tonight.

Love yours forever,

Curt

[adarkroomandawallflower]

Hey there! I love your writing so far! I was wondering if you would write a little something about Data and his partner choosing pet names for each other? I think it could be cute :)

Hello, I'm so glad you're enjoying my writing!

This is such a cute idea, and thank you so much for bestowing the honor upon me to write this lovely request!

I had a lot of different ideas for this, and couldn't settle on just one, so I decided to write this in the style of those "5+1" fics. I tried to choose older/more outlandish terms of endearment, in order to avoid potentially discarding a name that someone would actually want to be referred to by. Hopefully, I was successful in this endeavor (but my sincere apologies if not)!

The final nicknames I chose were based on Data's characterization, and what names I think would be most appropriate and fitting for him and his vocabulary. I'm not sure if anyone else will agree with these choices, but I hope they're still enjoyable.

Anyways, without further ado, here's the final piece! I'm so sorry for the wait, but I really hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it 😊

5 Times Data and His Partner Tried Out Pet Names (and the 1 Time They Stuck):

Although Data didn't quite understand the necessity for having a pet name for his partner, he did understand the appeal. It was another form of affection that couples demonstrated with one another; something special shared between both parties.

Frankly, Data hadn't even considered having a designated term of endearment for you. At least, not until Geordi and himself had discussed the subject after witnessing a couple in Ten Forward one evening using their chosen pet names.

"Why did Lieutenant Smith refer to his spouse as an overly saccharine pastry comprised of honey?" Data asked, bewildered at the exchange he just observed between the aforementioned crewmembers.

Geordi chuckled, "He didn't mean it literally, Data. He meant it as a pet name."

Data still looked at his friend quizzically, "'Pet name'?"

"Yeah, a term of endearment."

Finally, he understood, "Ahh."

"Don't you and your partner have pet names for one another?"

Data shook his head, "No, we do not."

Geordi raised his eyebrows above his VISOR, "Really?"

"Indeed...I did not realize this was a necessary aspect to couplehood."

"Well, it's not exactly 'necessary', but it is a fairly common thing between couples."

"Hm, I see..."

Later that night, while Data was running an internal diagnostic, analyzing the information he had collected during his Away Mission earlier that day, and reviewing the remainder of the day's events, he considered the conversation he had with Geordi. Should he have a pet name for you? If so, which one should he choose?

After some internal analysis, Data decided that yes, he did want to designate a term of endearment for you. He figured the best way to go about choosing a name would be to use a trial-and-error method of research:

First, he would conduct personal research about pet names. He would pay special attention to their connotations and popularity. Next, he'd construct a behavioral profile for you that he would then use to determine which pet names you would most likely appreciate. He would then test the chosen names by using them to refer to you. Additionally, he'd observe your reactions to each name, and internally record his observations. Finally, he'd compile all his collected data and analyze them to determine which term of endearment you appeared to enjoy the most.

The endeavor would prove to be more difficult than he anticipated.

1. Honeybun or Honeybunch

Since Lieutenant Smith and his spouse had initiated this experiment, Data felt it was only appropriate to test out their preferred pet name first. He tested it out a few days after he witnessed their interaction, one night while the two of you were snuggled up on his couch with Spot.

Data was sitting near one end of the couch, his body oriented straight ahead and away from you. You sat at the other end of the couch, facing Data. Your legs were stretched out across his lap, and one of his hands was draped along the arm of the couch. His other hand was affectionately rubbing your knee. Spot was curled up in your lap, purring loudly as you intermittently stroked her back while you spoke.

You were currently summarizing your day's events for Data, and he listened intently. His gaze was soft and adoring, and he was meticulously making internal notes about the way you gestured certain aspects for emphasis, how your chest shook when you laughed, and the way your lips curved upwards just a little higher when you returned his eye contact. Absentmindedly, he marveled at how beautiful humans and their behaviors were, and he wondered if he could ever come close to emanating that beauty himself.

After you completed your tale, you relaxed back into your corner of the couch, ready to answer the anticipated onslaught of questions from him. Once his queries were satisfactorily answered, it grew silent between the two of you, but comfortably so.

At this point, you were relaxed, and starting to succumb to the call of sleep. As your eyes started to droop, Data spoke softly, "Shall we 'hit the hay', Honeybun?"

Your eyes shot open. Now, you were wide awake, "What?"

"Your respiratory and heart rates have decreased by 3.7% in the last 4 minutes and 51 seconds, and you have been closing your eyes for intervals longer than necessary for blinking. You are demonstrating the initial stages of human sleep," he looked at you sweetly, "I believe it would be best if we went to bed now...Honeybun. You are welcome to spend the night in Spot and I's quarters."

You stared at him curiously for a moment, before you laughed, "Okay, honeybunch; let's go to bed."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise at your unexpected reciprocation of the pet name.

You carefully picked up Spot from your lap before slowly getting up. You and Spot made your way to Data's bedroom, but said android was still on the couch, processing your previous interaction.

Based on your expression and reactions, Data deduced that you did not particularly enjoy that nickname. However, did he enjoy being called a 'honeybunch'?

"You coming, honeybunch?" you called from his bedroom.

Again, Data reviewed the name, considering his perceptions towards it, before he grimaced slightly.

2. Snookums

The next time he tested a term of endearment on you was over a week later, during a double date between the two of you and the O'Briens in Ten Forward.

You and Data had arrived first, and were chatting idly as you waited for your friends to join you. Once Keiko and Miles arrived, you all greeted each other, and caught up briefly before Data got up to get everyone some drinks.

"I'll just have a plain ol' Irish ale," Miles said.

"Some tea would be lovely," Keiko added.

Data turned to you, "And what would you like, Snookums?"

Miles chortled softly, and Keiko lightly kicked him under the table, but she was holding back a smile herself.

Data, who was too focused on you and your reaction, thankfully didn't notice the O'Brien's' interaction. He studied you carefully, patiently awaiting your response.

You blinked, still processing the nickname, "Uhh just some water, please."

He nodded once, "I shall return in a moment with our beverages."

Miles watched Data walk away, waiting until he was out of earshot. Once satisfied with the distance between the three of you & Data, Miles then turned to you with a smirk, "'Snookums'?"

You raised your eyebrows and shrugged, "I have no clue where that came from...last week, he called me 'Honeybun'."

Again, Miles snorted.

"Miles!" Keiko scolded, "Don't be rude!"

He held up his hands in mock surrender, "I'm not! They're just...interesting choices for nicknames."

"I suspect he's up to something," you theorized, "This is probably related to some personal research he's conducting, or something. In any case, I'm sure it's just a phase," you hadn't been too concerned about this seemingly random development in his behavior, but you were curious as to its purpose. It was still a fairly recent alteration, so you figured you'd let him have his fun a bit more before you confronted him about it.

