#keith needs a nap

[alluraswifey]

They have such a good bond 💖💗

[alluraswifey]

Nah cause why my last character Kieth from VLD.

Like he’ll just be like:

Keith: Well your honour my defence is this- *punches the judge* let’s go bitch.

😂

[stoneseedfern]

Quick and dumb headcanon :

Pidge and Keith separetely discovering that, actually, the castle's vents are just great when they need alone time in a place both away from their own room and with minimal stimuli (and somewhere they could successfully avoid the others can't be found easily by the rest of the team).

Cut to the first time they awkwardly stumble upon each other :

Pidge :

Keith :

Pidge : Let's just…

Keith : I'm just gonna…

Pidge and Keith (Proceeding to crawl past each other) :

Also, also, so many possibilities :

- Them bickering on the regular over that one favorite spot because God damnit Pidge I was here first !!

- Them, sometimes just sitting quietly next to each other while coding, reading or taking a nap.

- "What happens in the vents, stays in the vents." (It's all about them talking shit and spilling tea about their last diplomatic mission. (More rarely, about quiet confessions of loneliness and fear, painful talks of sadness disguised as anger. About comfort, too.))

Anyway, Pidge & Keith, local queer space vent cryptids, my beloveds.

[simonrileysfavteacup]

The Jersey

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk x girlfriend!reader

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: sexual hints, lots of jokes lol, use of the word "pussy", no actual smut

Summary: You decided to wear Brady's jersey to a game to play a joke on Matthew, but little did you know, it would backfire on you.

You’ve been with Matthew for 2 years now and they’ve been the best 3 years of your life. He’s kind, gentle, and caring with you, unlike how he is on the ice. He’s been your better half, knowing you better than you know yourself.

You knew how well hockey ran in the Tkachuk clan so it wasn’t a surprise when Brady got drafted. Matthew was extremely excited to play Brady for the first time, you could tell by how much time he spent preparing in the off season. 

So when the first FLA vs OTT game was around, you didn’t expect to get an Ottawa jersey in the mail. You knew it was from Brady from the way his name and his number laid on the back. There was a note too, saying to wear it to the game. You hesitate but pick up the jersey, throwing the box away.

Hiding the jersey in your side of the closet, you wait for Matthew to come home from morning skate. The game was later in the night and Tkachuks’ flight was to land at 3, currently it was 2. The game was late, at 8 o clock. 

Matthew stumbles through the door twenty minutes later, stopping to admire you rewatching the Bruins game. “Hey love.”

You turn your head to face him, smiling. “Hey, how was it?”

“Good, I think we’re ready to kick Brady’s ass,” he smiles, walking towards you. “How was your day?”

“Barely even started yet, but going well since yours is going well,” you press a kiss to his cheek. “Go take a nap, I’ll pick up your family.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I can get them before the game, it’s fine.”

“Matthew, I’ve known your family for 2 years, I think they won’t mind if I pick them up,” you assure. “Plus, I need time with Taryn.”

“Why? Do you guys gossip about me?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, she shows me your baby pictures,” you smirk. 

“What?” he turns to look at you.

“Of course I’ve seen the baby pictures. We’ve been together how long?” you walk to your closet, grabbing a coat to wear when you went to pick up the family. 

“God I hate this,” he rolls his eyes, getting into bed. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smile.

Finding Chantal at the airport was simple, Keith next to her, Taryn trailing behind. The second she saw you, she ran towards you, almost tackling you in a hug. 

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” she squeals. 

“Taryn! You’re squeezing too hard!” you shout, causing 3 elderly to turn back to look at you. She lets go, still smiling. 

“Did you get Brady’s gift?” she whispers. 

“You knew?” you ask. 

“Only me, Brady couldn’t keep it a secret,” Taryn says as you all get into your car. You drive everyone back to your house, where Matthew has already left for the game. 

When you had finished getting ready for the game and walked out, you hear 2 gasps behind you. “Shouldn’t you be wearing Matthew’s?”

“Why? Brady’s the better brother,” you smirk.

“Matthew’s going to be pissed,” Keith gives you a little fist bump, a sign of approval. You laugh, walking out to head to the game. 

***

Sitting in the box next to Taryn and Emma, you look down at the ice as the boys emerge from the locker rooms. 

“There he is,” Emma nudges you, her eyes on Matthew. He has his helmet off as always, his curls a mess, his stretching position in progress. 

You watch him skate to the centre line, settling down next to Brady to stretch. You assume that they were chirping each other, then noticing Brady tap his mic. Matthew says something with a smirk, which led Brady to do the same. You watch Matthew furrow his eyebrows and then look towards the box, his eyes turning dark as he sees you in the Senators jersey. You just smile and wave at him, to which he responds with a roll of his eyes. 

Brady gets up, smiling at his older brother before sending a wink your way. 

“Dad was right, he’s pissed. I feel bad for you,” Taryn went onto her phone, pulling up a song. Just a second later, RIP that Pussy begins playing. Your eyes go wide, taking her phone from her. You repeatedly tap the pause button, furious with your result.

