#even when he is the show refuses to acknowledge it

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

HEARING YOU

PAIRING: robert “bob” floyd x female reader

RATING: explicit

WORD COUNT: 4225

SUMMARY:

Bob Floyd has a crush on the air traffic controller with the pretty voice.

The air traffic controller has a crush on the quiet WSO.

Nat is determined to get them to meet.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

explicit content (18+ minors do not interact), female reader insert, no use of y/n, not beta read, reader is an air traffic controller at NAS north island (take the jargon with a grain of salt), very requited crush, flirty jake seresin, wingwoman natasha, light alcohol consumption, semi-public sex (bob’s truck), making out, dry humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk.

The sky is just barely starting to lighten from an inky black to mottled blue when you swipe into the Cab, floor-to-ceiling windows giving you a bird’s eye view of the airfield below. It’s quiet this morning, conversation dialed to a low murmur. You get a few nods of acknowledgement as the door closes behind you with a soft click and you cross the room to your console, setting your travel mug of coffee down and tapping your workstation awake.

“We’ve got Dagger Squad again this morning,” your coworker, Jason, says with a yawn, rolling his chair beside yours. “Last drill of the week.”

You hum. “Flyovers are easy. Rooster’s leading the first run.”

“Nice. At least we’ll start off strong and not with someone trying to show off before the sun is even up.”

“And by someone you mean Hangman.”

“Bingo.”

You plug your headset into the jack and lift it over your head. “Maybe if we’re lucky Maverick will knock his ego down a couple pegs.”

“A couple pegs ain’t nothin’ for that one.”

You look down at the tarmac. The Super Hornets are lined up on the apron, gleaming beneath the floodlights. There’s movement below, tiny figures in flight suits and high visibility vests going through pre-flight procedures. You’ve always thought they looked like ants from up here.

Jet engines roar to life. Ground crews start to disperse. The aviators climb into their birds and get themselves situated. You press the button on your mic.

“Dagger Squad, Tower. Runway two seven is active. Taxi via Alpha, hold short at two seven. Launch order as briefed, Rooster in the lead. Call when you’re ready,” you say, the words sharp in the quiet room.

“Tower, Dagger zero two — wilco, taxiing via Alpha,” Rooster replies.

“Not even a good morning?” A female voice asks. You chuckle.

“Good morning, Phoenix,” you say to your friend. “And good morning, Bob.”

“Oh, uh…good morning,” Bob replies. You bite your lip, fighting a smile.

Natasha’s backseater, a WSO by the name of Bob Floyd, caught your attention when he first arrived to base. He wasn’t like some of the other aviators on the newly formed squad, loud and cocky with egos to match, and he didn’t clog up your radio with unnecessary chatter. He was sure, steady, and good at his job. Nat had nothing but good things to say about him whenever his name came up in conversation.

Which, you’ll admit, it often does.

Down on the runway, Phoenix smirks, switching to intercom. “You okay back there, Bob?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks.

“Just making sure you didn’t burst into flames.”

Bob doesn’t reply, focusing instead on the systems in front of him. His cheeks are flushed, the direct result of hearing your voice over the radio — sharp, controlled, a little raspy this early in the morning.

“I could introduce you,” Nat says. “If you want.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

The first time Bob heard your voice over the radio, he knew he was in trouble. You were calm and confident, a force to be reckoned with, and when your laugh crackled through the radio, his heart started racing the same way it did during take off.

Despite never having seen you before, his crush on you took root and refused to budge. Nat, always observant, noticed it right away and has been trying to play matchmaker ever since.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to meet you. He does.

But he’s also just…Bob. Quiet, observant, a little awkward. He worries that you’d meet him and be disappointed, that maybe someone like Jake or Bradley or Javy would be a better match.

“Dagger zero two, Tower,” your voice says in his ear.

Bob shakes his head to clear his thoughts and focus on the drill, a time-on-target run that means he has to be locked in to make sure the strike lands with precision.

“Wind two nine zero at six, runway is clear.”

Bradley taxis the plane down the runway and Nat follows into position. Bob taps his fingers on his knee, the adrenaline starting to kick in.

“Tower, Dagger zero two is ready.”

“Dagger zero two, you are cleared for take-off, runway two seven. Good luck.”

The jet engine roars to life as Bradley speeds down the runway before lifting off into the sky. Nat eases the jet forward.

“Tower, Dagger zero three holding short for two. Ready.”

“Dagger zero three, cleared for take off.” There’s a brief pause before you add, “Do a flip.”

Nat laughs, the sound drowned out by the afterburners as she takes off. After climbing a few thousand feet, she spins the jet in the air. Bob’s back slams into the seat and he lets out a breathless laugh.

“I give it a six out of ten,” you say. Nat groans.

“Tough crowd,” she grumbles, veering off to join Bradley.

The two jets fly together in perfect sync, level in the sky with Bradley in the lead and Nat following close behind. Bob’s focus remains on the navigation, watching the position as they approach the waypoint.

“Dagger three, time check,” Bradley calls on the comms. “Target flyover in two minutes, mark on 0700.”

“Copy,” Nat replies.

You watch from the tower, clipboard in hand. Today’s target is unmarked, just coordinates for a spot in the ocean, making it a more difficult run than a terrain drill. The clock above your console glows red, time ticking closer to the mark. Rooster’s voice sounds over your headset.

“Tower, Dagger zero two and zero three inbound for flyover.”

“Copy, Dagger zero two. Tower standing by for time,” you call back.

“Quick push, eight knots,” Bob says to Nat. She nudges the throttle forward, picking up speed. “Perfect, hold it. We’ll be right on top.”

“I’m counting on it,” Nat replies.

Bob smiles beneath his mask and begins to count down under his breath.

Five, four, three, two—

Bradley speeds over the mark, Nat following closely behind him. You scribble the time on your clipboard.

“Dagger zero two and zero three, flyover complete. Nice job,” you tell them. “A double zero. Impressive, Bob.”

Bob blinks, surprised by the compliment. “T-thanks,” he manages to stutter.

Nat follows Bradley back towards base, keeping in tight formation. Bob’s thoughts are a loop of your praise.

“Tower, Dagger zero two and zero three inbound,” Bradley says.

“Dagger zero two, pattern is clear,” you reply.

Bradley lands first, followed by Nat, the impact of touchdown jolting Bob in his seat. The aircraft director waves them forward off the landing area and Nat steers the plane into park. The deck crew gives her the okay to kill the engine and Bob’s ears ring in the silence of the turbofan going still.

The canopy lifts and Bob removes his mask, taking a deep breath of the salty air. Ground crew gathers around the jet, going through the post-flight check. Nat unbuckles her harness and eases out of the cockpit first, climbing down the ladder with practiced efficiency.

Bob moves slowly, his stiff limbs making him feel like a newborn calf. He climbs down the ladder and joins Nat on the tarmac, tugging his helmet off and holding it in his hand. Bradley approaches, followed by Jake, Reuben, and Mickey, who are suited up for the next run.

“Damn, Baby-On-Board. That was clean,” Jake says, a heavy hand landing on Bob’s shoulder. “Don’t know if Fanboy is going to beat that.”

“If he does, I’ll buy his drinks tonight,” Nat chimes in.

“How the hell am I supposed to beat a double zero?” Mickey asks.

Nat smirks. “Exactly.”

Bradley, Bob, and Natasha return to the ready room, where Maverick already has the playback ready on the monitors.

“That might have been the cleanest run I’ve seen out of this squad. Tight formation, quick adjustments,” Maverick says with a sharp nod. “Nice job, Lieutenant Floyd.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bob replies.

After they’ve been dismissed, Nat drags Bob down to mess for breakfast. She sits across the table from him, picking at her eggs while he sips from his styrofoam cup of coffee.

“You coming out with us tonight?” She asks. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Maybe,” he replies. She lifts an eyebrow at him.

“Come on, you’ve blown us off like, three times now. That’s bad for morale.”

“You know I don’t like crowds.”

“When half the crowd is your squad, that’s hardly an excuse.”

He sighs. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

Nat gives him a wide smile.

He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in her eye.

Nat: Hard Deck tonight?

Nat: You can’t say no

Nat: I know you’re off tomorrow.

You laugh at the series of texts from Nat. You’re back in your apartment early in the afternoon, enjoying the extra downtime — a benefit of working an 0500 flight drill with the Daggers.

Yeah, I’ll come, you reply.

Later, you arrive at the Hard Deck a little earlier than Nat’s suggested time. The small bar is busy but not yet packed and you easily find a spot to squeeze into, flagging down Penny. The older woman smiles at you.

“Hey, stranger,” she says. “Long time no see.”

“Did you miss me?” You ask. She chuckles.

“‘Course I did.” She grabs a glass from beneath the bar. “The usual?”

“Please.”

You take a moment to scan the room, recognizing a few faces from around the base. By the pool tables, you spot a group of men playing a game. A tall man with neatly combed blonde hair and Navy issue glasses leans over the table, lining up a shot and sinking two solid colored balls into separate pockets.

He’s cute in that unassuming kind of way. The sleeves of his shirt highlight the lean muscle of his arms and the fabric stretches nicely over broad shoulders that dip into a narrow waist. Penny sets a drink by your elbow and you hand her some cash with a quick thank you, your attention drawn back to the man.

“Well if it ain’t the princess herself, visiting us from her tower,” a voice drawls from beside you. Jake grins at you when you look over at him, his eyes flicking down your body. “Lookin’ good, by the way.”

“Hangman,” you sigh.

Jake was the first of Nat’s squad members that you met after befriending her. He’s loudmouthed, cocky, and he flies just the same. You’ve had to correct him from the tower on more than one occasion.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” He asks, mock hurt. “Because I’m sure happy to see you, darlin’.”

You roll your eyes. “Not after the shit you pulled during your drill.”

“I was just showin’ off for you.”

“Five seconds ahead of mark isn’t anything to be proud of.”

“You wound me,” he says. The door opens and you spot Nat, waving her over.

“Save me,” you whisper loudly when she’s close enough to hear you.

“Bagman, quit bothering my favorite controller,” Nat says, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “She’s too good for you, anyway.”

“Something we can agree on,” Jake says, winking at you. “Fine. You know where to find me.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Jake disappears through the crowd, heading straight for the pool tables. He greets the men with friendly familiarity, patting each of them on the back.

“He’s relentless,” Nat says. “It would be admirable if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

Penny comes by, greeting Nat and taking her order. Your friend requests a second drink for you on her tab, despite your objections. When her beer and your fresh glass are delivered, Nat grabs your arm and drags you over to the pool tables.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away, princess,” Jake says. “You want to play?”

“I don’t know how,” you tell him. Beside you, Nat hides her laugh in her drink.