"Maybe he's trying to be more romantic," Keiko offered, "in his own way."

You pondered the thought, as you watched Data gather your drinks. He certainly was romantic, in his own way. You both had lunch together almost every day, something that he had insisted on. After he discovered the ancient invention of "Post-It Notes", he made it a habit to leave you handwritten notes with them throughout your office. Their contents varied, from jokes pertaining to your area of expertise to quotes from his favorite works of literature that reminded him of you. He even enjoyed reading some of his favorite novels and plays to you. These actions may not have been the kind of whirlwind, passionate gestures that most people equated to romance, but you knew they were his way of showing his fondness for you, and you loved them (and him) dearly.

You continued to watch him as he carefully placed everyone's requested drinks on a small tray that Guinan provided. You noticed how he was slightly more careful when placing your drink on the tray, and how he placed it in front of the others. You knew his actions were deliberate and calculated, but it still brought a soft smile to your lips.

"Maybe," you finally conceded.

"And maybe you should take some notes, Miles," Keiko teased her husband.

Miles sighed, "Oh, Hell..."

3. Sweet Cheeks

"Thank you for bringing me lunch, Data," you told him, sitting down in the chair he had pulled out for you. When you had contacted him earlier to let him know that you were going to work late and wouldn't have time to grab lunch with him, he decided to bring lunch to you, in your office. Data had also taken the time to replicate some flowers in a vase and cleared your desk of all clutter, so you could have a proper table setting for your meal.

"You are welcome," he said, as he gently pushed your chair back in.

Your shared meal was relaxed and calm, but the atmosphere changed when Data suddenly dropped his latest pet name for you into the conversation, "I believe your proposed solution to your current work predicament is acceptable, and will prove to be successful, Sweet Cheeks."

You then did what Data recognized from 20th century humor to be a classic 'spit take'. He was surprised, yet somewhat delighted by this, as he had never witnessed someone perform a spit take before. He considered inquiring about it, but decided against it.

You stared at him in astonishment, blushing wildly as you coughed, "I beg your pardon??"

Your reaction was quite unexpected, and Data scrunched his eyebrows in soft confusion as he attempted to ascertain the somewhat scandalized tone of your voice, "Did I say something wrong?"

Before speaking, you cleared your throat, and waited for the shock to subside, "No, Data, you didn't say anything wrong, per say...It's just that 'Sweet Cheeks' is a very old and sometimes offensive term, depending on the context, used to describe someone with a nice ass."

Data looked at you with surprise, and perhaps embarrassment. How had he missed that pertinent fact during his research? "I see...I apologize for offending you; that certainly was not my intent," he considered this new development briefly, before tilting his head softly and returning his gaze to you, "Based on this information, that term would also be inaccurate in describing yourself because you do not have a donkey."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, "Sorry, not that kind of ass, Data. I meant it refers to someone who has an attractive butt."

Realization dawned on him, "Ahh," he raised an eyebrow, "Although it would be accurate to describe your posterior as 'attractive', I would not wish to use an offensive term to convey that fact."

"Data!" you said, astonished and blushing once again.

Data was hopelessly confused anew, "Have I offended you again?"

"No, no, it's just..." you sighed, still flustered. "Nevermind..." you carefully stood up, "I have to get back to work, so I'll catch you later," you tidied up the remnants of your lunch, pressed a quick peck to his lips, and somewhat hurriedly left your office.

4. Dumpling

"Alright, Lieutenant," Dr. Crusher said as she completed healing the large gash that ran along your forearm, "I think that just about does it. Can you wiggle your wrist for me, like this?" you watched as she moved her wrist, and you replicated her movements. Although you were able to repeat her actions, you felt a small pinch somewhere in your wrist, causing you to wince.

Dr. Crusher noticed this, and gently took your wrist in her hand, "Let me take another look," she scanned your wrist with another handheld medical scanner, "Ahh, it looks like the fracture I repaired earlier is applying excess pressure on your radial nerve," she smiled reassuringly, "It's just a pinched nerve, but I'll need to go get a different tool to repair it," she gently released your wrist, "I'll be right back."

As you waited patiently for her to return, the doors to Sick Bay opened. You looked up and saw Data making his way over to you.

Having not seen him all day, you were elated that he was here, "Data!"

He smiled faintly at your enthusiasm for his arrival, somewhat perplexed at how your mood always seemed to improve almost immediately upon the sight of him, or mention of his name. His smile widened just slightly when he reached his hand out to you, and you eagerly took his hand in yours.

After a few moments, his expression became serious, "Commander Riker informed me of the injuries you sustained during the Away Mission," he frowned slightly, "I apologize for not arriving sooner, but the Exobiology team required my assistance in analyzing the samples you and the remaining members of the Away Team collected."

"No apology necessary; I understand."

He performed a quick visual inspection of you, before his eyes met yours again. It only lasted a second, but you could have sworn you saw something akin to concern swimming in his golden irises, "Are you alright...Dumpling?"

You took a moment to absorb the new nickname before replying, "Yes, I think so...Dr. Crusher healed all of my cuts, and repaired my broken wrist. She still has to alleviate a pinched nerve, but other than that and a few scars, she says I'll be just fine."

"I am...relieved to hear that," he squeezed your hand gently, "When Commander Riker explained to the Captain and myself that you had directly thrown yourself in front of an incoming boulder, in order to displace Ensign Diaz out of its path, my mind was..." he paused pensively, as he searched for the most appropriate term, "...uncomfortably preoccupied with the prospects of how extensive and detrimental your injuries could be," his thumb rubbed the back of your hand affectionately, and his eyes appeared almost sad. "The possibility that you sustained serious injuries, or could have lost your life was rather...distracting to me, and made it difficult to complete the sample analysis."

You brought your intertwined hands up to your lips, and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, "I'm sorry for worrying you," he looked as if he was going to remind you that he was incapable of worrying in any fashion, but he didn't vocalize the correction, "I didn't intend to land directly in that boulder's path. I was only trying to push Ensign Diaz out of the way, but I miscalculated the boulder's velocity."

His expression became neutral, "Regardless, your actions were admirable, and I am pleased that your injuries were minimal," suddenly, he gave you a pointed look. "However, as your partner, I must sternly remind you not to knowingly put yourself in unnecessary danger again," his expression softened slightly, "Dumpling."

A soft laugh interrupted your moment, and you both turned towards the sound, "Well, don't you worry, Data," Dr. Crusher had returned, a new tool in hand, "In a few moments, your Dumpling will be as good as new," you blushed at her use of the moniker, and Data took mental note of this.