“Taryn!” You scold, grabbing onto her hand. You look back down at the ice, where Matthew had started talking to Sam. 

The Panthers took the win 4-2, Matthew scoring two of those goals. You walk down the tunnel to greet him, meeting Aaron along the way. 

“Hey Y/N, how are you?” he asks.

“Good, you?” You reply.

“Happy that we won,” He gives you a smile, turning to walk away. “Oh, by the way, he’s pissed about the jersey.”

“Been hearin’ that all night,” You smile back, standing in front of the locker room door. Matthew comes out a minute later, his hair slightly damp. “Hey Matty, you played great.”

“Hey Matty, you played great,” He mocks your voice. “You think you're funny, huh? Let’s see who’s talking when we get home.”

He grabs your hand, dragging you out of the arena. You smirk  to yourself, trailing behind him.  You get into the car, his hand immediately going to your thigh. 

“You have a lot of nerve, you know? Wearing that shit to my game. My home game. You’re lucky we won or I would’ve taken you right there against the wall,” his words make a shiver run down your spine. The thought of your boyfriend fucking you against a wall in a very public place scares you but turns you on at the same time.

“Brady sent it to me. I didn’t know about it,” you say innocently, blinking at him. 

“Oh, fucking hell, baby, don’t lie to me,” he shoots you a glance. You open your mouth to say something but stop once his phone chimes. “Check who that is. Please.”

There was a pause before he said please. But, hey! Matthew has manners!

You check his phone for him, the passcode being your birthday (#couple goals). Chantal had texted, asking if you and Matthew would meet her and the Tkachuk clan at a restaurant downtown. 

“Matty,” you say softly. 

“Hmm?” he hums, not taking his eyes off the road. 

“Your mom wants us to go to a restaurant to catch up,” you say. 

“Tell her you’re tired and don’t feel like going out,” he shoots a glance your way, smirking at you. “You will be.”

“She said that we still have to come, and if I want, I can sleep on your shoulder at the restaurant,” you look over at him, his tongue sliding against his teeth. 

“Fine, text her we’re on our way, but take off that fucking jersey,” he changes routes, heading to the restaurant they were at. 

“I’m not wearing anything underneath…” you carry off.

“Fucking hell, babe, now, you’re really in for it tonight,” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “There’s an extra shirt in my bag, put it on.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the bag in the backseat. The dress shirt was a simple black one, a bit oversized, but you weren’t complaining. You climb into the back, taking the jersey off, leaving you in just a bra. Matt’s eyes shift from the road to you for a second, a visible boner forming in his pants. 

Deciding to play his game, you slowly button your shirt up, leaving the top 2 unbuttoned. 

When you get to the restaurant, you knew you were in for it. Matthew pulls you towards him, trapping you between the car and him, buttoning the last two buttons on your shirt. “This,” he gestures to your tits. “Belongs to me. Not Brady. Only my jersey covers these.”

“Only yours,” you try to kiss him but he moves his head out of the way and your kiss went to his cheek. 

“Act fucking tired, I want to go home. You aren’t allowed to get away with this,” he puts an arm around your waist, walking with him to the restaurant. 

“You’re that mad?” you ask. 

“You’ll see how mad I really am,” he glances at you. 

You sit down at the table after saying hi to everyone, sitting across from Emma and Brady. “Hey Y/N! How are you?”

“Doing wonderful, Brady,” you smile, earning Matthew’s hand on your thigh, squeezing tightly as a warning. “I’m so tired though.” 

His hand eases up a bit. 

“How did you like the jersey? I know Matty loved it,” Brady smirks, Emma letting out a little chuckle.

Matthew takes his hand off your thigh and slips it around your shoulder, pulling you close to him. 

“I loved it, thank you,” you try to be as nice as possible.  

“How come you changed?” Brady asks. “You looked pretty great in the jersey.”

“Oh, I felt hot. I feel sick,” you lie. “You know how things are with the Florida weather.”

Brady chuckles, knowing entirely that you are lying. 

Matt gives you a pat on the thigh of approval, a signal to start falling asleep on him. As the waiter comes around, you tell Matthew to order for you as you begin to fall asleep on his shoulder.

“Um, Mom, Y/N’s not feeling too good, I think we’re going to head home,” Matthew tells his mother. 

“Nonsense, she looks fine. She’ll manage. If she can’t, I can call her an uber. One of you has to stay, Matthew. I haven’t seen you both since December,” Chantal responds, smiling. 

Damn her and her love for her kids. You’re trying to get laid.

Matthew silently groans, the vibrations hitting your body. His hand moves up and down your thigh and you were actually falling asleep at this point. Matthew ends up taking notice of it, pulling your chair closer. 

You assume it was about 10 minutes later when Matthew’s arm shifts a bit, waking you up. 

“Oh, sorry babe. I just had to grab a fork,” he smiles at you, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead. 

“Should’ve woken me up when food got here, I’m starving,” you return the smile, leaning your head on his shoulder as you begin eating. You lower your voice as Brady begins talking to Taryn about her graduation. “When do you want to leave?” 