“That’s okay, I’m a real good teacher.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll give it a shot,” you relent. While Jake sets up the table, you say hello to Reuben, or Payback as you know him over the radio, the other member of Nat’s squad that you’ve met in person. You introduce yourself to the rest of the unfamiliar faces, putting names to voices and call signs.

The tall blonde man from earlier is sitting down now and you catch him staring at you before he ducks his head and focuses intently on picking the label of his beer bottle with his thumb nail. You’re about to approach him when Jake shoves a pool cue in your hands and says, “Ladies first.”

Jake is rambling on about how to play pool as you line up a shot, striking the racked balls with impressive precision, three solid balls sinking into pockets. Jake frowns across the table. You come around to his side and lean over for another shot, sinking another ball.

“Forget princess,” he grumbles. “You’re a shark.”

Some times later, the game finishes in your favor and you hand your cue to Nat to take the next game. You pat Jake on the back.

“Better luck next time, Bagman,” you tell him.

The blonde man is still sitting in the same spot. He looks up at you when you approach him, pretty blue eyes going wide.

“Hi,” you tell him. “We haven’t met yet.”

It’s you, he thinks. The air traffic controller. If he thought your voice was pretty over a staticky radio, nothing could have prepared him for hearing it in person. He’s surprised you noticed him over here — you looked like you were having a good time with Jake, destroying him in a game of pool.

He suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to respond but he’s been staring at you.

“No, uh, don’t think we have,” he says.

You take a seat on the stool beside him, keeping yourself angled towards him.

“You must be Bob,” you say, reaching a hand out and introducing yourself.

He huffs a laugh. “What gave me away?”

“You’re quiet.” You don’t say it like it’s a bad thing. Just a truth, an observation. He ducks his head and you add, “I like quiet.”

For the rest of the night, you sit beside Bob, drawn into conversation with the man. It’s a little awkward at first but once Bob starts to get comfortable, the shy WSO really starts to open up and you can’t help but be drawn to the sweet, funny guy he reveals to you.

“Well. I’ll be damned,” Jake says, watching the two of you across the room. You’re leaned in close, laughing at something Bob said, your hand on his bicep. The man looks like he’s about to combust. “Bob’s got an audience tonight.”

“I’ve been trying to make this happen for months,” Nat tells him. “Don’t you dare do anything to screw it up.”

“Roger,” he replies with a mock salute, returning his attention to the dart board.

Penny shouts for last call and Bob looks up, surprised to see how empty the bar has gotten. He checks his watch.

“I don’t remember the last time I was out this late,” he says. You smile at him.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” you tease. “But I guess it’s time to head out.”

Disappointment settles in his chest. “Right, yeah. We should…go.”

Bob walks with you out of the bar, hands shoved in his pockets so that he doesn’t give in to the intense urge to pull you into him. The air is a little colder now that the sun has set and he notices the way you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“How’re you getting home?” He asks.

“I was going to walk. My apartment isn’t too far once you get off base,” you tell him.

“I can give you a ride.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Please,” he interrupts. “It’s late and cold. My mama would be disappointed in me if I didn’t.”

You give him a soft smile. “I definitely don’t want you disappointing your mama.”

He leads you through the parking lot to his pick up truck and unlocks the doors, opening yours for you. He waits until you’ve settled into the passenger seat before shutting the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

The short ride to your apartment is quiet, the silence broken only by your occasional directions. It’s not awkward but something settles between you that makes his heart pound frantically against his ribs, blood rushing in his ears.

Bob pulls into a spot near your building, putting the truck in park. It’s late enough that your complex is quiet, the parking lot dark and empty. You unbuckle your seatbelt but you don’t reach for the door, turning to face him instead, one leg tucked beneath you.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he replies. He clears his throat. His eyes drop to your mouth, gaze drawn to your lips like a magnet.

“Are you going to kiss me, Bob?” You whisper.

“Do you want me to?” He asks, just as quiet.

You nod your head. He swallows nervously, unbuckling his seatbelt before leaning toward you and lifting a hand to cup your cheek. You tilt your head into his touch, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. His thumb drags across your bottom lip and when your mouth opens with a small sigh, he pulls you in for a kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes your blood run hot in your veins, slow and sure and deep. You shift a little closer, the center console pressing uncomfortably into your stomach but you don’t care, not enough to stop, not enough to pull away from the intoxicating warmth of his mouth. His tongue tangles with yours and there’s an unexpected confidence in the way he tilts your head to his liking, chasing the best angle.

He pulls back suddenly and before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s reaching beneath the center console flipping it up, removing the annoying barrier. You grin at him.

“That’s convenient.” He laughs, the sound a deep rumble in the quiet of the cab.

“C’mere,” he says, a little breathless, the words stringing together. You shuffle a bit closer and he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you across the seat until you’re in his lap, legs open over his thighs and the steering wheel at your back. He runs his palms up your thighs and traces the curve of your waist. “You are—god—you’re a dream, you know that?”

He says it so earnestly, like it’s an undeniable truth, and something in you cracks. You kiss him again, harder this time, a little desperate. Your hands are in his hair, messing up the neatly combed strands. He groans when you tighten your grip, his hands squeezing your hips.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, lips leaving messy kisses across your jaw, down to your neck, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Really?” You ask. He nods against you, sucking the sensitive skin over your pulse between his teeth.

“First time I heard you,” he says, “on the radio. Prettiest voice I’d ever heard, right in my ear.”

You rock your hips, moaning when you feel the hard length of him beneath you. He slips a hand beneath the hem of your t-shirt, reaching up to tug the cup of your bra down to expose the tight bud of your nipple. He pinches it lightly, making you gasp.

“Knew you’d make some pretty noises, too.”

He lifts your shirt, just enough that he can get his mouth on you. He sucks your nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around it before releasing it with an obscene pop and moving to your other breast to give it the same attention. You squirm in his lap, your core aching for friction.

Bob lifts his head, looking up at you. His hair is a mess and his blue eyes are dark behind his slightly foggy glasses, splotches of pink coloring his cheeks.

“Can I eat you out?” He asks. “Please?”

He asks so eagerly, so sweetly, that all you can do is nod your head and let him guide you down to your back on the seat beside him. His hands reach for your jeans, his fingers deftly popping the button and dragging the zipper down.

He tugs the denim over your hips and down your thighs, freeing one of your legs completely but leaving the fabric gathered in a heap around your other ankle. You sit up a little to give him some space, your back pressed to the door. He settles between your thighs, staring down at you with a hungry look in his eye.

He rests his heavy palm on your mound, dipping his thumb down to drag it over the wet spot that’s formed on the gusset of your underwear. He grazes your clit and you gasp, flexing your hips to chase the sensation. His other hand presses your hips down into the seat.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he says, voice low and steady. “You want to take care of you?”

“Mhm,” you hum, your head thumping against the car door when he draws slow circles over your clit.

He slides his hand beneath the elastic of your underwear, finally touching you. It’s lewd and messy, the way he swipes his calloused fingers over your slick heat. You can hear how wet you are, even above the blood rushing in your ears and the sound of your breathing.

He pulls your underwear down to your knees and ducks beneath them, his face close enough to your cunt that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, making you shiver in anticipation. He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, before licking through your folds with a satisfied groan.

Bob takes off his glasses, tossing them on the dash with little regard for whether they remain in one piece. He doesn’t care, he’ll get new ones if he has to.

He tastes you again, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair and he outright moans against your pussy, tongue moving faster.

You’re so on edge that you know this won’t last long, not with the way he eats you like a man who just stumbled across an oasis in a desert. You can feel the combination of spit and slick dripping to the seat below you as you grind yourself against his mouth.

“Look at me,” he says, pausing for only long enough to get the words out. You lift your head and he holds your gaze as his attention returns to your clit.

His vision is blurry without his glasses but he can still see the way your eyes roll back when he flicks his tongue just right or how your mouth drops open and the sweetest sound he’s ever heard spills from your lips when he sucks your clit between his lips and hums.

“Bob—fuck—oh my god,” you cry, trying to keep your voice low, trying to remain cognizant of the fact that you never even made it out of this man’s truck before he was between your thighs.

He slides two fingers inside of you and you moan, long and loud and desperate, that knot of release growing impossibly tighter. He drags his fingers along your front wall, hitting a spot that makes the knot unravel, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, every nerve lighting up with the euphoria of it.

Bob reaches down to press a hand to his cock, rutting into his palm. It only takes a few flexes of his hips for him to come in his pants like a teenager, sticky heat filling his boxers as he moans, his forehead pressed to your thigh.

“Holy shit,” you gasp. “That was—“

“Good?” He asks hopefully. Your answering giggle is a little wild, a little incredulous.

“Great. Amazing. Spectacular,” you assure him. He smiles against your skin.

When he’s caught his breath, he sits up and helps you get your underwear back in place. You shimmy back into your jeans, sweat damp skin making the effort more harrowing than it has any right to be. Bob reaches for his glasses and puts them on, blinking at the adjustment to his vision. Once you’re dressed, you turn towards him again.

“I can—“

“I already, uh—“

“Oh.” You bite your lip. “Maybe next time?”

“Yeah?” He asks. You nod.

“Definitely.”

You lean forward and he meets you halfway, capturing your lips with his, matching wide smiles making it less of a kiss and more of a shared breath. You pull back, reaching up to smooth his hair into place.

“Where’s your phone?” You ask. He reaches into his back pocket for it, handing it to you.

You dial your number and save it into his contacts. “Call me tomorrow.”

“Yes m’am,” he answers.

You give him one last lingering kiss before opening the passenger door and hopping out of his truck, shutting the door behind you. He doesn’t start the truck until he sees you disappear through one of the apartment doors.

As he’s driving home, his phone pings with a new message. He checks it when he’s back on base.

Nat: You’re welcome, btw.

Thank you for reading! 💕

LINKS

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[writtendaydreamm]

Exam Room 6

Summary: A seemingly boring day at work takes an unexpected turn that could change Langdon’s life forever when he walks in on Y/n in Exam Room 6.

Word count: 8,959

Author’s note: Big thank you to @itsthelastcatastro-phe for submitting this idea.

Any comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

Restless and antsy, Langdon couldn’t keep still. Sat at the nurses station charting, his leg bounced up and down, up and down. He was never good with being idle.

The nearly empty energy drink on the desk wasn’t helping either. It probably wasn’t the best idea to have a second so soon after he finished his first, but it was just one of those days. It wasn’t even noon yet and he already needed a pick-me-up.

It wasn’t that the ED was slow—it never was. The waiting room was packed, they were short on beds, staff was stretched too thin. Pretty much business as usual. 

But that was the problem. 