Dr. Crusher held the tool against your wrist. It tingled slightly, but otherwise you felt nothing. After a few minutes, she turned it off and removed it from your skin, "Alright, move your wrist for me again?" you repeated the same motions she had shown you before. This time, there was no pain at all. She smiled, "Better?"

"Much better; thank you."

"You're welcome. I suggest you don't put too much strain on that wrist for a couple of weeks," she began to put away her tools and instruments, "If you notice any more pain, please come back to see me."

You nodded, "Thank you, I will," Data helped you carefully hop down from the Bio-Bed, "Do you want to grab some dinner now, Data?" you asked, "I have a sudden, inexplicable craving for dumplings."

Dr. Crusher held back a laugh.

5. Love Bug

"So, Reg will take care of Spot, Keiko will water and watch over our plants, Beverly and Geordi will keep tabs on our ongoing research experiments..." you reviewed the checklist on your PADD for the umpteenth time, "Okay, I think that's it...am I forgetting anything?"

"Negative, Love Bug. It appears you have everything 'under control'."

You peered up from the PADD to look at him, an eyebrow raised questioningly, "'Love Bug'?"

Data nodded, "That is what I said."

You sighed, but smiled softly, "Okay, Data; what's going on?"

"To what are you referring to?"

"In the past month, you've been calling me various nicknames. What's all this about? Are you conducting some kind of research?"

He looked at you, accessing your reaction for any kind of anger or discomfort. When he saw nothing but confusion and curiosity in your eyes, he sighed softly, "It had been brought to my attention that couples tend to utilize terms of endearment for each other," he blinked, "I did not wish to neglect one of my expected duties as a partner, nor did I wish to make you feel as though you were 'missing out' on an aspect of couplehood, simply due to my ignorance."

You softened immediately at his admission, "Oh, Data," he looked away briefly and somewhat sheepishly, "Being in a relationship with you doesn't make me 'miss out' on anything. In fact, I've gained much more from being in this relationship with you than I would from being in a relationship with anyone else."

His eyes locked with yours, and they were noticeably brighter than before, "Truly?"

You placed your PADD down on a nearby table, and took both of his hands in yours, "Truly," you repeated, before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. When you pulled away, you flashed him a reassuring smile, "Everyone else are the ones who are missing out."

The corners of his lips curled just faintly upwards, "Thank you for alleviating my vexations in that regard," he raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment, before he looked back at you with an inquisitive expression, "Based on your reactions to each of the names I chose, I gathered that you did not particularly enjoy any of my selections. Is that an accurate conclusion?"

"I mean, they weren't necessarily bad choices, they were just...a bit dated, and neither of our styles. But yes, you're correct that I didn't particularly like them."

"Hmm," he bowed his head down slightly to better meet your eyes, "Do you have a preferred term of endearment you would like for me to use?"

You pursed your lips in consideration, "Well, I do have specific names that I do like...but I don't think I'd want you to use those, either."

He tilted his head softly, his eyebrows scrunched in slight confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I think that pet names chosen between partners should be somewhat unique, in the sense that they should relate to something only the participants of that relationship are aware of, like an inside joke of some kind," you paused, "I think those names should also match both partners, not just the recipient of the name. I don't think my current preferences fit you because they aren't necessarily terms you're likely to use."

He took a few moments to analyze this new information, before he nodded, "Yes, I believe I understand. In essence, you would like for me to choose a term of endearment for you that is both unique and relatable to you, but also representative of my vernacular?"

You smiled and squeezed his hands, "Exactly, yes."

"Hmm," he blinked, "I shall take this into consideration, and 'return to the drawing board'."

You laughed softly, "Sounds good," you leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, "Thank you for being such a sweet and considerate partner."

"You are welcome."

"What about you?"

His look of confusion returned, "What about me?"

"Is there any particular name you'd like for me to use for you?"

He thought about it briefly before raising his eyebrows, "Truthfully, I had not considered requesting a term of endearment for me, from you...Although I do not have a preference for any particular term at this time, I believe I would like for you to bestow one upon me."

You nodded, "Okay. I guess I'll have to go back to the drawing board, too...but for now, let's go enjoy our Shore Leave, Love Bug."

+1. "Dearest" and "Sunshine"

As Data's eyes flickered between his canvas and you, he could tell that you were getting restless. You had remained in your current position for the last 2 hours, 47 minutes, and 13 seconds, relatively unmoving. You had not complained once about your discomfort, but he could tell from your slight fidgeting that the required stillness was getting to you.

He reviewed the state of his canvas one more time, adding a couple more strokes of paint, before gently setting his brush down on his easel, "Would you like to take a break?"

You immediately sighed with relief, "Yes, please," you began to move, but stopped, "if it's not too much of an inconvenience for you?"

"Not at all. In fact, you have been an excellent muse thus far; much better than Spot. You are more than deserving of a break," he set down his paint palette, and tilted his head as he reviewed his progress. He was able to get a good portion of your silhouette and distinctive features outlined onto his canvas. He would only need your assistance for another session or two before he could complete the painting on his own.

"Can I see it?" you asked excitedly as you made your way over to him.

"Please," he said, and stepped aside to allow you viewing space.

You looked it over, and smiled widely, "Wow, this looks amazing already, Data! You're definitely going to get the highest marks from your art teacher for this," the two of you continued to admire the beginnings of his painting in comfortable silence for a moment, before you broke it, "Can I ask you something?"

Data turned to look at you, "Of course."

"Why did you decide to paint me for this assignment?"

"In my art course, we recently discussed the Aestheticism art movement. The core belief of this movement was 'art for art's sake'. In other words, it prioritized the aesthetic value of art, rather than the common belief at the time of the movement's introduction that art must serve a particular, didactic purpose," he paused, and inhaled sharply before continuing, "For this assignment, my instructor desired for myself and my classmates to create a work of art, in the tradition of the Aestheticism movement."

You absorbed all the information he just provided, attempting to determine how it related to you. After realizing you still didn't understand the connection, you asked, "That's all really interesting, Data, but what does it have to do with me?"

He eagerly continued, "After careful consideration, I realized that you embody Aestheticism. Although you can and do appreciate the hidden meanings of not only art, but many aspects of life itself, you also recognize the importance of creativity with no inherent purpose," he looked at you softly, "During one of our thoughtful, evening conversations we shared in the initial stages of our relationship, when I had explained to you my confusion as to my purpose of being, you responded that perhaps my father had no true purpose in creating me. Perhaps the only reason he created me was because he wanted to produce something beautiful, simply because he could. Perhaps he merely wished to add something of aesthetic value to the universe. Perhaps he was an artist, just as much as he was the forefront of cybernetics."