“Soon. Eat half of your food and call it a day. You aren’t getting out of this,” he whispers back.

“Why? Because you know your brother is better than you?” you chuckle softly as you took a bite of your food, almost choking on it as Matthew’s hand lands dangerously close to your clothed pussy. 

“Say that shit one more time and I’ll take you right on this table,” he says sternly. 

“You wouldn’t,” you giggle softly but stop as you notice the dark lust behind his blue eyes. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed,” he chuckles softly. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

“Hey lovebirds,” Keith whistles at you and Matthew, taking you out of your conversation. “Why don’t you stop whispering to each other and actually talk? You guys have all year to talk, we only get to see each other tonight until April.”

“Dad, don’t you get it? Matthew’s still pissed about the jersey,” Taryn remarks. You almost choke at her words, turning your head towards the 22-year-old. “What? You know I’m right!”

“Taryn, leave them and their sex life alone,” Brady jokes. 

“Brady!” his mother scolds. “There are children present!” 

“So?” he now earns a slap on his shoulder from his wife.

“Anyways, how’s work?” Chantal asks you. 

“Going great as of now,” You smile at her, poking a piece of salad on your plate with your fork, avoiding eye contact.

During the time you, Chantal and Emma were talking, Matthew had excused himself to the ‘bathroom’. In reality, he was texting you to make up some ridiculous excuse, so you could go home. 

You text him back saying you were having fun and that his family was interesting. He sends back, “Either you leave now or you won’t be going to work tomorrow. Or for the rest of the week.”

You take in a soft gulp and tell Brady and Emma you’d be leaving now. 

"Good luck,” Emma sends a wink your way, Brady chuckling at her. As you were walking away from the table, Chantal calls your name. 

“Please tell Matthew we at least want to see him tomorrow before we leave,” she smiles at you, giving you a thumbs up. 

“Will do,” you turn back around and leave, meeting Matthew by the car. He opens your door for you, watching you eagerly as you get in. He gets in on the driver's side and starts up the car as you begin speaking. “Your mom said she wants to see you tomorrow. Before they leave.”

“Mhm,” he hums. 

“And I think she knew,” you continue. 

“Mhm,” he hums again, not paying attention to anything you were saying. 

“I’m pregnant,” you roll your eyes as he hums again. 

“Wait, what?” he looks over at you. 

“Were you listening to anything I said?” you ask. 

“I only heard that you were pregnant,” he says, a shit eating grin starting to form on his face. 

“No, I’m not. And your mother wants to see you tomorrow before she leaves. Also, your family knew,” you look forward at the road, rolling your eyes at him. 

“The next time you roll your eyes, it better be out of pleasure,” he smirks at you, continuing to drive through Fort Lauderdale. You laugh, reaching for his free hand.

[callsigns-haze]

A pilot? Again?

Pairing: Jake Seresin X detective, single mom reader

After investigating a crash at Top Gun for four hours, Detective Y/N, who lost her husband Daniel four years ago, finds no evidence of foul play and deems the case closed. During her time there, she reconnects with Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Daniel's younger brother, and meets his charming wingman, Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Hangman flirts with Y/N as he walks her to her car, and for the first time in years, she feels comfortable with the attention. Before leaving, Y/N gives him her card with her number, leaving the door open for future contact. Hangman promises to text, sparking the potential for a new chapter in her life.

This chapter contains references to past personal loss and emotional themes. It features characters dealing with grief and the aftermath of a tragic event.

Two Weeks of Silence

It had been two weeks since the funeral, but the house was still suffocating. The silence was unbearable, the only sounds coming from the occasional babble of 14-month-old Keith or the quiet shuffle of Logan, who had been eerily quiet since his father’s death. It was as if the life had been drained from the walls along with Daniel "Griffin" Bradshaw, Bradley’s older brother by two years.

Y/N stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter with trembling hands, her back turned to the door. The numbness hadn’t left. It clung to her like a second skin, tightening with every passing day. She had held it together at the funeral—everyone had said she was so strong. Strong for the kids. But now, without the distraction of people offering meaningless words, she felt nothing but an empty ache.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw had been coming over almost every day since the funeral. Not that she’d asked him to. He just showed up, like he was trying to step into Daniel’s shoes. But he wasn’t Daniel. He never would be.

She heard the familiar creak of the door behind her. She didn’t bother turning around. She already knew who it was.

“Y/N,” Bradley said, his voice quiet but rough, the usual edge missing.

“What is it, Bradley?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

“I came to check on you,” he said, stepping into the kitchen with a heavy sigh.

Y/N gritted her teeth and turned to face him, her arms crossed. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her face pale and drawn. “You don’t have to keep coming here, you know. I’m not your responsibility.”

Bradley’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the way she was pushing him away, but he wasn’t about to argue with her. Not now. Not after everything. “I know. But I’m here anyway.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Right. You’re always here.”

Bradley stared at her, his eyes flicking to the half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. “Have you slept at all?”