These past few days he'd been blessed by the ED Gods getting to perform all the emergency -otomies—thoracotomies, tracheotomies, cricothyrotomies, you name it—that as a med student he’d have wet dreams about. Still high off the emergency fasciotomy he did yesterday, he hoped to ride this feeling straight into his weekend. 

It wasn’t looking like that would be the case though. The minutes dragged, and so did the cases that came through. The most exciting thing to happen so far was the NG tube he put in and was charting now. Granted the day was still young, but the fact he even had the time to sit and chart goes to show just how slow time was going by. He needed something exciting and dramatic to happen, and soon. 

Tossing the now empty energy drink in the trash can behind him, Langdon took the opportunity to scan the floor for any incoming EMS arrivals he could nab. What he ended up catching was the eye of an anxious looking intern.

Whitaker approached him needing help with his patient, a sixteen year old girl in Exam Room 6 with a facial laceration. Still just an intern, he needed an attending or senior resident to supervise the stitching. 

It was just Langdon’s luck he happened to be the first one Whitaker spotted. Turning back to the computer screen to finish up his charting, Langdon scoffed to himself.

Great, babysitting. 

—

One whiff was all it took.

The patient had barely unwrapped the tuna sandwich Y/n handed him when her throat started to contract and her mouth began to coat itself in saliva preparing itself for what was coming. Quickly excusing herself, she rushed to the nearest restroom. 

Bent over the toilet, staring down at the contents of her breakfast, Y/n knew it was time. 

She snuck into the first empty exam room she could find, closed the curtains and flipped the ultrasound machine on. Knowing she only had a few moments of privacy before someone would eventually need the room, she worked quickly. The cold gel smeared haphazardly across the bare skin of her stomach sent a chill up her spine. The chill spread rapidly across every inch of her body as the live imaging of her own uterus popped up on the screen. 

She knew what to expect, even braced herself for it, but seeing it with her own two eyes was startling nonetheless. 

Examining the embryo on the screen, she was left frozen in place seeing how much larger it was than she anticipated. A pit of dread opened in her stomach, growing wider and wider by the second, threatening to swallow her whole from the inside out.

When she first missed her period, she immediately entered denial. She pushed it out of her mind, refusing to acknowledge the slightest possibility of pregnancy under the superstitious notion that if she did, it would come to fruition—as if biology wasn’t the dictator of that. Even after the positive at-home tests, she continued to run and hide from dealing with this, telling herself she had time to think about what she wanted to do. That was until today of course, when a bout of morning sickness hit her hard enough to knock some sense into her. 

Staring at the screen in front of her, there was no way she could keep avoiding this. Time was running out on the game of back and forth her heart and mind were having. 

She needed to decide, before it was too late for to make a decision at all—was she keeping it or not?

—

Outside of Exam Room 6, Langdon could see the curtain inside was drawn closed. He figured it must’ve been one real gnarly gash on this poor girl’s face if they were hiding it from anyone on the outside looking in. 

His knuckles knocked politely against the wooden door before entering to find an oddly quiet room. No voices, no rustling, not as much as a peep came from behind the curtain.

Langdon rolled his eyes thinking Whitaker must’ve given him the wrong location. Regardless, he announced himself before drawing the curtains open to check if anyone was there. Expecting to see an empty room, what he saw instead sent him into a state of shock. 

In front of the ultrasound machine was Y/n, holding her scrub top up with one hand while the other held the probe against her lower abdomen, and on the monitor, the most jarring detail of all, was an embryo roughly 8-9 weeks along. 

Y/n had been staring so intently at the monitor, the sound of her own deafening thoughts drowned out his knocks. It took his voice and the loud rattling of the curtain rings against one another to grab her attention. Turning over her shoulder to see him standing there wide eyed with his jaw on the floor, sent a wave of panic through her so strong she swore she would have thrown up right then and there if she still had anything left to throw up.

She put down the probe and shut off the machine in a hurry. But it was too little too late. The black and white image had already ingrained itself in Langdon’s mind. 

In a rush to wipe the gel off her stomach, she cursed under her breath, getting it all over her hands. Langdon moved mindlessly, handing her more paper towels. As she took them from him gratefully, their hands brushed against each other, and like a jerk reaction, their eyes locked.

Always so confident and sure of herself, especially here at work, it was unnerving to see Y/n look like a deer in headlights. It brought Langdon back to their second year of residency—the only other time he can recall her looking as shaken as she was now—when she couldn’t remember if she gave the correct dose to the correct patient. Patient A in Central 8 needed 2mg of morphine and Patient B, just next door in Central 9, needed 0.2mg of dilaudid. It was late, they were all tired and Y/n panicked looking down at the empty vials in her hand worried she just gave Patient B 2mg of dilaudid instead of 0.2—a deadly dose.

Before him now, she was a spitting image of her younger self then, paled faced and trembling in fear. His initial shock wore off at the sight, and the gravity of the situation sunk in.

“You’re pregnant?” he blurted out in disbelief as the image of the embryo danced around in his head tauntingly.

He was really starting to regret those energy drinks right about now. All that caffeine and sugar exacerbated his body’s response to the stress and inhibited his ability to cope with it. His vision blurred for a second and a cold, nervous sweat spread across his back. His head was spinning trying to wrap itself around this bombshell. It would’ve been wise to wait for it to come to a still before he opened his mouth. But that sort of wisdom required patience, and at the moment he had none. He needed answers, now.

“How far along?” 

She shrugged. “About 9 weeks?”

“When did you find out?”

Y/n inhaled sharply debating how to respond. The truth���that she’d been sitting on not one, but two positive at-home pregnancy tests for almost two weeks now—would undoubtedly send him reeling. She could lie and say she just found out. It would be much easier if she did. But her conscience was heavy enough with the guilt of keeping this from him. And now with the additional guilt of having him find out so unceremoniously? It was time to come clean.

A sick feeling rumbled in his stomach waiting for her to respond. “Y/n, when did you find out?” 

"Not that long ago," she downplayed it.

“How long?”

“A week or so.”

“A week or so?” 

“Maybe closer to two weeks actually…” she admitted in a low voice. 

“Two weeks?” He blinked hard, waiting for her to correct him because surely he heard her wrong. 

Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.

“Two weeks,” he repeated, mostly for himself as he processed what that meant.

Y/n watched with bated breath as his expression soured, going from confused, to offended before finally landing on anger.

His heart raced from both the energy drinks and his rising blood pressure. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to take in a deep breath to blow out the anger he could feel starting to burn in his chest. But the fire was too wild to tame, and the breath he took only served to fan the flame. 

“Are you serious?” he blew up. “You’ve known for two weeks, and haven’t said a word about it?” He went on before she could even get a word in. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you keep this from me?”

Overwhelmed and frustrated, she cradled her head. This is why she didn't tell him. She had her own complicated feelings about being pregnant to sort through without having to worry about Langdon’s stake in all this as well. 

“I don’t know. Okay?” she groaned. “It wasn’t exactly news I was ready to share with anyone else-”

“I’m not just anyone else, Y/n. I’m the father for fuck sake—I mean, I am? Right? The father?” 

It was a low blow, and he knew that. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the baby was his. But he was angry, and wanted to make sure she felt it.

And he succeeded. Y/n's eyes flashed red. “Wow. Really?” 

“Or do we need to wait another couple weeks and do another set of tests till we know for sure?” 

“Oh, that’s real fucking rich Frank.” 

“No, Y/n. What’s rich is you always harping on about having open and honest communication, and then keeping a whole pregnancy from me. When were you gonna tell me, hmm? When you start showing? Or when you push out a baby in nine months?” 

“I don’t even know if there’s even going to be a baby to push out in nine months,” she snapped.

The energy in the room shifted instantly. Her sobering words quelled the anger they’d both been spewing at one another.

Before either of them could say anything else, a staticky voice came on suddenly over the intercom.

Code Orange. I repeat, Code Orange. Calling all available staff, please report to the ED. Mass casualty incident, patients en route.

—

When Langdon said he wanted something exciting and dramatic to happen, he didn’t expect all this. Finding out Y/n was pregnant was enough excitement and drama as it was. To top it off with a mass casualty incident moments later was just rubbing salt in the wound.

But he asked for it, so the universe delivered.

Any prior concerns about the day dragging were put to rest. Time was flying by now, in a flurry of guts and gore. One of the city’s busiest highways collapsed sending more mangled and bloodied patients through their doors than he could keep track of.

The ED had transformed into one large trauma center, every corner, every open space occupied by machines, beds, patients and staff.

Stationed in the red zone—where triage sent patients with the most critical, life-threatening injuries—Langdon was right in the thick of it. Alarms and monitors going off. Cries and screams coming from all directions. Blood-covered staff yelling back and forth, struggling to communicate over everything. 

He maneuvered through it all expertly, making tough calls others wouldn’t have the nerve to, flying by the seat of his pants as supplies dwindled. As morbid as it was to say, he should’ve been basking in the chaos, reveling in the rush. He couldn’t though, not fully. 

Not when each time he took his eyes off the patient in front of him, they always found Y/n. No matter how far or near she happened to be. No matter how briefly he looked away. Like a compass always finds north, his eyes always managed to find her. His mind flashing back to Exam Room 6 and their conversation left hanging there, each time they did.

As Langdon stepped back from his patient, checking their vitals after securing a makeshift tourniquet on their leg, his eyes landed on her again. She was just two beds ahead of him working on a chest decompression. 

Looking at her, he wondered how he had missed the signs. Replaying the past couple of weeks in hindsight, he realized the signs were definitely there. He just never gave any of them a second thought assuming there were reasonable explanations for it all. That time he caught her vomiting? The Chinese takeout that had been sitting in the fridge for the past week. The fatigue and headaches? Long hours at work. The out-of-character moodiness? Probably PMS. 

Pregnancy never crossed his mind at all. Had he been subconsciously turning a blind eye? Or had he really just been that oblivious? 

Either way, he didn’t deserve to find out the way he had. What he deserved was to hear it from her directly, as soon as she found out. He was the father of the baby and had a right to know. He wondered if he hadn’t walked in on her then, when would he have found out.

“Patient’s stable,” Mateo confirmed, grabbing Langdon’s attention. 

Tearing both his eyes and mind off of Y/n, Langdon looked down at the patient's blood stained leg. The tourniquet had stopped the bleeding for now, but it won’t work for long. This patient needed an OR. He pulled up the bed rails, prepping to help move the patient towards surgery when Mel called out for help. Nodding at Mateo to take things from here, Langdon jogged over to Mel. 

About to ask Mel what was going on, a voice he knew too well beat him to it. Standing at the foot of the patient’s bed was Y/n. The pair sized each other up. Even in the midst of all the pressure they were under, even with the events of Exam Room 6 on the back of both their minds, their competitive nature took precedence.