He inhaled sharply again, still looking at you, "I have found myself revisiting that conversation consistently and frequently, as frequently as the rate at which you are a part of my thought processes. This lesson, in particular, had triggered my memory banks to replay this memory 3.27 times more than usual. Thus, I deduced that you would be the most appropriate topic for this assignment."

You blinked, staring at him in complete bewilderment. You certainly weren't expecting that answer! Your brain felt like it was malfunctioning, uncertain how to process all this information.

As your brain melted inside your skull, you felt him gently take your hand, "Additionally, this assignment has also made me realize how...dear you are to me. You are always willing and eager to assist me in my hobbies, activities, assignments, and other endeavors. You have never expressed agitation nor annoyance with me, and always allow me to 'babble' to any length or degree. You have always encouraged myself and my passions, even when they potentially served an inconvenience to you."

He squeezed your hand gently, "The term 'dearest' refers to someone who is: loved and cherished, greatly valued, precious," he exhaled softly, "Although I am incapable of love, I am capable of cherishment, and seeing the value in others and objects. I certainly cherish you, and see how invaluable you are to many individuals, including myself," he looked at you with pure determination, and maybe a hint of pride, "Therefore, I believe the most fitting term of endearment for you is 'Dearest'."

At this point, you were short-circuiting, and your brain was absolute mush. Data was always eloquent with his wording, but this was definitely one of the most eloquent things he had said to you. It made his earlier statement of being incapable of love seem completely impossible. No one could speak in such a way about anyone or anything, if they weren't capable of love in some capacity or degree.

He watched you cautiously and patiently, his eyes moving slightly from side to side as he awaited your response. Your brain was still unable to form coherent thoughts, and no words escaped your lips. As his words sunk in and settled as warmth in your chest, all you could do was beam at him as you threw your arms around his neck, and pressed your lips to his in a deep kiss. He was frozen for just a moment, evidently surprised by your reaction, but gently moved his hands to hold your waist and returned your kiss.

After a couple of minutes of eager kissing, he pulled away, "Based on your reaction, I assume that you find this an acceptable term of endearment for yourself?"

You laughed softly, "Yes, Data, I do. It's perfect."

His lips curled upwards into a faint but bright smile, "I am glad you think so, Dearest."

You played with the ends of his hair that tickled his collar, still beaming at him, "You know, this just confirms my theory that 'Sunshine' would be the most fitting pet name for you."

He tilted his head, analyzing the moniker, "Intriguing. What is your connotation of this nickname, as it pertains to me?"

"Well, ever since I met you, you've brought so much light and sunshine into my life. You're a very bright, and warm person, both literally and figuratively, that you are an embodiment of the sun and its sunshine. I realized I've come to think you of as my personal ray of sunshine," you wished you could convey your thoughts and ideas as refined as the manner in which he just did, but the state of your mind was still too slushy to do so.

At your admission and unexpectedly sentimental token, his expression softened. You could tell he was analyzing and processing your sentiments with a fine-toothed comb, no doubt for further review later.

He was quiet for a long time, or at least, a long time for an android, and you began to shuffle nervously, "Do you find the name acceptable?"

Again, he was quiet as he mulled over your query. Finally, his eyes met yours, "Yes, I believe I do. I never considered the similarities between myself and the sun, but I can understand how you came to those conclusions," he blinked, "Yes," he repeated, "I do 'like' it, Dearest."

Your lips brushed against his once again, "Glad to hear it, Sunshine."

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Cloudy With a Chance of Murder.

Part I: leaving the crime scene.

Part II: the phone call.

Part III: a visit to the morgue.

Part IV: the lunch break.

Part V: lunch part II.

Part VI: the perfect cover.

Part VII: the storage closet.

They passed the elevators and scurried down the small corridor that led to an old storage closet. He opened the door, pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, plunging them into darkness.

"I didn't fully think this through," he commented.

Beckett couldn't help but smile and - for just a brief moment - she was thankful for his blunder and the fact that they stood in the dark: she didn't want him thinking he was off the hook that easy.

"Hope you're not claustrophobic," she snarked.

"Kate-" His hands found her hips and she sucked in air, not having expected the touch. "I was put on the spot and, in a moment of panic, I thought I had found a perfect cover," he explained.

The sincerity of his voice crumbled her defenses in an instant and she reached out for him, curled her fingers around the material of his shirt.

"It was never my intention to upset you," he assured her.

"I know."

He inched closer, towering over her so the bold outline of his body was all she could see, all she could feel. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, bringing one hand up to cup her cheek. 

"I know," she whispered back. 

Castle pressed his forehead to hers and they stood for a moment in stillness and in silence, just basking in this private moment. In the freedom of this touch, the freedom she had missed so  much more than she had expected she would. 

"I missed you last night," she confessed. "My fault, I know." 

But Castle shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "Not your fault. I'll call and cancel."

His hand moved from her cheek to comb through her hair, then fell back to her waist. 

"Don't." She sighed. "You're right; it's a good cover."

"I said perfect cover," he corrected. Sensing her frown, he continued, "but good works, too." 

Again, she smiled. And again, she was grateful for the cover of darkness so he wouldn't think he was off the hook. 

"Just promise me one thing," she bargained. "Don't be too charming."

"That's like asking the sun not to shine-"

"Humble," she muttered sarcastically.

"But, for you, I'll try." 

"Okay, well, maybe just one more thing?"

"Anything," he promised.

She covered his hand with hers, guided it down her hip and around to rest on her ass.

Then she slowly leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "Just keep in mind what will be waiting for you when you get home." 

The growl that came from Castle was guttural, primal. It sparked something within her, something that told her to throw caution to the wind (not that she was being particularly cautious to begin with) and, so, she did exactly that.

She reached up, wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled herself up onto her tiptoes. He met her in the middle and their mouths clashed in a heated, impassioned kissed. In the dark, her hands found the buttons of his shirt and made quick work of undoing them. She flattened her palms to his abs and smoothed them over his chest, savouring the warmth of his skin under her touch.

Two small steps was all it took to have her back pressed against one of the shelves that lined the walls and she grunted on impact. But Castle didn't stop, couldn't stop. His hand slipped under the material of her shirt, roamed freely until he reached the rough lace of her bra. He cupped his hand over her breast and she arched into him. Her head dropped back against the shelf behind her and sighed as he ghosted his thumb over her sensitized skin. 

Castle dropped a kiss to her throat, to her jaw, to the ticklish spot just below her ear and then whispered to her, "I love you, Kate. You're all I will ever need-" A kiss to her jaw. "or want." A kiss to her chin. "Ever." A kiss to her lips. 