“Why does it matter?” she snapped. “Sleep doesn’t change anything. Daniel’s still dead. I’m still stuck here raising these boys on my own. You think a nap’s going to fix that?”

Bradley didn’t flinch. He just nodded, the muscles in his jaw working as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “No. It won’t.”

Y/N turned away from him again, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Keith’s babbling came from the living room, a small reminder that her youngest son needed her, even though she felt like she had nothing left to give. Logan, too, had been withdrawn, watching everything in silent confusion. He was too young to understand why his father wasn’t coming home, but old enough to sense the weight of what had happened.

“What am I supposed to tell them, Bradley?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “What do I say to Logan when he asks about his dad? That he died on some mission that went sideways? That he’s never coming back? When I do he asks why. How am I meant to know!?”

Bradley exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Y/N. I wish I had the answers. But Logan’s going to need you to be honest with him. You can’t shield him from it forever.”

She let out a shaky breath, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears. “He’s only seven, Bradley. He shouldn’t have to grow up like this.”

Bradley stepped closer, his voice softening. “You’re right. He shouldn’t. But he’s tough—just like his dad. And you’re tougher than you think.”

Y/N shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “It'll ruin the kid. I’m just so damn tired.”

Bradley stood there, not sure what to say. He wasn’t good at this—the comforting, the emotional stuff. That had always been Daniel’s role. But Daniel wasn’t here anymore, and Bradley was all Y/N had left. He stepped forward, cautiously, until he was right next to her.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he said quietly. “I’m here for you. For Logan. For Keith.”

Y/N didn’t respond at first, just kept staring at the floor, the weight of everything crushing down on her. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice tight with suppressed emotion.

“You’re not Daniel, Bradley. You were barely ever here before that either.”

The words cut deep, but Bradley nodded, accepting them for what they were. He wasn’t Daniel. He couldn’t replace his brother, no matter how hard he tried. But he could be there for the family Daniel had left behind.

“I know,” Bradley said quietly. “But I’m still here.”

Y/N finally looked up at him, her eyes red and tired. There was no fight left in her, no anger, just a raw, aching grief that mirrored his own.

“Logan asked me yesterday if his dad was a hero,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Bradley’s throat tightened. “What did you say?”

She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t know what to say. Fourteen times in my life I accused pilots of doing something wrong but never Daniel. I just told him… I told him his dad loved him. That was all I could get out.”

Bradley nodded slowly, his chest aching with a familiar sense of loss. “It’s enough. Logan doesn’t need the details. He just needs to know that his dad loved him. That’s what matters.”

Y/N’s eyes met his again, and for the first time since Daniel’s death, there was something other than anger or numbness there. Maybe it was acceptance. Maybe it was just exhaustion. But she didn’t push him away this time.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted quietly.

“You don’t have to figure it all out today,” Bradley replied. “Just take it one day at a time. I’ll be here. For whatever you need.”

Y/N nodded, her shoulders slumping as the weight of it all threatened to overwhelm her again. But this time, Bradley was there, standing beside her, ready to catch her if she fell.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

-----

Four years had passed since Daniel’s death, and life had moved on, even if it still carried the scars of that day. Y/N had thrown herself into her work, rising through the ranks until she became a detective, often working with specialized units like CSI. Her job demanded precision, focus, and a cool head under pressure—traits she’d developed while learning to balance being a widow and a mother to two boys.

It was 6:00 AM, and the alarm blared from her phone. Y/N groaned, stretching in her bed before she turned it off and rubbed her eyes. Another day, another case to solve. She threw the covers off and padded to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, she stared at herself. She turned on the faucet and grabbed her toothbrush, squeezing a small amount of minty toothpaste onto the bristles. The rhythmic motion of brushing her teeth was oddly soothing, a routine that anchored her at the start of each day. She brushed methodically, starting from the back molars, working her way to the front, the fresh taste of mint chasing away the dregs of sleep. After rinsing, she ran her tongue over her teeth, appreciating the smooth, clean feeling.

Next, she grabbed her brush and began working through her hair. Her hair had grown longer than she usually kept it, but she liked the way it looked now—professional but still a little wild. She worked through a few tangles, brushing from the roots to the ends until her hair was soft and smooth. She tied it back into a sleek ponytail, the style that was both functional and neat for her long days on the job.

Returning to the bedroom, Y/N opened her closet. She ran her fingers over the hangers, choosing a black tailored blazer and matching pants. A crisp white blouse underneath kept the look sharp but professional. Sliding the pants on first, she tucked in her blouse and fastened the blazer, making sure everything sat perfectly. She moved over to the full-length mirror by the closet door, adjusting her collar and sleeves. Her badge was clipped to the belt, a constant reminder of the responsibility she carried.

Finally, she walked over to the small safe tucked discreetly in her nightstand drawer. She spun the dial, opening the metal door with a quiet click. Inside sat her standard-issue Glock. The cold metal felt familiar in her hand as she checked it over, ensuring it was loaded and ready. She slipped the gun into its holster at her side, concealed beneath her blazer. One last glance in the mirror—she looked like a detective ready to take on whatever the day threw at her.