“Dibs,” Y/n said. 

Langdon scoffed. “You don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet.” 

“Don’t need to. The patient's impaled with a metal rod. I want it.”

“Too bad. I want it too,” he challenged. 

Eyes locked, they dared the other to back down. Their steely stares were clearly more than just about the patient. Something Mel—who had been eyeing them both curiously—picked up on pretty quick.

It became clear neither of them were going to back down, so Mel went ahead and gave them both the rundown. The patient before them was brought in with a rod running right through his abdomen. He was stable upon rescue and waiting for an OR, but his blood pressure started dropping steadily. 

“Seems like an internal bleed,” Y/n suggested.

“The FAST exam earlier was negative,” Mel said.

“The rod doesn't look stabilized though. Could’ve nicked a vessel if he shifted or moved. It’s gotta be tamponading something,” Langdon said. “What’s your next move, Dr. King.”

“Uh, let’s do another FAST again to rule out internal bleeding for certain,” Mel offered. 

“What do you say Dr. L/n, should we do the FAST now or wait? Say, maybe two weeks?” Langdon asked, smothered in sarcasm.

Mel turned to him horrified at the suggestion. 

“Just ignore him,” Y/n told Mel.

“You’re good at that aren’t you,” Langdon muttered.

“Just about as good as you are at being an asshole.”

Head whipping from Y/n to Langdon and back again, following their verbal volley, Mel tried to reel them back to the task at hand. “So, FAST exam—yes?” 

“Well, what do you think, Dr. L/n?” 

“I think you should grow up,” Y/n replied, rolling the ultrasound machine around the bed to Mel, shoulder checking him in the process. 

Not expecting her to put as much power into it as she did, Langdon lost his balance for a second. He stumbled back a step bumping into Mateo walking behind him, who in turn bumped into Dr. Robby. 

Having heard all of Y/n and Langdon’s conversation, Robby had enough. Busy bagging his patient he scolded them over his shoulder sharply. “Both of you grow up.”

Langdon and Y/n exchanged embarrassed looks as Robby went on about expecting more from senior residents. The shame stung but it was short lived as Mel brought their attention to the FAST exam results.

Taking a closer look at the screen, they spotted free fluid indicating the patient did indeed have an internal bleed. And like Langdon suggested, the rod itself must have been lodged right against the source of the bleed, acting as a plug, keeping the patient from bleeding out totally. 

“Looks like it’s a slow bleed, if we can stabilize this rod and manage his vitals this till surgery takes-” Langdon was saying before the patient’s rough, bloody coughing cut him off. 

The three stared at the patient in horror knowing nothing good could come from that. Immediately, monitors started going off. The patient’s jolting cough agitated the rod. What was a contained, slow bleed turned into a full on blood bath in a matter of seconds.

“He’s bleeding out fast. BP’s tanking now,” Mel said.

“Slow bleed you were saying?” Y/n jabbed at Langdon, before calling out for a crash cart. 

Despite their bickering, the pair locked in immediately.

“I need two units of O-neg,” Langdon told the nurse jumping in to help. 

“Get surgery on the line. They need to open up an OR, now,” Y/n instructed Mel. 

Whatever personal issues they had with one another were pushed to the side. They worked together effortlessly, moving alongside each other with practiced coordination, like a dance only they knew the steps to. After piles of gauze, dressing, tape and honestly anything else they could get their hands on to keep the rod as still as possible, they managed to secure it in place, hopefully preventing any more damage. 

The monitor’s beeps drilling in their ears finally stopped as the bleeding slowed and the patient's BP climbed towards an acceptable range. 

“You two make a good team,” Mel beamed, securing the additional large bore IV on the patient.

Langdon shot Y/n a satisfied smirk. 

Standing beside him, Y/n didn’t say a word, didn't even look in his direction. She didn’t need to though. The small smile breaking the straight face she fought to keep was enough for him. The friction between them was replaced momentarily with fondness. It was through toil and tears that they built the teamwork they had. The dizzying highs and devastating lows of their first few years of residency bonded them first as close colleagues, then as even closer friends, before their eventual and inevitable romantic relationship ensued.

“She’s right. We do make a good team,” he said. 

He should’ve just shut his mouth there and let them have this moment. It was a much needed piece of positivity in all the suffering they were surrounded by, in all the uncertainty between them. But Langdon just couldn’t help himself. If he was anything, he was an incessant smartass.

“That is when we communicate at least,” he added. 

Y/n threw her head back. The comment was unnecessary but more irritating than that, it reminded her of the one thing she'd been glad to forget. These past few hours working nonstop gave her the escape from reality she needed. She was too preoccupied to think about anything other than saving the lives in her hands. For just a little while, she could forget about the ultrasound, about the big decision she had to make, about Langdon, about all of it, and just focus on what she does best—her job. And until her job here was done, she was not willing to hear or discuss anything unrelated to that.

In her annoyance, she made a show of ripping off her gloves and isolation gown before walking away briskly. 

“Is she okay?” Mel asked, worried she may have had a role in Y/n’s evident displeasure. 

Watching Y/n disappear in the bustle of bodies and beds, Langdon sighed.

“I don’t know.”

—

Finally. 

The relief Y/n felt finally getting to use the restroom was almost orgasmic. 

The only way she was even able to hold it in as long as she had was because of all the adrenaline pumping through her. She’s had to pee for what felt like the past four hours now. And considering as of late, she’s been running to the toilet at least four times in one hour—just another early sign of pregnancy she'd been brushing off—it was needless to say her bladder felt like it was about to explode the second she burst into the restroom.

Washing her hands, she glanced at herself in the mirror. And what a vison she was. Flyaways stuck out any which direction. Sunken eyes accentuated by the dark circles forming from exhaustion. A dull ache pulsed on the soles of her feet having well surpassed her steps-per-day goal. She couldn’t imagine having to go through all this physical and emotional labor at work, then having to go home to labor over the unpredictable and demanding needs of a baby. 

Her own words replayed in her head. 

I don’t even know if there’s even going to be a baby to push out in nine months.

Looking at the facts, there was no way she could have a baby now. She and Langdon couldn’t keep that damn goldfish they won at the fair alive, how could they be expected to keep a baby alive. Let alone raise it without irreparably fucking it up somehow along the way. 

Aside from that, having a baby now, at this point in her life, would flip her world upside down. Everything would change—her body, her career, her priorities, basically her life as she knew it—and not necessarily for the better. 

The answer was obvious. 

Except that it wasn’t. 

The answer to life altering decisions like this were never laid out plainly in black and white. These decisions were painstakingly nuanced, painted with varying shades of gray. 

This unexpected pregnancy was no different. It was like a blob of gray paint splattered across all her carefully planned brush strokes. And the man who walked through the bathroom door just as she was about to leave, was like a paint brush smearing that ugly gray across the canvas of her future, making a murky muddled-up mess of it.

“Are you alright?” Langdon asked. 

Do I look like I’m alright, she thought. She almost said it too, still upset with him for the things he said to her and the way he had been acting. But hearing the genuine concern in his voice, she held back her bite.

“What, are you following me now?” she accused instead. First the exam room, now the bathroom. It was a valid question.

“I saw you rushing in here, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

"It's the bathroom,” she said matter-of-factly. “I had to use it.”

“Right…” he trailed off.

Sensing that there was more, much more, he was about to say, she started towards the door in hopes of getting by him before he could find his words. 

“Well, if you’ll excuse me.” 

She didn’t make it far before his hand grabbed her elbow, keeping her in place. “Don’t be like that, Y/n. Can we talk? Please.”

In the little bit of down time he had—between jumping from one patient to the next—he began to regret how everything went down in Exam Room 6, then with the impalement case. He let his emotions and his temper get the best of him. Embarrassed and ashamed about it all, he just wanted to clear the air. He hated when they fought. 

Whenever they butted heads there was never a winner. Just two losers with throbbing head aches. And worse than the fighting was what came afterwards. The awkwardness, the tension, the skirting around each other. He couldn’t stand it. Like a shirt tag sewn in perfectly to poke at you every chance, Langdon learned early on to save them both the discomfort and just yank it out at the source straight away. And in this case, that meant talking things out as soon as possible.

Not exactly in the mood to talk, Y/n wanted to yank her arm out of his hand and storm out of there. But she didn’t. His hold on her was just too strong—literally but more importantly, figuratively. His pleading eyes, and the way her name slipped through his lips, dripping in desperation in that low voice that made her knees buckle, held her right where she was.

They should talk. They needed to. But this wasn’t exactly the time or the place to sort out their issues. While things had slowed down considerably out on the floor, they were still on the clock and not to mention in the middle of an active mass casualty incident.

“Can we just please get through this shift first?” she pleaded. “We have a lot to talk about that I don’t think we can get through in the span of a bathroom break.”

Langdon relented, nodding thoughtfully. He should’ve let her go then. Let them both get back to work. But his grip on her remained as he closed what little space was left between them. He expected her to run out the door and dodge his attempt at affection like she’d been dodging him all day on the floor. However, to his surprise, she stood in place as his other hand cupped her cheek, tilting her head up, urging her to see the apology written across his face. 

Maybe it was the hormones, or the love in his eyes as he looked down at her like she was his whole world, or the way they were literally made for each other, their bodies fitting perfectly against one another as he pulled her into him. It was hard to say. But whatever it was, had Y/n leaning into his touch, chasing the familiar warmth of his embrace. Burying her face into his chest, the steady, calm beating of his heart eased the tightness in her chest. He rubbed her back soothingly, as her shoulders, tensed up so high they almost touched her ears, relaxed, falling in tandem with the long deep breath she let out. Having been in fight-or-flight mode all day long, there was nowhere else she’d rather be than here, in his arms. 

And she hated it. Hated how being in his arms made her feel so content but somehow still so desperate for more of him. Hated how needily she clung onto him like he’d slip away if she let up. Hated how she could never stand her ground when it came to him. She was supposed to be mad at him. He had been mean, unprofessional, and just plain annoying. But how could she stay mad when he knew exactly how to comfort her, when he was probably the only one who could. 

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been standing there like that. Time always seemed to suspend itself whenever they were in each other’s arms. He would’ve stayed there with her like this for as long as she’d let him. But she was right earlier—they still had a shift to get through. And the faster they get through it, the faster they’d get to finally having this much needed conversation. 

“Alright. Let’s get back out there,” he said. Pressing a tender kiss on forehead, he released her from his arms reluctantly.

“At least things are winding down finally,” Y/n said, as they stepped back onto the floor.

But what they were met with was the exact opposite of that. Things hadn’t winded down—they were ramping back up. Doctors and nurses shuffled equipment around trying to accommodate the wave of new patients triage was sending in.