As their tongues danced, her mind screamed for her to stop. She had very strict rules against this kind of thing: at work, she was a professional. Nothing about this was even remotely close to those standards but she couldn't bring herself to care. She regretted that she let some irrational insecurity keep them apart last night; the first time since she showed up at his door, drenched and desperate to fight for one last chance. She regretted that she had been so angry at him and that her anger had momentarily clouded her mind of what she knew to be true: Castle wanted her. Only her. And right now, despite her own rules, she wanted him too: more than ever before. 

"Yeah, I'll get it!"

They heard the faint, muffled sound of a voice from the other side of the door and they both froze in fear. Time seemed to move impossibly slow and yet entirely too fast as they heard the doorknob rattle and twist. Light began to leak through the crack of the door as it creaked open just an inch and Beckett pushed Castle off of her: not that the extra ten inches of space between them would make any difference at all. There was no time to button Castle's shirt, no explanation for the state of Beckett's mussed hair or the very telling swell of their lips. 

No, there was no getting out of this one. They were busted. 

"Hold on!" They heard another voice, and the door stopped moving. 

Castle stepped forward, pressed his body against Beckett's again in hopes to not be seen through the small gap in the only slightly ajar door.

"Pretty sure they dumped it with Robbery," the second voice said. "Check the storage on third."

Today, luck was on their side. The door closed and they were left in darkness once more. 

They both exhaled a heavy, held-for-too-long breath and Castle let out a relieved chuckle. 

"It's not funny," Beckett scolded as she combed her fingers through her hair. 

Rick fumbled with his buttons. "I know, I know. I'm so sorry." 

But after a second, she laughed too. Simply because the overwhelming relief that flooded through her needed an outlet. 

As soon as he was satisfied with his blind attempt at buttoning his shirt, Castle placed his hands on Beckett's hips and rested his forehead against hers. Together, they took a deep breath. 

"Shit," she said as she exhaled. "That was too close."

"We gotta stop," Castle agreed. 

"No more. Not here, not anywhere that isn't either the loft or my apartment. We can't afford to get caught."

"Agreed."

And it was the first logical decision they'd made thus far.

Just when they thought they were safe, the door opened again.

They both turned; their horror so evident on their faces.

LT shook his head, looked at them like a disapproving father. 

"You two have got to get your shit together," he warned them. Then he pointed to something behind Beckett's head. "Can you pass me that box? Garcia is looking for it." 

In that moment, they both realised that the second voice they could hear had been LT.

He saved their asses. 

He knew. 

Castle grabbed the box from behind Beckett and passed it to LT.

"Thank you," Beckett whispered, still a little too shocked to really process what was happening. 

LT smiled. "You should go before someone wanders past and starts asking questions."

[sebsxphia]

alone the same vein as this post, what kinks and positions do you think our beloved cowboy rhett abbott would love? (unless of course you’ve already done a post for that. if so, point me in the right direction 😌)

oh my love! leah! absolutely wonderful question! lets get into this 🥹💌

First and foremost, Rhett’s favorite position is cowgirl, reverse cowgirl or anything where you’re riding him. He takes the phrase, “save a horse, ride a cowboy” very literally.

He loves it in all aspects. He loves to lie back with his hands tucked behind his head and watch you give the ride of your life with a smirk on his face. Watching how you throw your head back and groan, bracing your hands on his torso to steady yourself. He knows if he wins a successful round at the rodeo, he’s getting this ride.

None the less, with cowgirl when he wants to take charge he still can. He can sit up slightly or place his hands on your hips and fuck up and into you so hard, that you collapse onto his chest, whining into the crook of his neck. He loves still being able to have that control over you, even when you’re on-top.

On the flip side, he loves reverse cowgirl because he can watch your ass bounce on his cock and give it harsh smacks until it’s welted.

Close to watching your ass bounce on his cock and spanking you, Rhett’s second favorite position is to have you bent over any surface he can find. Kitchen table, kitchen counter, bathroom sink, fence in the pasture, over your dresser, in the shower, in the bar toilets, anywhere.

His third favorite position is missionary or with your hips raised (like Bob), so he can fuck you so deep that he can feel himself in your stomach. This especially comes into play when he’s completely dominant over you and most likely has you tied up with rope and cowboy knots.

This moves into Rhett’s kinks. I’ve done something kind of similar here about how Rhett can be an absolute dog, but let me expand on some points and list his kinks.

Going back to the point before, bondage and rope play. He loves that he can tie you up however he wants and have you lying or spread out in any position for him to use you as he wants.

Rhett has called you a, “rope bunny” on multiple occasions.

Breeding kink. This is self explanatory. Rhett wants to fill you up with his cum, get your belly swollen and your breasts sensitive to the touch. You’re pretty sure he fucked you more when you were pregnant than before.

But, there is a softer side to it. Rhett wants a family with you and the making of your family comes with some nights making sweet love and whispering sweet nothings about how beautiful you’d look filled with his cum.

CNC, BABEY.

Rhett Abbott is the biggest sucker for CNC and I’ll die on this hill. He loves being able to catch you off guard when you’re least expecting it and have you pinned down to the kitchen table with you squirming and begging underneath him that he’s too big, you can’t take him right now and his dinner will burn.

It definitely ties into his favorite position being taking you over any surface he can see.

You’ve woken up on multiple occasions to Rhett sliding his cock inside of you as he spoons you from behind, or with his face buried in between your thighs because you were apparently grinding your thighs together in your sleep and he just had to take care of you.

There’s definitely an aspect of role playing within that too. Not so much teacher/student or sexy nurse, but role playing with CNC. You’ve had a couple of fucks in the woods when Rhett has chased you down. All consensually agreed before, of course.

Which ties into Rhett being a dirty little vouyerist. He’s fucked you in the woods or in a field of wildflowers, but both of you know that no one would be around for miles to catch you both. What Rhett does get off with however, is watching you through a keyhole as you touch yourself. There’s a small part of him that loves to feel so filthy.

When Rhett is in this subby mood, he also enjoys you pulling at his hair. Even if his face is buried in between your legs, you tug harshly on his hair and he’s groaning deep against you.

Possession and marking come under the same umbrella, I feel. Rhett is incredibly possessive and with that he will mark you any way he can. With hickies or bite marks visible to anyone.

On the flip side, even if someone can’t see them, Rhett loves to spank you until your ass is welted and there’s a clear indent of his hand on your soft flesh.

Similar to that and as previously mentioned in the link above, Rhett loves to spit on you or in you. It’s part of the possession and marking you as his, but he also loves to degrade you by ordering you to open your mouth, allowing him to spit in it before you suck his cock, or let him mix his spit with his cum he just spilled inside of your mouth.

Again with the same link as mentioned above, edging you. Both in the moment, or teasing you all day.

Rhett’s dirty talk is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It’s sweet, occasionally condescending praise, mixed with the most depraved degradation towards you.