But before she could leave the house, there was one more challenge: waking up her boys.

Y/N headed down the hall to Logan’s room. At eleven, Logan was already turning into a miniature version of his father. He had Daniel’s stubbornness, for sure, and waking him up in the morning had become something of a battle over the years.

She knocked gently on the door. “Logan, it’s time to get up.”

There was no response. She sighed, opening the door and stepping into the room. Logan was buried under his blankets, only the top of his messy brown hair visible. His room was a mess, toys and clothes scattered across the floor, his desk cluttered with books and school papers.

“Logan,” Y/N said again, this time with more authority. “Get up. You’ve got school.”

A muffled groan came from beneath the blankets. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

Y/N smirked, walking over to the bed and gently pulling the covers down. Logan blinked up at her, his face creased from the pillow, eyes squinting in the early morning light.

“You said that yesterday,” she said, tapping his shoulder. “Come on. You don’t want to miss the bus.”

Logan groaned again, rolling over onto his back. “I’m not a morning person, Mom. You know that.”

“I do know that,” Y/N replied, crossing her arms. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you have to get up. Now.”

With a dramatic sigh, Logan finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. He stretched, his arms reaching above his head, and yawned loudly. “Fine, fine. I’m up.”

“Good,” Y/N said, walking back to the door. “Get dressed. Breakfast is in ten minutes.”

Logan gave a half-hearted nod, already shuffling towards his closet as Y/N left the room, leaving him to his slow morning routine.

Next was Keith. At five years old, he was still small and full of energy, but mornings weren’t his strong suit either. Y/N stepped into his room, where Keith was curled up in his bed, clutching his favourite stuffed animal—a well-worn bear named Buddy.

“Keith, time to wake up,” she said softly, kneeling beside his bed.

Keith stirred, his big brown eyes fluttering open as he looked up at her. He yawned, stretching his tiny arms out as he rubbed at his eyes. “Morning, Mama.”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Y/N said with a smile. “Let’s get you ready for school, okay?”

Keith nodded sleepily, still half-asleep as Y/N helped him sit up. She pulled out a pair of pants and a T-shirt from his dresser, guiding him through getting dressed. His little fingers fumbled with the shirt buttons, so she crouched down and helped him fasten them.

Once he was dressed, she scooped him up and carried him to the bathroom, setting him down gently on the step stool by the sink. Keith blinked blearily as Y/N handed him his toothbrush, squeezing a bit of kid-friendly toothpaste onto the bristles.

“Here you go, buddy. Let’s brush those teeth.”

Keith obediently brushed, though his movements were slow and clumsy. Y/N kept a watchful eye, making sure he didn’t miss any spots. Once they were done, she wiped his mouth with a washcloth and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

“All set, champ. You’re ready for the day.”

Keith smiled, still a little groggy but looking more awake now. He reached for her hand as they left the bathroom, heading downstairs to join Logan for breakfast.

Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her coffee and watching as her boys sat at the table. It was a non-uniform day at their school, which always meant a little more chaos in the morning, especially with Keith's boundless energy. The five-year-old was practically vibrating in his seat, bouncing up and down as he eagerly shovelled toast into his mouth.

"Keith, slow down," Logan said in a calm but firm voice, his tone carrying the weight of someone much older. At eleven, Logan had always been the quieter, more serious one—a reflection of his father in so many ways. While his younger brother practically buzzed with energy, Logan was a calm presence, though he often seemed like he was carrying the weight of the world on his small shoulders. she told Bradley everything would ruin him.

Keith barely paid attention, his legs swinging wildly under the table. “But it’s a non-uniform day! We don’t have to wear the stupid ties and stuff! And we’re bringing money to school! Can we buy sweets, Mama?”

Y/N smiled at the contrast between her two boys. Keith was practically bursting with excitement, his eyes wide and full of life. Meanwhile, Logan sat quietly in front of his cereal, poking at the milk with his spoon, his face expressionless.

“I gave Logan a tenner,” Y/N said, looking at her older son. “He’ll pay for both of you.”

Logan sighed and pushed his hair back, not too thrilled about his role as the responsible older brother but accepting it with his usual calm. “I’ll take care of it,” he said in his usual, even tone. “But Keith, you’ve gotta calm down. You’re gonna knock something over.”

Keith, of course, ignored the warning. “Can we buy, like, five packs of candy, Logan? And maybe some chocolate too!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “No. That’s not what it’s for. We’re paying for the non-uniform day, not having a candy shopping spree.”

Keith pouted dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest, but he didn’t argue back. He knew better. “Fine,” he muttered, but within seconds, he was back to fidgeting in his seat, still brimming with excitement.

Y/N shook her head in amusement. “Logan’s right. The money is for school, not to load up on sweets. But maybe I’ll get you something after school if you both behave, okay?”

Keith perked up immediately. “Okay, Mama!”