Y/n started to worry they'd been sent back in time somehow. Things were looking just as chaotic as they had when the first batch of victims came through. She asked Dr. Mohan, who had been zooming past them, what was going on. It turns out there was a whole busload of victims recently dug out of the debris by search and rescue coming through triage now. 

Speed-walking to the nearest cabinet for fresh sets of PPE, Langdon whispered to Y/n. “Winding down, you were saying?” 

—

The sun had already set by the time the morning shift finally clocked out for the day. Dark purples and blues painted the sky as they lugged one tired foot in front of the other, leaving the PTMC behind them to enjoy whatever was left of their day. 

A group of nurses and doctors usually cracked a cold one at the park across the street after work. Especially so after rough, long shifts like this one. 

Langdon joined in tonight, needing a bit of liquid courage. On the bench sitting beside Robby, Langdon tried to enjoy the banter and booze but he was only partially present. His mind was still stuck on Y/n, constantly craning his neck checking the hospital doors to see if she'd come out yet.

“Waiting for someone,” Robby teased, knowing exactly who that someone was. Glancing down at his watch, Robby let out at a curious hum. “She should’ve been out by now.”

Langdon shrugged, taking a swig of his beer at the mention of her. “She’s probably still charting. You know what she’s like. Always the overachiever.”

“You’re right about that,” Robby chuckled. “And that is exactly why I’ve been pushing her to apply for the PCCM fellowship over at Pittsburgh General.”

The warmth he was feeling from the alcohol turned cold. 

“You have?” Langdon asked, unable to hide his surprise. Not at the fact that Robby would suggest such a thing to Y/n. Why wouldn’t he? She was the perfect candidate. No. Langdon was surprised because this was the first he was hearing about it. 

Deep creases formed on Langdon’s forehead and Robby realized he might’ve just revealed something he shouldn’t have. Immediately, he went into damage control, not wanting to be the cause of a rift between the couple. “Yeah, but just recently y’know. She probably hasn’t even had the time to really think about it yet.”

“Right,” Langdon nodded unconvinced, mentally adding another item to the list of things Y/n had been keeping from him.

“Speaking of the devil,” Robby said, spotting Y/n walking towards the group. 

Princess offered Y/n a beer from the cooler. The frosty can glowed pulling Y/n in, practically calling out her name. Without thinking she went for it. She needed this, something to take the edge off after everything today. About to click it open, she stopped herself right before the tab punctured the mouth open remembering that she was pregnant. How ironic that the exact reason she wanted the beer so bad was also the reason why she couldn’t have it.

Hiding her disappointment, Y/n handed the can back to Princess. “On second thought, I’ll pass,” 

“You sure? It’s nice and cold,” Princess insisted, waving the can enticingly.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Not tonight,” y/n shook her head. “I actually just came looking for Langdon.”

Everyone whooped and hollered in good fun as Langdon got up to meet her. The group couldn’t pass up a chance to give their resident lovebirds a hard time. Little did they know the pair were already going through it, on the cusp of having one of the hardest conversations they’ve ever had. 

—

Walking home was something Langdon and Y/n always looked forward to. All cozy and snug, his arm draped over her shoulders, hers wrapped around his back. Nothing but smiles and laughter, talking about what they should grab for dinner or debating who had the most gruesome case that day. 

Tonight, though? The walk home was anything but cozy and snug.

The crisp evening breeze was cold enough without the frigid, awkward silence filling the large gap between them as they walked so far apart it almost looked like they didn’t even know each other. They’d only exchanged a few words. Langdon pointing out that divot on the sidewalk she always seems to miss. Y/n asking if he ate anything, offering him the granola bar in her bag.

Other than that, silence. It was suffocating.

All the thoughts, all the questions, all the feelings bottled up inside clawed relentlessly at his throat looking for an escape, desperate to be voiced. But he soldiered on—though he wasn’t sure how much longer he could—because as badly as they needed to have this conversation, it was best he let her start things off. He'd already shoved his foot in his mouth one too many times today as it was.

So he suffered in the silence, holding onto her promise that they’d talk about things once their shift was over. A promise she had yet to deliver on it despite being a few blocks away from the hospital and well past since their shift had ended.

Beside him Y/n could hear each of his angsty footsteps. She could feel the heat of his gaze as he'd peek at her from the side of his eye. She could see the vein on the side of his neck protruding ever so slightly from the strain of it all.

She wanted say something. But there was just so much to be said between them, Y/n didn’t even know where to begin.

Reaching a physical impasse, as an orange net enclosed a construction zone blocking their usual shortcut home, Langdon took it as a sign. They couldn’t keep going on like this.

Forced to close the gap between themselves, now practically glued together as the detour led them onto a narrow sidewalk, Langdon made an attempt at light small talk, hoping to ease into the real conversation they need to have. At risk of shoving his foot in his mouth again he—as lightheartedly and as politely as he could muster—asked her what held her up so long back in the hospital. It was meant to be an innocent question. Little did he know what a loaded question it actually was. 

“I was up in the OB,” she paused, “Making an appointment.”

“For what exactly?” Langdon asked, stretching the words out slowly, hesitantly. Like he was afraid to ask, because honestly he was.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’ve had two weeks,” he scoffed under his breath. 

It took two steps forward till he felt the loss of her presence, a gust of the wind blowing through the space beside him where she was supposed to be. He winced, tasting the bottom of his foot in his mouth again.

He didn’t mean to pick a fight. But in fairness, it was the truth. She’d known for two weeks now. Which he felt was more than enough time to think things through. It’s not like she could wait much longer anyway. If she was nine weeks along like she said, the window to make a decision was closing fast. 

Turning to face her, he was met with her face scrunched in anger and annoyance. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warned her. “You’re the one with an appointment you’re not even sure what for.”

That eye roll she gave him—as if he's in the wrong here—was all it took to push him off the edge. He wanted to go about this calmly, wanted to have a conversation not an argument. But he couldn't do it anymore. The eye roll unlocked the floodgates, letting loose everything he'd been holding in.

“You had two weeks,” he said, the words punctuating each step he took towards her. 

Here we go, Y/n thought arms crossed, heels dug into the ground bracing herself for the onslaught. She just felt bad for whoever lived in the townhome they stopped in front of because they were about to get the brunt of it all too.

“Two weeks, Y/n?" he said, holding two fingers up for emphasis. "You had two weeks to tell me. And that's how I find out? Walking in on you giving yourself an ultrasound because some intern forgot what room he was in.”

“I didn't mean for you to find out like that,” she argued.

“Well how did you mean for me to find out? Matter of fact when? I mean were you even going to tell me at all? Do I not have the right to at least know?”

“Yes,” she said, “But it's so much more complicated than that. I still don’t even know what the fuck I’m going to do. There’s a lot of things I need to factor in-”

“Yeah, I know,” he interjected spitefully. “Like that fellowship Robby’s been pushing you to go for.”

Her stomach dropped. “How do you know about that?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know. What matters is that you didn’t tell me about that either,” he said sharply. “I mean what else are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing-”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t know how many more secrets I can take.”

Y/n's heart ached hearing the hurt in his voice. The angry yelling she could handle. But not this. She wasn’t ready for this.

“Frank,” she pleaded, trying to reach out to him. But he pulled back from her touch. 

“I thought that we told each other everything. I don’t know what’s worse. You not telling me about the pregnancy, or you not feeling safe enough to come to me about this.”

“It’s not you,” Y/n tried to explain, swallowing growing lump in her throat, “Well, it is you. But not like that.”

“Then, like what Y/n?” he asked, throwing his arms out exasperatedly. “Because you’ve been basically lying to me for the past two weeks. Acting like everything is all normal and we’re all good. Meanwhile you were hiding these life changing decisions from me. The fellowship? The pregnancy?”

She was speechless, searching for the right words as he went on.

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out why you would keep this shit from me. And I can’t understand for the fucking life of me Y/n. I really can’t. Did I do something to make you feel like you couldn’t tell me? Do you not trust me or something?”

“I trust you. I trust you with my life,” she said, finally and fervently. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It's me.”

Langdon shook his head at her incredulously, struggling to understand.

“I couldn’t trust myself to make the right decision if I told you about it because I already know what you’d want,” she explained. “So I kept pushing it off till I knew what I wanted before-”

“Woah, woah. You do not know what I want,” he corrected her sternly. 

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“It’s real bold of you to tell me what I want,” he argued, growing upset by her baseless presumption.

“I see that look on your face whenever your with your nieces and nephews, whenever there’s a baby within a 10 foot radius.” 

“What face? I don’t make a face.”

“Yes you do,” she insisted. “A face like you can’t wait to have your own.“

Then it clicked. Her words and her actions all started to make sense.

They’d talked about kids before and while, yes he’d expressed how much he oved kids and looked forward to being a father one day, ultimately they were on the same page and in no rush.

Neither of them were ready for the responsibility, the sacrifice, the lifelong commitment having a kid meant. So the fact she was pregnant had him scared shitless. They weren’t married yet—not even engaged. Rather than a house, with a white picket fence all they had was a one-bed-one-bath apartment with a rusty fire escape. They both worked crazy, long hours. Both had a couple more years of residency left to finish. They had no business having a baby. 

And all that to say, even despite every reason they shouldn't, the thought of having a baby with Y/n made his heart swell big enough to think maybe they should. Imagining a little human with the best of her and the best of him. His eyes, her hair. His nose, her lips.

He can’t deny he wanted that. And he also can’t deny that it would be shitty to be presented the possibility of having that, only to have it ripped from him.

But he would never, ever impress his own wants onto her or pressure her into anything. It was her body and her choice. He would respect whatever she decided. She had to know this.

“Baby, you know I would never ever make you do anything you don’t want to do-”

“No, I know that. I know you would never do it intentionally,” she assured him. “But knowing how much you want this? I can’t bear you resenting me if I decided not to keep it.”

Langdon shook his head hard, mouth open ready to disagree but she didn’t give him the chance.

“Even if you say you won’t, you will, at least a little. So I couldn't tell you till I was sure one way or the other, because if I told you, and I saw your eyes light up even the tiniest bit, the decision would’ve been made right then. There’s no way I could take this away from you.”

“Y/n, listen to me,” he said, grabbing her shoulders, forcing her to face him, to see how gravely serious he was. “Fuck me. Alright? Fuck me. Fuck my feelings. Fuck whatever you think I want. 

“I am a nonfactor in this decision. And I will support you whether you decide to keep it or not. Do I want to have kids with you? Yes. God, yes. I wanna have as many kids with you as you’ll let me. But only if you want to have them, and whenever it is you want to have them.”

Tears brimmed her eyes as he went on.