Similar to the spitting, he loves to degrade you and if you start crying from his cruel and mocking words? Well, it’s only going to turn him on more.

[teaspoonnebula]

In 1893, knowing that Conan Doyle was going to be killing off Sherlock Holmes, the Strand Magazine decided to fill the void with a series of medical mysteries called "Diary of a Doctor" by veteran magazine story writer LT Meade.

I've always thought it would be fun to reimagine them as adventures Watson had during the hiatus, trying to continue solving mysteries by himself using Holmes' methods, and working through his grief. I also wanted to flesh them out a little, adding in more character moments and scene setting.

So... that's what I've done! This is part mine, part LT Meade's, created from the story 'My First Patient' originally published in 1893.

You can read the complete story here!

[inglourious-imagines]

Hello! I'm so glad to have stumbled on your blog! I'd like to request anything for Doc Bryan of GenKill please. I can and will wait forever for any Doc content 😅 I saw your prompt list and I think

1. I fucking hate everyone. But you, you’re the only person I don’t hate.

would suit him quite well HAHA but prompt number 3 and prompt number 9 would be quite sweet too 😁 anyway, anything you write I will gratefully read and love. Thanks so much!

Life Vest (Doc Bryan x GN!Reader)

Requested by: anon

Prompt: #1 - I fucking hate everyone. But you, you're the only person I don't hate.

Summary: You're a Corpsman with the Recon Marines, working alongside doc Bryan. After one tough afternoon, you two finally (somewhat ;)) talk.

Taglist: in my bio

Warnings: child's death although it doesn't actually happen in this fic

A/N: I don't study medicine so I might have fucked up some facts about certain things so apologies if I did. Thank you for your request!

.

.

.

With every passing second, more and more locals are appearing, surrounding the group of Marines in the middle of some Iraqi town almost none of them know how to actually pronounce. From behind the cornerns of ruins of old buildings, out of the beaten doors of houses that hadn't been bombed yet, from small huts, children, women, men of all ages are coming to see what is happening.

The small area is slowly getting too crowded to have it under control and Lt. Fick is pacing around the scene unfolding before his eyes with apparent unease. US Marines are stationed around the place, but all of them know it is not enough. 

Fick waves his left hand and within a second he has Brad Colbert by his side, awaiting orders. 

"Get Bryan and Y/N out of there. We can't handle this anymore. We need to be Oscar Mike ASAP."

Brad only nods and he's already pushing his way through the crowd that seems to be made of concrete rather than people, as the young soldier struggles to advance forward.

In the centre of it all, kneeling on the ground, with blood soaked into the sand, are the two exhausted Corpsmen. 

"The children are going to die here." Bryan states matter-of-factly without even looking up, while he's bandaging the young boy who can't be more than seven years old. 

You know that but the words still send a chill down your spine, but you continue working too, without the apparent pointlessness of the reality to stop you.

You always know the facts after observing the situation, just like Bryan does, but you've never been able to announce it with such distance and certain cold even, even though you know it is necessary. 

Robert Timothy Bryan is a straightforward man, a trait useful in the Corps and you've learned over the time to report the situation to your superior officers, but you still lack that sort of Bryaness and you probably always will. 

You allow yourself to steal a glance at him. He's concentrated at the work before him, as he always is, the look of focus in his eyes more visible than ever. His face doesn't show any other emotion much, but you know he's exhausted beyond words, physically and mentally, although he would never admit to that out loud. 

You come back to the little boy under your arms. He has two fractured ribs, that are causing him great pain but you are simply unable to do anything about it, he has one bad scratch on his left arm and a deep cut on his thigh - there is no serious bleeding and it is apparent that it must have been some time since he got wounded.

You cut off a part of his trousers to get a better access to the wound and you immediately notice the bloody spots and bruises. 

You pick up your gaze to look at Bryan to find him already staring at you. You both know what this means, there is no need to say it out loud.

You look back down at the little boy, there are tears in his brown eyes and suddenly there's a lump in your throat. You desperately want to help the kid, but no matter what you do, nothing will be enough. The blood poisoning will kill him, you don't know when, he has only some hours to live tops, if he's lucky, and so far his fate has played a cruel game with him.

Then his little hand reaches for yours and you instinctively squeeze it. You hear in the background some voice saying something, you don't know what, you're too caught up in the moment that suddenly nothing matters anymore and the eyes of the boy make you question if this is really your war, if it really isn't your presence that will got him killed eventually.

In your peripheral vision you catch Bryan standing up and patting someone on the shoulder but you stop paying attention to that right away.

The boy is saying something now you don't understand but you just know he's begging you to help him. And you can't. 

"I know," you hear yourself say, "I know and I'm sorry."

Useless words. Empty. Meaningless.

A woman kneels down before you, scooping the boy in her arms. His hand falls out of yours and it breaks your heart. He looks just like the woman, both of them with deep brown eyes, soft features, thick brown hair. 

She nods. An understanding. 

You wouldn't be able to tell her that her son will die in her arms, probably tonight. 

There is a soft tap on your shoulder. You turn your head slightly. 

"We have to go," Bryan is whispering into your ear, his hand still resting on your shoulder. You lean into his touch for comfort and you convince yourself it is everything you need in order to pull yourself together.

You don't look at the boy anymore. You can't. You stand up to follow your fellow Corpsman and without any warning, he reaches behind himself for your hand. He grabs it to not lose you in the crowd.

And you hold onto it like it's a life vest. Perhaps it is everything you need to pull through this war, perhaps he is.

---

Later that day, when you stop for the night, you can't sleep. You can see those helpless eyes of that boy every time you close your eyes.

This, most definitely, is not your first encounter with wounded locals you couldn't save, as it is not your last, but this one stays with you, no matter how much you fight it. 

"Good work today, Y/N," you can hear Bryan's voice behind you. He sits on the ground next to you, shoulders and knees touching, and finally his affection towards you surprises you. You were too caught up in those moments before to notice how much he actually looks after you. 

"If you say so," you respond, not sharing his opinion. You feel like you failed today. 

"I know so," he counters, nudging you softly with his side. You finally smile.

You wait for him to bring up the boy incident but he doesn't speak one word of it and you're more than grateful. You couldn't talk about it if you tried. Maybe in a few years, but not today, and Bryan knows this, even if you don't. 

"You're awfully nice to me lately," you decide to keep the conversation going, turning your head to look at him for just a moment.

He chuckles at that, a sound you haven't heard enough and could easily get drunk on. "I'm nice to everyone." 

You burst out laughing at his answer, as all those cold stares and snarky comments of his come to your mind. 

He joins in, smiling. "That felt wrong just to say it."

"Tell me about it."

"I just-" he surpises you when he continues, "I just fucking hate everyone." 