Logan merely nodded, his expression unchanging. He took a slow bite of his cereal, clearly not as enthusiastic about the day as his younger brother. Y/N knew it wasn’t just about today—Logan had always been more introspective, more serious. He carried a quiet sadness sometimes, though he didn’t like to talk about it much. She knew he missed his father, even if he didn’t say it aloud. The weight of responsibility that had fallen on his young shoulders wasn’t something a boy his age should have to deal with.

Y/N glanced at the clock on the wall, mentally going through her schedule for the day. “I’ve got to work until four today,” she said, placing her mug down on the counter. “So Penny’s going to pick you both up from school, and you’ll hang out with Amelia until I’m off. That okay with you guys?”

Keith immediately bounced in his seat again. “Yay! I love hanging out with Amelia! She’s gonna let me play her video games, right? She said she would last time!”

Logan just nodded, taking another slow bite of his cereal. “That’s fine,” he said, his tone still calm and measured. “We’ll be okay.”

Y/N walked over and ruffled Logan’s hair, earning a slight frown from him as he smoothed it back down. “I know you will. You’re always a big help with Keith.”

Keith grinned at his brother, clearly not picking up on the subtle tension in Logan’s face. “Logan’s the best!” he shouted, practically bouncing out of his chair now. “He’s gonna let me sit with him at lunch too!”

Logan sighed softly, glancing at his younger brother. “Yeah, sure. Just… calm down, okay?”

Y/N chuckled, finishing the last of her coffee before setting the cup down. She leaned against the counter, watching her boys—so different from each other, but in some ways, inseparable. Keith was a bright light, always full of energy and joy, while Logan had become her steady, serious boy, even though she wished he’d let himself be a kid more often.

“Alright, you two. Finish up your breakfast and get your shoes on. We need to leave in ten minutes,” Y/N said, gently nudging them along.

Keith practically jumped out of his chair, already halfway to the hallway to grab his sneakers, while Logan moved with his usual calm, taking his time to finish his cereal before he stood up.

Y/N glanced at Logan, her heart aching just a little as she watched him. “Logan,” she said softly, causing him to pause and look up at her. “You don’t always have to be the grown-up, you know. It’s okay to just… be a kid.”

Logan shrugged, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I know,” he said, but there was a distance in his voice, like he wasn’t quite convinced.

Y/N sighed softly, resisting the urge to push further. Logan was like that—quiet, introspective. He’d open up when he was ready, and she’d be there when he did.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Non-uniform day and no rushing. It’s a good start to the day, don’t you think?”

Logan gave a small, barely noticeable nod, and together they all headed out the door, Keith still chattering excitedly about his plans for the day while Logan walked quietly beside him, always the calm to his little brother’s storm.

---

Y/N had barely finished her second cup of coffee when her phone buzzed with a new case. She was standing in the precinct’s break room, chatting with her rookie partner, Officer Miles Daniels, when her phone went off. Glancing at the screen, her stomach sank as she read the details. A crash at Top Gun—the United States Navy Fighter Weapons School.

“Miles, grab your gear,” Y/N called over her shoulder as she quickly gathered her things. “We’ve got a case. We’re heading to Top Gun.”

Miles raised an eyebrow, still fresh-faced and eager after joining the detective unit, but he moved quickly, following her lead. “Top Gun? Isn’t that, like, military?”

“Yeah, it is,” Y/N responded, slipping her badge and gun into place as they made their way out of the precinct. “But if there’s civilian criminal activity involved, or something suspicious, we get pulled in. Plus, this isn’t just a crash—it’s a potential aircraft destruction case.”

As they made the short drive to the base, Y/N filled Miles in on what they were walking into. The pilot was in stable condition, but there was suspicion that the crash wasn’t just an accident. With a $15 million aircraft destroyed, the stakes were high.

When they arrived at the Naval base, the military security waved them through after checking their credentials. Y/N parked the car outside the main lobby of the base, and the two of them stepped out into the bright morning sun. The sprawling complex of hangars, runways, and state-of-the-art fighter jets stretched out in front of them.

Inside the lobby, they were met by Sergeant Tim Bradford, a stoic and no-nonsense detective who had recently transferred from LAPD to work more closely with specialized cases involving military personnel. Y/N had worked with him on a couple of cases before. He was tough, by the book, and not someone to mess with.

“Bradford,” Y/N greeted him with a nod as she and Miles approached.

“Detective Y/L/N,” Bradford replied, giving her a quick, respectful nod. His sharp blue eyes shifted briefly to Miles, sizing him up. “This your rookie?”

“Yeah, Officer Daniels,” Y/N introduced her partner. Miles nodded politely, though he seemed slightly nervous under Bradford’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Alright,” Bradford said, moving straight to business. “Here’s what we know: A pilot, callsign ‘Raptor,’ nosedived his F/A-18 Super Hornet straight into the runway early this morning. He’s in stable condition at the hospital, but that jet? It’s totalled—$15 million down the drain. The Navy’s doing their own investigation, but we’ve been brought in to determine if this was an intentional act or negligence.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she listened. “Any indication so far that it was deliberate?”