“You being pregnant now doesn’t change my mind about that,” he swore. “I promise you, I could never resent you for making the best decision for yourself.”

The streetlight above cast a shadows over her face hiding the tears that fell. But he caught them anyway, wiping them gently with his thumb as he held her face.

“I love you, Y/n. And all I want is the best for you—whatever that is.”

Too choked up by her own sobs to reply, she simply nodded. Her tears stained his jacket as she rode out the wave of emotions that tore through her, pressed against his chest. Langdon’s arms held her impossibly close, continuing to assure her. 

“I’ve got your back. No matter what.” 

—

Shit.

Langdon was late. Tugging on the stethoscope around his neck, he paced in the empty elevator. 

He was only going up five floors but it felt like fifty. The digital screen above took an excruciating amount of time to change from one floor to the next. Langdon glared at it wondering how they could possibly have such a slow elevator in a trauma hospital where time was always of the essence. Before he could harp on it further, the doors finally opened up to the OB. 

Sparing a glance at his watch, he began jogging through the halls, mentally beating himself up for letting time slip away from him. 

He doesn’t know how, when he had been actively checking the clock every other minute. But things happen scary fast down in the ED. Some days, you blink and an hour passes.

He was right in the middle of a hip reduction with Collins when he spotted the clock from across the room showing it was already 1:51.

Y/n’s appointment was at 2.

Collins gave him a funny look when he asked her—though it wasn’t much of a question, more so him just telling her—to take things from here. She pushed him for details, not falling for his excuse of needing a lunch break—he never ate lunch. Already halfway to the door, he waved her off pretending not to hear what she was saying.

The OB floor was quiet and calm. The total opposite of the noisy chaos he was used to in the ED. It only served to worsen the nerves already starting to take hold of him. 

Hoping to still find y/n sitting there in the waiting room, instead he was met with strange stares from a bunch of pregnant women as he barged in suddenly and out of breath. 

Shaky hands smoothed down the mess of dark hair that had fallen out of place in his haste as the nurse led him to the exam room y/n was waiting in. 

His nerves intensified seeing y/n laying on the exam table peacefully. Eyes closed, hands clasped together resting on her stomach. No one would’ve guessed she was moments away from making a life altering decision. He promised to be here for support. But what kind of support was he if a) he was late and b) more nervous she was. 

“You’re late,” she said, not bothering to open her eyes.

Despite the annoyance in her voice, she didn’t turn away when he pressed a kiss to her head. He was about to apologize and explain his tardiness when two loud knocks came from the other side of the door.

Shortly after, an ultrasound tech walked in with a smile, greeting them both as she took her place behind the ultrasound machine. She and Y/n went over her vitals and medical history before beginning. 

Langdon squeezed y/n’s hand for support. Whether it was more for him or her, he wasn’t entirely sure. He just knew that in that moment it felt right. 

“Before I start, would you like me to keep the sound on or off?” the tech asked Y/n. 

Many undecided mothers understandably choose to keep the sound off so as to not hear the baby’s heart beat. He wondered if she’d do the same.

Glancing down at her, he searched her face for an answer. She hadn’t yet revealed to him her decision or if she had even come to a decision at all. And he didn’t ask.

In the days leading up to today, he respected the space she needed to think things through on her own. He was there for her when she needed a shoulder to lean on or to cover her tears in. But beyond that, as hard as it was, as much as being left in the dark was killing him, he held back. His only concern was ensuring she knew she wasn’t going through all this alone.

He tapped his foot in suspense waiting for Y/n to answer the tech. The options ware simple, one syllable each, either on or off. But one of those syllables had the power to change both their lives forever. He was literally moments away from finding out if he was about to become a dad or not. 

Regardless of what she decides is best for her, he was going to be right here, right by her side, supporting her. He squeezed her hand again, reminding her of just that. 

Her hand squeezed back as she responded to the tech. “Sound on.”

The words blew through him like a gust of wind, knocking him off kilter, sending him free falling off the ledge he’d been teetering on. Time, which had been moving punishingly slow, was now moving at warped speed. Everything happened so fast, it nearly gave him whiplash. One second the tech was just plopping a generous blob of gel on Y/n’s stomach, then the next she’s pointing out the embryo’s growing limb buds on the screen and before he knew it the sound came on. 

His hand gripped Y/n’s so tightly he worried he was hurting her when he first heard it.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Instinctively, he and Y/n looked at one another, hearing the steady heartbeat—their baby’s steady heartbeat. It was one thing to see it on the screen, but hearing it too made it all that more real. 

As the tech exited, it was just Y/n, Langdon and the printed ultrasound picture in his hand left in the room as they waited for the doctor to arrive. Looking down at the picture, he tried not to get too emotionally invested just yet. While Y/n opting to hear the heartbeat was a sign she wanted to keep the baby, he needed to hear those exact words from her himself. 

“So you’ve decided?” he asked gently.

She nodded silently.

“You want to have the baby?” 

She nodded again. But he wasn’t convinced and it didn’t look like she was either. Part of her looked like she wanted to back out while the other wanted to go all in. The conflicting look on her face—one of simultaneous awe and terror, equal excitement and anxiety—had his stomach in knots.

“Are you sure about this?” Langdon asked earnestly, brushing his thumb over hers. 

This decision, whichever path she went down, there’d be no turning back from. She’ll have to live with it, it’s consequences and the regret that may follow for the rest of her life.

His words echoed in her mind. Was she sure about this?

“Not at all,” Y/n said honestly. 

Langdon was seconds away from taking a steep nose dive down the roller coaster of emotions he was on, when the brakes slammed suddenly as Y/n let out an involuntary snort.

She never would’ve thought she’d be where she was right now—in the OB, 9 weeks pregnant, having an ultrasound done. It wasn’t funny necessarily, but it was kind of comical. Just when she thought she had it all figured out, her next steps all planned perfectly, life threw her this insane curve ball.

The thought turned her snort into full on laughter and soon enough Langdon was laughing along with her. Their laughs bounced off the walls replacing the sound of the baby’s thumping heartbeat that had been stuck in his head. 

It felt so good to laugh, to let out the breath he’d been holding in since the moment he walked in on her in Exam Room 6, the moment he found out she was pregnant. 

As they settled down, Y/n squeezed his hand pulling his attention. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be sure, or that there will ever be a right time,” she paused, her voice melting into soft sincerity, “But I am sure that I don’t want to do this with anyone else but you. And I don’t want to wonder what if. So fuck it. We’re having a baby.”

In an instant the burden of uncertainty that he’d been carrying was lifted off his shoulders. The relief didn't last long as the burden of his new reality, of being a soon to be father, quickly took its place. But this one he didn’t mind shouldering. In fact he was happy to.

Brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, he studied her face, wanting to commit every detail of this moment to memory. Her fresh, flowery scent filling his lungs. The way the edges of her eye crinkled as she looked up at him. And her lips, pillowy soft and parted into that smile that melted heart.

Looking at her, he couldn’t help himself. Whenever they were this close, he never could. He leaned down as Y/n shifted, sitting up straight, eager to meet him halfway. Their lips met hungrily, starved of each other’s taste these past few days.

Her hands raked through his hair, resting at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss. Their tongues moved against each other, guided by the heat of their emotions. He pulled her by the hips to the edge of the table, slotting himself between her legs.

With her hands roaming his chest and her hips rocking ever so slightly against him, Langdon had half a mind to lock the door, lay her back on the table and ease the growing tent in his pants. But listening to the rational half of his mind, remembering that’s how they ended up here in the first place, he pulled back.

Forehead resting against hers, hands squeezing her thighs to ground himself, he sought reassurance once more, “We’re really having a baby?”

Y/n laughed, lips brushing against his as she answered.

“We’re really having a baby.”

[fourorchid]

imagine a professor!viktor grad school au where you’re a student of his at the academy this semester

its a sunday afternoon, you open your inbox clicking on an email, the subject reads “weekend seminar: the magic of physics and its applications”

it was this evening, a lecture being held by viktor himself

“open to all interested.”

your curiosity was piqued, you take a moment to consider it, always a bit shy when it came to your professor for some reason

maybe it was his accolades

maybe it was the way he could tease almost anyone out at a glance

maybe it was his striking looks coupled with something more enigmatic

or maybe it was the tension you both were forced to pretend didn’t exist

I can just slip in and out the back—he probably won’t even see me

you arrive, intentionally showing up a few minutes past the start time to slink in with the crowd. the sound of you pushing the door open echoes throughout the lecture hall

and its completely empty—save for viktor himself, shuffling through notes on the podium, now looking up at the sound of your entrance

“you are late, miss y/n” a small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, not missing the irony

“sorry, was I interrupting?” the teasing remark flies out before you can stop it. you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit

“no, not at all” he chuckles

his eyes flit over your expression—you always seem to catch him off guard

he found it refreshing

“in fact, you appear to be my only audience member this evening.”

so much for going unnoticed

despite the one-on-one setting, viktor doesn't miss a beat, delivering his material in the same manner as usual. his eyes settle momentarily on the front row where you sat, pen skittering across the page of your notebook

you loosen up a bit, falling into the smooth cadence of his voice—but your focus wanes every time his gaze finds yours, checking your comprehension

you start to feel warmer

you reach to your bag for a clip and begin pulling your hair up from your neck to cool off

and viktor’s flow catches in his throat for just a second

you think maybe you had imagined it

he continues

“then you find yourself at a standstill, this mechanism will eventually become too unstable for longterm use—so, how might one rectify the situation?”

viktor turns to address the room, scanning the empty seats with a touch of humor before landing on you

something about it felt entirely too intimate

you pause, allowing the pulse thumping in your ears to steady

“…maybe start by pushing further? test the stabilizer to find its limits,” you suggest,

“see how far it can go before it breaks.”

viktor shrugs, considering your approach

“what about potential risk? you gain valuable information, of course, but could ruin the entire mechanism in the process, no?”

the gleam in his eye told you he didn’t disagree—just wanted to see if you’d take the challenge

you swallow

“well, I guess there’s no reward without some risk, right professor?”

your words hang in the air alongside something more charged, waiting to be acknowledged

viktor stares into you with a look you can’t quite decipher; examining, but with a hint of amusement at the center

“mm, speaking to my spirit, miss y/n?” he smiles, almost playful

you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding

“I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to argue with that.” he adds

the tension subsides but is too stubborn to fully leave, you do your best to ignore it

the rest of the lecture goes by in a blur, you could only take so much one-on-one time with viktor before your focus shifted towards other things.

like how his hands carefully wrapped around the edge of his cane

or how his voice sounded both soothing and provoking at the same time

or how his posture always seemed to refuse to face anywhere but towards you

“I believe that would conclude our seminar for the evening” viktor clasps his hands together gently, breaking you from thought, “any questions?”