You stop laughing and your heart drops a little but Bryan is still talking. "But you? You're the only person I don't hate." 

You're so caught off guard that you can't find anything to say back to that as your own capibility to talk fails you. The words hang above you both, you savour the feeling because you finally don't feel so alone in the vast world.

Something clicks in you when he says those words and you're smiling now, you couldn't stop smiling if you wanted to.

You grab his hand and squeeze it, you don't let go of him, you can't now. 

"I don't hate you too," you finally respond and you don't have to look at him to know he's smiling now too. 

[liamthemailman]

♠️♥️House of Cards♣️♦️

Act Two Part Two - Deal

CW: None

The way to King’s office was a distance away from the medical bay, unfortunately. It only meant more bright lights and noise from passing foot traffic that Ace had to power through. It was good enough that he was stable on his feet as he tried to ignore the thrumming pain in his head, and the curious looks directed to his neck.

His mind strayed as he walked, wondering why King had called him into his office. In addition to that, Ace couldn’t make sense of King’s summary of the incident. It was vague and left more questions than answered, and Ace dreaded whatever conversation that was awaiting him. 

Ace would like to think that King had decided to go easy on him, perhaps already over the fact that he had attacked his wife, figuring Queen would have already told him by now. Though how much truth was in Queen’s reports was up for debate.

Ace nears a corner leading to King’s office, feet brisk and light. Just as he turns around the corner, he sees a captain exit King’s office. He watches as the man closes the door behind him, readjusting the boonie hat that sits on his head.

They pass each other in the hallway. Ace bowed his head a little as he caught the eye of the superior officer. The captain nods back, his mutton shops stretching into a polite smile, and they part ways walking in opposite directions. Ace looks over his shoulder as the higher-ranking soldier disappears around the corner.

Ace brushes the short lived interaction away and knocks at King’s door. 

“Major Hansley, it’s Lieutenant Doe. May I enter?” Ace waits for a response as he listens to muffled paper shuffling on the other side before hearing King telling him to come in.

The office lights were a little dimmer than the overhead fluorescent lights, Ace’s headache already reducing as his eyes adjusted to the change in light. He steps closer to King’s desk, straightening up, his hands locked behind his back.

“At ease, Doe, you act like you’re in trouble.” King chuckles as they lock eyes again, eyebrows raising as he takes in Ace’s rigid posture. “Have a seat.”

The chair drags a little as Ace seats himself on the wobbly chair, pulling himself closer to the desk. King gives another short laugh as he notices the puzzled look on Ace’s face.

“Am I not, sir? I figured Captain Tudor would have reported what happened in the safehouse.”

“Trust me, Lieutenant, Elize did not spare me the details,” King sighs. He picks up a folder and puts his reading glasses on. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve caused a bit of trouble.. But before we start..”

Ace watches as King slides a form towards him. Ace furrows his eyes at the paper, leaning closer to read the text.

“Transfer forms,” King says, leaning forward in his office chair. “Another captain has requested your transfer, if you’re up for it, of course.”

Ace picks up the papers, swiftly skimming over the details of it before placing them back down on the desk. His eyes meet King’s again as the other man awaits his answer. A pause stretched between them as Ace debated his choices. Given, he had his issues with the team, but Ace found that they didn’t necessarily call for a transfer. 

“...No thank you, sir, I’ll stay where I am.”

“Very well,” King hums, taking back the forms and setting it aside. “So, regarding your.. Slip up during your last mission.”

Ace tenses as he waits to be chewed out. It was only natural, seeing that he admittedly did strike Queen first. He had no excuse for his actions and Ace doubts he could even reason with King about it anyway.

“Queen has suggested a.. Uh, immediate dishonourable discharge for you, seeing that your records aren’t exactly clean either,” King states, opening the folder and flipping through the pages, his glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. Ace subconsciously holds his breath as King skims through the papers, unnerved by how nonchalant he seemed even as he referenced Ace’s time as Mad Dog.

“However, your skills are too valuable to let go-” King continues, causing Ace’s shoulders to relax a little. “-and given your last count of insubordination was well over five years ago, with your previous team no less, I’ve decided not to process her complaints.”

Ace let out a soft huff of relief, shifting in his seat as King continued to flip through the pages. He released his fists, seemingly having clenched them unknowingly. 

“Thank you, Major, but-”

“Please, Doe, it’s just us. No need to act like there’s a stick up your arse.” King hums, earning a sigh of frustration from Ace. He shuts the file sharply. He places the file back down on his desk.

“Okay.. Again, thank you, Hansley..” Ace says, forcing the words out of his mouth. “Though I must ask, what’s the catch?”

His words cause King to bark a laugh, finally making him look back at Ace. Ace tensed as he caught the slight gleam in King’s eyes, only confusing him further.

“Sharp as ever, eh, mate? You’re not really off the hook since I can’t let you walk away scot free, you understand.” King says, sliding the folder towards Ace, silently cueing him to pick it up. Ace flips through the pages. “So here’s the deal. Just take care of this thorn in my side for me, and we forget it ever happened. Deal?”

Ace’s eyes flit over to the objectives. It seemed simple enough. A solo mission. Doing some reconnaissance for upcoming mission operations and simple maintenance on a satellite ground receiver. Everything was right up Ace’s alley, which was perfect since it made his life easier.

“Deal.”

“Good man, Ace,” King says, leaning back, his chair squeaking under his massive weight. “Wheels up at 0500 hours.”

With that, Ace was dismissed.

Quicksaving...

[dataentryspecialist]

📚🎨🍻🎼🥺 (for the ask thing :)

My my aren't we a curious one? 😄 *cracks knuckles* here we go:

📚 official: Metamorphosis by Jean Lorrah.

Fanfic? If I have to pick a single one it'd probably be Ascent by Lydia Gastrell. It was the first one I'd read that I felt actually captured Lore as being more than a crazy murder kill bot. And for some reason I didn't get as insanely jealous reading an OC with Lore as I do when I read a OC x Data fic 😅

🎨 favorite fanart is REALLY hard because there's so many great ones out there but fr I go back to the fantastic work @spookyshoosh has put out time and time again. I'm still obsessed with all of it. If you want a favorite, for now it's the one that's a pinned post here!

🍻 this is tough!! I feel like picking Quarks or Ten Forward is more on my mood. Do I feel like a lively party atmosphere? Quarks! Do I feel like chilling and having a nice chat over drinks? Ten Forward! So this answer will change depending on the time of day. I'll say Quarks right now. Dabo!