Bradford shook his head. “Not yet. The pilot claims he lost control, but there’s speculation he might have been pushed into it—pressure from his CO, maybe. And if we find anything that points to foul play, the Navy’s going to press charges for destruction of government property. That’s where we come in.”

Y/N nodded, exchanging a glance with Miles, who was taking everything in, trying to piece it all together. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s get to the crash site.”

As they made their way across the base toward the crash site, Y/N kept her eyes sharp. The walk was long, but it gave her a chance to mentally prepare. Aircraft crashes weren’t her usual territory, but the stakes were high, and she was used to pressure.

“I read up on the case file on the way here,” Miles said as they walked. “The pilot’s got a clean record—nothing disciplinary, no indication he’d do something like this on purpose.”

“Keep that in mind, but don’t jump to conclusions,” Y/N replied, her tone firm but patient. “We’re here to look at the evidence, not get caught up in speculation.”

As they neared the crash site, the wreckage of the once sleek fighter jet came into view. The front of the aircraft was crumpled, its nose smashed into the runway with debris scattered all around. Military personnel were already on the scene, cordoning off the area, but the sheer destruction was undeniable.

Y/N knelt down near the wreckage, scanning the area. The nose of the plane was completely destroyed, and the force of the impact had created deep cracks in the runway. It was clear that this hadn’t been a controlled landing.

“Jesus,” Miles muttered under his breath, his eyes wide as he looked over the wreckage.

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed grimly, standing up. “This wasn’t a small mistake.”

She turned to Bradford. “Have they ruled out mechanical failure?”

“They’re working on it,” Bradford said, crossing his arms as he surveyed the scene. “But so far, nothing obvious. It’s more likely a pilot error, but the pilot swears he was fully in control before the nosedive.”

Y/N nodded thoughtfully, walking around the wreckage. Her mind worked quickly, analysing the scene, looking for anything that didn’t quite fit. “We’ll need to talk to the ground crew who prepped the plane and the other pilots who were flying with him,” she said, glancing at Miles. “Something doesn’t add up here.”

Bradford nodded. “Already got the names. Ground crew’s being interviewed, and the flight team’s in the ready room waiting for you.”

Y/N exchanged a look with Miles. “Let’s get to it. The faster we figure out what happened here, the better.”

As Y/N and Miles made their way toward the hangar, they passed a group of aviators, all wearing their flight suits and looking equally serious and exhausted. Among them, a familiar face caught Y/N’s eye. The short moustache, the tousled sandy hair, and that unmistakable stance—it was Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat for a moment. She hadn’t seen Bradley in years, not since Daniel’s funeral. He looked older now, more worn by the weight of life, but still very much the kid brother of her late husband. Her heart squeezed at the sight of him, a wave of memories flooding back.

“Bradley?” she called out, her voice hesitant but filled with recognition.

Bradley turned at the sound of his name, his eyes widening as he saw her. “Y/N?” he said, a mix of surprise and relief crossing his face. “I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”

They approached each other, and Y/N gave him a warm smile. “Detective now,” she explained, gesturing to her badge. “Working a case on base.”

Rooster gave a small smile, his eyes softening with a mix of nostalgia and respect. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” Y/N replied, though the weight of that statement hung between them. The unspoken grief over Daniel was still there, lingering in the air. But this wasn’t the time or place for a deep conversation about the past.

Bradley shook his head, a half-smirk playing on his lips. “I should’ve known you’d end up kicking ass as a detective.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “I try. And you—you’re an instructor now, huh? Flying with the best of the best?”

Bradley nodded. “Yeah, something like that. Let me introduce you to my wingman.” He turned, motioning toward a tall, confident-looking man standing a few feet away. “This is Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin.”

Jake stepped forward, offering a charming grin that seemed to light up his entire face. “Pleasure to meet you, Detective Y/L/N. Heard a lot about you,” he said smoothly, extending his hand.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. Jake’s grip was strong, but not overbearing. There was something about his demeanour—equal parts charm and arrogance—that made her feel like she needed to stay on her toes around him. He had that aura, the kind of guy who was used to turning heads and getting what he wanted.

“I hope it was all good things,” Y/N replied, her tone lightly teasing.

“All good,” Jake said with a wink, his southern drawl coming through in a way that made his words linger just a little too long. “Rooster’s mentioned how tough you are. Seems like you two go way back.”

“We do,” Y/N confirmed, glancing at Rooster with a fond smile. “Family.”

There was a pause as the moment settled between them, and then Jake spoke up again. “So, what brings you to our little corner of the sky? I assume it’s not just a social visit.”

Y/N shifted back into professional mode, nodding. “We’re investigating the crash. The pilot—‘Raptor,’ I believe—is in stable condition, but there’s a possibility this wasn’t just pilot error. We need to determine if this was deliberate or negligence. My job is to figure out what went wrong and, if necessary, who’s responsible.”

Rooster exchanged a look with Jake, both of them clearly intrigued but also guarded. “We’re the instructors for this group,” Bradley said. “But we don’t know much beyond that. Raptor’s a good pilot—this isn’t something you’d expect from him.”