you shake your head politely, viktor nods back with a soft smile

“in that case, class is dismissed.”

you begin packing up your notes, viktor does the same

“thank you for joining me, miss y/n” you look up as he speaks, formal but sincere

“thank you for having me, professor”

“it was my pleasure,” he holds your stare, “and please—you may call me viktor”

you nod, turning away before he could notice the flush making its way up your neck

you stand from your seat, sliding your bag onto your shoulder as you reached the door

“have a good night, viktor”

truthfully, you don’t know what possessed you to practically purr his name like that as you left—but neither one of you seemed to mind

“mm, and you as well, miss y/n”

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

it is obvious that i am deeply fascinated by MSR and whatever the hell it is those two have going on, but i am *almost* as fascinated by whatever the hell it is scully and doggett have going on

the initial hostility that melts into scully being ferocious towards him - whereas he realizes very quickly she is an agent of the highest caliber. their first meeting ending with ever-composed agent scully throwing a glass of water over him for implying mulder might not be who he says he was. his respect at her devotion. her grief-induced fury at losing her best friend and being watched by this new guy who clearly doesn’t Get It and who even DARED to imply that she might have been involved in mulder’s disappearance. he finds her sleeping in her missing partner’s bed and realizes he might have gotten this all wrong, actually. she hates him openly and brazenly until he finds her after being attacked, sobbing, and he carries her to safety. awkwardly brings her a get well soon card in the hospital and tells her they’ve been assigned together. and he promises to find mulder. they enter into an uneasy rhythm punctuated by arguments in cars and saving each other’s lives, back and forth.

but she still doesn’t trust him all the way, or perhaps she is refusing to acknowledge the circumstances, rebelling against the cards life has handed her, and sneaks off to take a case on her own - which ends with her screaming at him to cut something out of her neck. and despite having no idea wtf she means, he takes his knife and does so. they both acknowledge this was a mistake and try to do better. which works… to an extent.

he knows she is hiding something, and through the fights about the existence of aliens and bat men and proving themselves to each other, saving each other over and over again, he is driven wild by the fact she’s lying to him about something, and he doesn’t know what. why won’t she trust him? hasn’t he proved himself? and she’s terrified and refuses to tell him anything so she just lies, terribly, to his face, over and over. what is she hiding?

whereas she feels she has no choice but to lie, because if he knew, or if anyone at all knew her secret, they might take her off the case and keep her from finding mulder, from doing everything in her power to bring him back. and that Cannot Happen. he Needs to be back. the fact that he isn’t here is incomprehensible. and so she tries to give doggett what she can without telling him anything, really, to show she really does respect him - like the promise to get him a desk, which she follows through on, because she knows how it feels to be denied that space. it’s all the more complicated by her big secret being good news, a miracle in theory, but damn the timing of the divine (if it is even the divine she is dealing with rather than more interplanetary horrors - how can you tell between them these days?), so she must guard it all the more fiercely lest she lose something else when she cannot afford her hope being crushed further.

but still, she’s leaving all the time and he is increasingly frustrated by what seems to be her lack of trust after proving himself again and again. and she’s frustrated because she’s stuck in this terrible and terrifying position and life is cruel and how could anyone understand? why does everyone look at her with such pity when they could be busy hunting for mulder?

until it all tumbles loose and he’s unswerving in his devotion. and she realizes she can trust him. “i told you i would find him”

there’s just something SO good about that simmering resentment for their circumstances - he’s on this super weird assignment with the spooky basement freaks, one of whom people are telling him was abducted by aliens and now he has to help find, instead of moving up in the FBI like he was supposed to be. and he doesn’t have a clue what the hell is going on in these cases with ghouls and beasts, so he has to rely on her. he’s got a partner he respects and needs to get through these situations, but she doesn’t trust him, and he knows she hates him, either knowingly or not, for not being mulder. and she can’t help but grieve the fact that he isn’t her missing partner and the terror of her circumstances, so she guards herself and her fear by putting up walls. and why won’t be believe? when the evidence is written on the grief in her face?

they form a level of trust between them but it isn’t enough with something being so loudly unsaid. until they FINALLY come to trust each other… and then that dynamic is fractured with further grief as doggett fulfills his promise - he finds mulder. and things change shape once again.

do you see what i mean? i am Unwell.

[yusiyomogi]

so i've been thinking about patterns and trauma cycles in iwtv series a lot lately, and i already said that i believe that lestat's behavior in the end of s2e8 indicates that he's not ready to say sorry yet… and you know what i noticed? in the fucking episode 2 of season 1. is literally one of the first examples of this pattern in the show. when louis killed a guy, and lestat got angry at his recklessness and refused to listen how microaggressions affected him.

the most striking thing in that moment is that despite apologizing and "making it up" for louis, lestat never really got to the point of realization why louis was so upset. the very next episode confirmed it: lestat acted supportive and happy after louis killed alderman, because louis got mad at him for not being supportive last time. even though situations was completely different and affected louis differently. but instead of looking at the bigger picture or reflecting on anything, lestat acted in the way he thought would immediately please louis.

and that's the whole thing, exactly why this pattern is so destructive to everything in lestat's life. i think, every time he fucks up in relation to his loved ones, his stance on it is simply "that's because i'm a monster/awful person and it's a part of my horrible nature" instead of him actually trying to understand what happened and why. the interesting thing is that he acknowledges that he fucked up and feels deeply sorry for it, but his understanding of it comes from people's reactions, not from his own honest realization. and when people get angry at him, his next step is groveling usually, because he can't stand when his loved ones are mad at him and he genuinely feels like he's the worst person on the planet or something. but it doesn't solve anything and the core of the problem will stay intact.

he makes stupid decisions, doesn't really think about them and then deals with the consequences based on vibes only (usually a lot of crying). this tendency makes him horrible at receiving apologies as well, because he'd need to see bigger picture to actually solve the conflict, but he reacts to apologies based on his immediate emotions instead (not forgiving claudia in s1e5, dismissing louis' words in s2e8).

so what would lestat say to louis in s2e8? another sorry? another please forgive me for my horrible nature/father's temper/loving you too strongly? i think only after lestat sits with reality of his own trauma and humanity, he will be able to realize what he did wrong and actually truly apologize for it.

[digitialwonderland]

Swan lake with the TF 141

Pursuit at Swan Lake

Chapter 3 Previous

Simon’s warmth seemed to follow you through your dreams like a phantom. Foolishly, you chased it past each flashing image of your nightmares. But when you woke, it was nothing but your white feathers that were gathered around you. The fire was at a low simmer, and his scent still seemed to cling to the furs.

He returned the next night, and the next. Always carrying with him the jar of medicine, and always leaving food behind. It took only a few days before you were able to gather enough strength to start moving.

“We’ll start off slow, until you can swim on yer own again.” Simon mumbled as he quickly tossed off his shirt.

He had been planning this out step by step, taking everything with more care than he ever dared to give himself when healing. Truth be told, it broke his heart every time he had to watch his doll go through her transformation. Even in her sleep she let out soft whimpers of pain as feather and beak replaced her skin and lips.

Simon stepped forward, not missing how the swans large eyes seemed to linger on his torso. “We only have about an hour before sunset,” he reminded her as he crouched down and held out his hands. “Let’s make it count, yeah?”

She hesitated for a moment, looking down her beak at his large hands. He could see the gears turning in that head of hers, practically hear them. But after a moment she gave a small huff and then slowly started to stand. “Easy, sweetheart.”

The words fell from his lips far easier than he ever cared to admit. He had almost tried to resist calling her all the endearments, but the sweetness the stung at his cheeks and warmed in his chest was like a hit that he could grow addicted to.

She stood and wobbled for a second. Even in this form, Simon could see the way her eyes narrowed in determination and the way her legs trembled a bit. “Tha’s it, doll.” He held his hands further out, unable to help the hope that blossomed in his chest. “Take it nice ‘n slow.”

In a shuffle, she cautiously made her way to him. She spent every step like she was expecting for the pain to come back to haunt her, Simon would be lying if he didn’t wait on the edge for her to show signs of pain. It was so natural that he barely noticed how ready he was to jump in if she needed him. But his doll was strong, and sure as night she slowly made her way into his arms. “There she is.”

Simon scooped up the swan as delicately as if she were an infant, “you did good, doll.” He held her to his chest, careful to avoid the blackened star of feathering on her plumage. He still found it difficult to look at the mark. Every time he did he felt his eyes snag for a few seconds too long. Guilt always followed, along with the tight squeeze of regret in his heart. But there was something underneath all that, a beast he refused to acknowledge.

He took the first step into the lake, watching as the water rippled out from beneath him. Her eyes flicked back and forth, watching the flock at the other end of the lake. Under different circumstances he would have chuckled about how worried she was for them.

Deeper and deeper he went into the cool water, it wasn’t an awful temperature, the spring heat had offered the lake some time to warm after winter. “There we go,” Simon muttered, more to her than himself as he settled in a spot that was up to his waist. “You ready, doll?”

She looked down at the water, tapping her beak at it as if to disapprove in some way. But then, her sleek, white-feathered head dipped into a nod. “Just swim right back to me when yer ready to be done.” It sounded a little ridiculous, telling a swan to come back when she was done swimming. But then again, she wasn’t a swan.

Slowly, Simon lowered her into the water, letting her get her bearings before fully letting her go. She bobbed for a second, making Simon’s heart nearly turn to stone, but then her feet started to catch a rhythm and she started to move.

In the distance, the flock of swans quacked in an uproar, almost like a choir. She responded in equal, paddling in happily little circles in the water.

Hardened Hunter be damned, Simon couldn’t stop the smile that cracked crookedly over his lips. In any form, it was a delight to see his doll happy. The way her eyes squinted even hinted at a smile. “Tha’s good, love.” He watched her swim around, the golden light of the setting sun passing over her feathers. She didn’t need him one bit, a thought that had panic rising in his chest, even when he pushed it aside.

She swam until the sun had slipped beneath the horizon. Then, with slightly more ease than she had the last couple of times, she transformed. Simon felt his breath escape in a small gasp as he watched her avian body dive beneath the water and transform into her beautiful human form beneath the wavering surface.

God, she was gorgeous. Possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. But he fought hard to shove down the feelings that warmed in his chest because of it.

She surfaced again in front of him, her eyes wide as a little lambs. Quickly, Simon cleared his throat and averted his eyes from what was just beneath the surface. “Let’s get you dry n’ dressed, doll.”

The more Simon visited, the more your body strengthened and the more your burns healed. Yet, you still refused to admit it. The fire flicked in front of you, he had brought a sort of sleeping mat this time, said that ‘a lady ought to have a proper sleeping arrangement.”