🎼 Blue Skies 💙 (warning: tear alert 😭)

🥺 I assume is 🥹 (they're very similar so correct me if I'm wrong!). I posted a BTS photo already but I'll pick another because there's a lot of good ones! This one isn't necessarily my FAVORITE but it's funny so here you go

[tapedsleeves]

[thekrows-nest]

I HAD A NEW IDEA FOR GABRIEL LORE, SORRY FOR SENDING SO MANY ASKS))

The room was lit up by a simple lamp, the sound of the clock ticking filled the room as Gabriel adjusted himself on the expensive looking chair under him.

"Coffee, Mr. DeRoss? I've seen your colleagues coming in and out and getting you your daily cup, multiple ones a day sometimes." The man on the other side of the table spoke up, gesturing over to someone else standing by the door and supervising the meeting.

Gabriel stared at the man for a moment with an unreadable expression as he took the man in, middle aged, white, a bit of white hair in his slicked back hair and beard. Gabriel hesitated for a moment before he nodded his head.

"I suppose I could have a cup, but we need to discuss your business, sir." Gabriel replied as his hand clicked the pen in his hand. He had been given the task of getting a meeting with the leader of a organization that was suspected of being affiliated with possibly the mafia.

The middle aged man chuckled before gesturing to the other person and they soon retrieved a cup of coffee, putting it infront of Gabriel. "Yes, yes, thats what you're for, correct? I was just hoping we could have a nice chat first before we got into the nitty gritty."

"I understand, sir. However since the rise of crime in this town is high as of lately I must try and get this over with quickly. I promise I won't take up much of your time, sir." Gabriel replied before he looked down at the coffee. He slowly picked it up and started to bring it up to his face when he suddenly caught a whiff.....Cinnamon.

Silence fell over the room as Gabriel stilled. "Is something wrong, detective?" The other man spoke up as Gabriel sat the coffee down on the table without taking a sip.

"You poisoned it." Gabriel spoke up quietly. "Cinnamon is used to cover up the smell of poison..." Gabriel reached in his pocket subtly, clicking the button to alert his other fellow colleagues.

"Ah.....Such a shame." And then suddenly the sound of a click filled the room before Gabriel could register anything happening.....

Gabriel gasped softly when he heard the click and looked around...A kitchen. He wasn't in that damn office. The source of the click came from Gabby setting Gabriels drink in front of him. He had came over to hang out after a long day at work.

He looked up, Gabby and LT at the fridge talking about something he couldn't make out...Gabriel looked down at the drink for a while as if silently examining it. He had a distanced stare for a moment, his hands slightly trembling.

".....Gabby." Gabriel finally willed himself to speak up as he looked back up at the couple a few feet away. "Can you take a sip of the drink first?" It was a common thing for him to do, despite that case being months ago now. It always stayed with him. All the cases would. The bodies would always stay in his mind. And the effects of them as well.

(Getting mini fanfics in my asks, questions that make me think long and hard on conceptualizing my characters. Pog times.)

"Finally decided to see me? Was beginning to think I had actually done something to piss you off. Or that creep got you." "Gabrielle," came LT's gentle voice from behind her and the dark haired woman gave a slight huff. "Sorry, sorry." She opened the door further to allow her friend in. "Make yourself at home."

She watched as Gabriel sat down on the couch in the living room, and it seemed like their interest was piqued by some of the books on the coffee table. Gabby left them to it while she went to the kitchen to brew some coffee and get some snacks. She hadn't asked, but knew Gabriel would appreciate it.

Getting out the beans and other things of how Gabriel liked his coffee, she didn't need to pause to look over before speaking. "I thought you would be chatting with Gabriel." "And I will, but I wanted to check in on you. You're worried." LT's voice was even, calm, with the slightest tinge of concern to it. Gabby wasn't sure how to respond. She measured out the beans and got to grinding them. As they were doing that, she got down some mugs, including the usual she used Gabriel. While they weren't over all the time, it felt wrong to not use their mug for when they were.

"I can't stop feeling like. Something bad is going to happen, and soon. Gabriel has always been busy, this city is a god damn nightmare when it comes to crime. But it's gotten worse. There's been those... murders that have been cropping up, and no one has a fucking clue who's doing it. Then there's that Krow guy." she set down the mug under the drip nozzle, the beans had stopped grinding and she pressed a button the machine for the cup to start filling. "I don't buy his 'quirky artist' demeanor for one second. Least, that is not all he is. He's a snake in the grass, LT, I just know it. Then don't get me started on fucking Eliyah--"

Hands were gently placed on her shoulders, almost instinctively, Gabrielle leaned back into LT's form, letting out a sigh and relaxing into him as his fingers worked on massaging her. "There is a lot for you to be concerned about. Your love for Gabriel runs long and deep. The more you love, the greater your concern. Nothing has happened yet, and we'll all continue to do our best to take measures from anything happening. Worrying about it now will not ensure it passes in a way you can see it, or will happen at all."

She leaned her head back to bop into his shoulder, looking towards him a bit, giving a slight groan before pulling herself up straight. "You're right. You're right. But I still hate it." LT chuckled some and let her go to put in the finishing touch's for Gabriel's drink, and followed her on out to the living room when she brought it out to them.

Gabby saw that her friend was in deep concentration, to the point they were alarmingly still. She was familiar with this. He was remembering something, a time that he still refused to give all the details about. She gently set the mug down in front of them and that seemed to almost be the motion that broke the spell. She watched as Gabriel stared at the drink, almost like it would melt or turn into something nefarious in just a split second. She didn't say anything, but waited.

"Mm?" she said with a slight head tilt when he addressed her by that damned nickname. She hated it, but Gabriel, and LT, got a pass in using it. To the request, Gabrielle just looked at him for a moment, before stooping down without a word and bringing the mug to her lips, taking a sip of it, then setting it back down.

"Your usual." she came around and sat down beside them, looking on at them concerned. "...Do you want to talk about it now?"

[yellow-rose-lady]

Morning comes quicker than Lloyd thought it would. It’s a chilly sunrise, the wind blowing around his hair. A perfect day to set sail into the sky. Taking a deep breath in and out, he readies himself.

Everything will be okay.

He’s just got to stay strong.

After waking up Arin and Sora, he starts the bounty and opens the garage door, the ship flying outside.

The fast paced air nearly blows him off the deck and he laughs, his hair whipping everywhere.

It feels like so long since he laughed like that.

It’s so relieving.

Sora and Arin tug on his pants, holding onto his legs and middle so they don’t fall backwards.

“Hold on, guys.” he chuckles and picks them both up, holding the kids closely and firmly. “I got you.”

The horizon just gets broader and broader and Lloyd smiles.

Guys I love this fic so much like this is not a joke how obsessed I am 😭 (un-cropped version under cut)

[pokespeale]

This pic has an extreme fanfiction potential

(They live rent free in my head) 

🎶 Now playing: "Back to black" by Amy Winehouse