Now, the warmth of the fire radiated from the embers in front of you, and his warmth burned behind you. How had you so easily allowed a man to get so close? The very man who had shot you was now beside you, propped up against his pack and whittling. Every night since the first had led to more training, or rehabilitation rather. You could walk, swim, hell your burns had even smooth out to a light pink mark. And yet, Simon still returned every night to spend it with you.

The thought had your cheeks warming and your heart leaping. But you weren’t ready to admit that, you couldn’t admit that. After all, you spent half your life as a bird, who would want to be with someone they only saw at night?

“Simon?”

“Yes, doll?”

You shifted onto your back to look up at him, “where are you from?”

He paused whittling all together, his eyes going distant for a moment. Then, just as suddenly, they flicked down to you and softened. “A land very far from here.”

Well, that was certainly vague. Your brows pinched, and you could feel your frustration with the response gather in the crinkle of your nose. This didn’t seem to have the desired effect though, his eyes only gained this new, tender warmth that seemed to spread across his whole face. Even the parts hidden by the beard and ear length hair he still had yet to maintain. Everything about him just seemed to melt into something endearing.

“My home is a kingdom filled to the brim with spirit,” he murmured, reached down and brushing some of your hair off your forehead. “The people there are kind and hard workers.” He paused, his eyes going distant again. “When winter touched the land, it didn’t dim our smiles. People would dance and sing in celebration.” He chuckled quietly to himself, “every year, on Christmas, you could walk down the street and find every house with there front door open.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because each home was hosting a feast, and each feast was open for anyone to join.” A crooked, handsome smile formed over his lips and his rough fingertips started to swirl mindlessly in your hair. “In the summer, it was perfect. Filled with colorful flowers and parades for the royal family.”

“Your home sounds beautiful…” you breathed, mind deep in the thought of a place so full of life.

“It was.”

“Was?” Your eyes drew back up to see his face, where some of the warmth had drained away.

“‘S not my home anymore, doll.”

Something deep within you saddened, almost like you could feel his hurt, even without context. “Where do you live now?” You asked softly, unable to bridle your curiosity for even a second.

“With a friend.”

Afternoons continued as swimming lessons, or more like “supervised swimming”. And then nights became quiet moments of comfort and warmth. You’d fall asleep beside him and wake with his presence still clinging to your skin.

Waking up without him, started to almost … hurt. Like the contrast between his warmth and the morning chill was only becoming more and more dramatic. But no matter how much it did hurt, you still clung to the moments spent with him. It was like you had nothing else to live for.

Even as you began to join the flock during the day, you found your attention lingering on the tree line. Waiting for that same tall, broad shoulder silhouette that would surely appear that night.

Now was one of those moments that you felt your heart leap at every shift in the shadows. You swam closer to your shared camp on the shore, your eyes flicking between the trees and the horizon.

He’s running late today. The suns about to set.

Something about the uncharacteristic tardiness sent your heart down a path of growing panic. What if something happened? What if Makorov-

No.

You wouldn’t let yourself go there. Surely that evil, cruel man had better fish to fry than you.

Much to your relief, something in the brush finally moved and Simon stepped out, approaching your camp with a perfectly normal appearance and demeanor. It was silly, you never should have even worried. He was Simon, of course he was fine.

You swam to the shore, just in time for the sun to slip out of the skies grasp. You dove into the water as a bird and reappeared as a woman. When you did, Simon was right there at the edge of the water, holding out a towel and politely turning his head away.

“You had me scared there for a moment,” you smiled, still elated with relief as you stepped into the towel and let him wrap the thick cloth around you.

“Would never abandon you, doll.” He reassured, but his eyes took a moment to go to you. They lingered on the woods, darting around as if in search of something.

“Simon?” He finally looked down at you, his jaw set and tensed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, love.” He tried, reaching up and gently resting both hands on your arms.

There was a sharp click from the woods. Someone loading a crossbow. “Nae, Ghost. I beg to differ.”

Both your heads whipped towards the voice, but you only got a glimpse of who stepped out of them before Simon tucked you behind his large frame.

It was a man, a northerner if you had ever heard that accent before. His eyes were nearly as bright a blue as the summer sky, and his hair a dark brown that resembled some of the chocolates you so often found yourself craving. More noticeably, his head was trimmed short on either side, leaving a proud strip of hair down the center. Over his broad shoulders, a wolf fur was draped, but there was nothing beside that to cover his strong chest and abdomen. A kilt was belted around his hips and draped over his thick, muscular thighs, dawning colors of bright blue and deep, rich green. Out of all the details, the only one that mattered was his gaze on you and the crossbow he had fixed right at you and Simon.

“Soap, let me explain.”

Kyle couldn’t help but slouch in his chair as more and more families entered the front door of the thrown room. His capacity for polite greetings had long since expired, even for the princesses that were potentially going to become his fiance in the up coming weeks.

“Might want to sit up before your mother says something.” A familiar, gravely voice said from slightly behind his thrown. Captain John Price of the Royal Guard.

Kyle sat up, but took the brief break in arriving guests to speak to the man. “When you see the young women that have arrived, Captain, what do you think?”

The man stepped forward as to be more visible to the young prince. “Well, my prince, I see great potential. Most of these princesses seem quite accomplished, you have many good options.”

“Yes yes, but what makes them…stand out.” Kyle pressed, resting his chin in his palm. “What makes them any different from women that you have met in the kingdom.”

A keen, intelligent smile curled over Price’s lips. “I think you will find them very different from the women I have met, my prince.”

Kyle couldn’t help but snort, he knew very well of the ladies the Captain and his men spent time with. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that weighed down on him. “You know what I mean, I-I’m not just looking for a princess, Captain. I want someone who could lead and love the kingdom while at my side.” He glanced over at the king and queen, who were speaking among themselves. “Despite what my parents want.” He tacked on quietly.

The captains eyes warmed and wrinkled at the corners with an expression so soft it was simply unfit for such a hardened warrior. “If you keep that in mind. I don’t doubt that you will be able to find the right one.”

It eased Kyle’s soul to have his support, but still, something within him had felt frantic lately. Night and day he would fidget or find himself unable to sit for too long. “I hope you are right.” He murmured, watching silently as the next royal family stepped through the doors.

Hope you enjoyed it lovelies! Next chapter coming soon!

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

Rewatching The Flash season 2 and it kills me

I never see anyone talk about this— in 2x02 Barry didn’t trust Jay but everyone else did, without any real reason to do so

BARRY WAS FUCKING RIGHT

AND NO ONE LISTENED TO HIM

Iris herself said “not everyone is Harrison Wells” but Jay was

‘Jay’ was there to manipulate him just like Thawne

[lilithofpenandbook]

It makes me SO MAD when people say "there are kind Slytherins 🥺🥺🥺" and show a picture of fucking SLUGHORN

Slughorn? You mean "oh I didn't think a muggleborn would be this talented" Slughorn?

Slughorn as in the Slughorn who told Tom Riddle, a child KNOWN for being a lil twisted, about HORCRUXES just to look good?

Slughorn who didn't even notice a fucking cult being formed in his own house???

People like to blame Dumbledore for the cult, but tell me why it's his fault and not the HEAD. OF. HOUSE? Dumbledore isn't an all powerful all seeing wizard! He's a human who happens to be intelligent and skilled at magic but NOT All Seeing! How is he gonna know Tom Riddle's forming a cult when one) he wasn't even HEADMASTER and two) SLUGHORN was Tom's head of house and should have been aware of it happening UNDER. HIS. NOSE?

Like, even in Snape's time, where the fuck was Horace Slughorn? Where was he when the Mauraders were abusing his own student? Where was he when Lucius and the others were grooming the younger children? Where was he when all of this was happening?

Yes, McGonagall should have disciplined her students. But Slughorn's under a greater responsibility to protect his. Yes, headmaster Dumbledore should have probably intervened in the cult forming. But Slughorn's under a greater responsibility to intervene and inform the headmaster.

For fuck's sake, he wasn't even a good teacher! How did a 16 year old child manage to correct all the incorrect potions in the book and not the FUCKING. TEACHER?!

Horace Slughorn is NOT a "kind Slytherin".

He's the worst one.

[klutzytomb]

if I ever mysteriously disappear one day with my account deleted, becoming the missing mutual, rest assured that it'll probably be because I have continually lied about myself IRL and find this account to be attached to that mentality. I will one day return

[loving-jack-kelly]

also hi hello modern newsies time. modern spot has absolutely perfected the separation between his work and personal life. he has one real friend at work who knows both sides of him but when the random guy who from the office who barely knows him runs into him at the grocery store he's like whoah. you have a septum piercing and dress like you belong at a punk rock show and are apparently funny enough to make the twink next to you laugh out loud every other sentence. and spot is like yes :| and what about it :| and never mentions it at work again

[news4dzhozhar]

How deranged does the US look to the rest of the world to be proudly welcoming an indicted war criminal to address Congress?

[f1owermoon]

i know people are excited abt the possibility of joost joining tommy/kä on stage tonight but don't you think the man has had enough 😭

[gardenerian]

#BringBackTagYappinMel2025

be careful what you wish for darling ray but ofc i will yap till the cows come home if u like 😘

[pamshindouu]

Rei and Hackmon's character song is such a misunderstood work of art

[sort-of-a-hero-that-way]

Thinking about Frank vs Russia again. And about the confirmation that the SINNED system was created at the same time as the DENNIS one. We know Dennis perfected his system for women but we haven't seen him ever date a man or keep a man. We have no confirmation of what he's done, and based on Dennis' eagerness in knowing if Dee and Mac got 2nd dates, I like to think he's never even tested it before. It was all based on observations. He kept it secret all these years and finally saw potential now to test it out through them. When's the second date? He's eager to know. Does it work.

And it does. Ofc it does. It was foolproof. He knew that.

Dennis isn't against a romance with Mac. The system exists since s6, Dennis clearly WANTS to keep a man. He just doesn't understand how that's already happened. Mac likes him? Wdym, he hasn't done the steps yet. Dennis just confirmed that the system works.

We know Dennis' outburst basically meant "You can't be in love with Johnny because he doesn't love you Mac, I don't love you. Move on."

But it also meant "You can't be in love with Johnny because Johnny is me! And you're not in love with me!"

Dennis is rejecting love on all grounds, in both directions. This isn't part of the plan, part of the scheme. This isn't his goal, not now. He's not ready and Mac isn't either.

The goal was simply to get Mac's attention back. To bring them back on equal footing. To be friends again. Dennis is fixing the friendship first, and Mac is being impatient and an idiot and jumping at romance and ruining the careful pacing Dennis is creating.

[cherrymoonvol6]

the worst part about flapjack's death is that luz and hunter's friendship died right along with it lmao