Jake nodded in agreement. “Yeah, kid’s sharp. Cocky, sure, but we’ve all been there. He’s not the kind to pull a stunt like this unless something went wrong.”

Y/N folded her arms, considering their words. “So no inside information? Nothing unusual in his behaviour or flight patterns before the crash?”

Both men shook their heads. “No,” Rooster replied. “Everything seemed normal during the briefing and take-off. Whatever happened, it must’ve been in the air.”

“Or in his head,” Jake added, his expression thoughtful. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s going on up there, even with the best pilots.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating their input. “Alright, well, here’s what we’ve got so far,” she said, launching into a detailed explanation.

“The crash happened early this morning. Raptor nosedived into the runway, and while he’s alive, the aircraft is totalled. The Navy’s investigating the mechanical side, but they want us to assess whether there was any human interference—either pressure from above, negligence, or if this was intentional. The stakes are high. A $15 million jet destroyed can’t just be written off as an accident without a full inquiry. We’re looking into everything: the ground crew, flight logs, maintenance records, and Raptor’s personal state of mind.”

Bradley listened intently, his arms crossed over his chest, while Jake’s eyes narrowed, taking it all in. “That’s serious,” Rooster finally said, his voice low. “If there’s any suspicion of intentional sabotage or negligence, he’s looking at major charges.”

“Exactly,” Y/N agreed. “We’re trying to avoid that if it’s not warranted, but we need to be thorough.”

Jake leaned against the side of a nearby truck, his expression a mix of intrigue and something close to admiration. “Well, Detective, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Anything we can do to help?”

Y/N smiled at him, though her mind was already racing with the possibilities. “Just stay close in case we need anything. I might need to talk to the other pilots too.”

Rooster nodded. “We’ll be around. And hey, it’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

“You too, Bradley,” she replied softly before glancing back at Jake, who gave her one last charming grin as they walked away.

“Don’t be a stranger, Detective,” Jake called after her with a wink.

---

The four-hour mark at the crash site. The long day was wearing on both of them, but Y/N was no stranger to gruelling hours. She had spent countless days on crime scenes, sifting through endless evidence, and poring over tiny details that could make or break a case. Yet, this one seemed different—something about it felt dead in the water.

They had examined the wreckage from every angle, spoken to the ground crew, double-checked the maintenance logs, and even consulted with the flight team. But nothing substantial had emerged to indicate foul play. It seemed more and more like a tragic case of pilot error, despite the nagging feeling in Y/N’s gut that something wasn’t right.

She straightened up from where she had been crouching near the debris, wiping her hands on her jeans and squinting in the fading light. Miles walked over, notebook in hand, looking exhausted but still eager.

“What do you think, Detective?” Miles asked, his voice quieter than usual, likely from the hours of tension.

Y/N sighed, her eyes scanning the crumpled remains of the jet one last time. “I think this is a dead case for us,” she admitted reluctantly. “There’s no solid evidence of foul play, no suspicious activity leading up to the crash. It’s looking more like a tragic mistake than anything else.”

Miles nodded slowly, clearly taking her lead, though he looked a little deflated. “So, we’re calling it?”

“We’ll let the Navy finish their mechanical investigation, but as far as our end goes, yeah, I’m calling it,” Y/N said, her tone final but not unkind. “You did good today, Miles. I know it’s not the ending we were hoping for, but sometimes cases just don’t pan out the way you think they will.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, scratching the back of his neck. “I get it. But it’s frustrating.”

“It is,” she said, giving him a small smile. “But that’s part of the job. Let’s head back. I’ll debrief with Rooster and Hangman, and we’ll wrap this up.”

Together, they made their way back toward where Rooster and Hangman had been waiting by the hangar. Y/N could see them leaning against the side of a truck, deep in conversation. When they saw her and Miles approaching, Rooster straightened up, his expression expectant.

“How’s it looking?” Rooster asked, his tone hopeful but cautious.

Y/N shook her head. “Not much to go on. I’m calling it a dead case for us. The Navy can finish their investigation, but we haven’t found anything that suggests sabotage or intentional destruction.”

Rooster sighed softly, nodding in understanding. “Alright, thanks for looking into it anyway. I know Raptor’s not going to be thrilled, but it’s better than a criminal charge hanging over his head.”

At that moment, Miles stepped forward, looking a little nervous but determined. “Actually, Lieutenant Bradshaw, I still have a few more questions for you—just to tie up some loose ends.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow but gave a nod, turning his attention fully to Miles. “Sure thing, Officer. What do you need?”

As Rooster and Miles moved off to the side, Y/N turned to see Jake “Hangman” Seresin watching her with that signature grin plastered across his face. His charm seemed almost effortless, like it was second nature to him.

“Well, Detective,” Hangman said, pushing off from the truck and sauntering over to her with a slight swagger. “Since Rooster’s busy, how about I walk you to your car? It’s the least I can do after you’ve been out here all day in the sun.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin to ease for the first time in hours. There was something disarming about Hangman’s confidence. Normally, she would’ve felt guarded, maybe even slightly intimidated by a guy like him. But right now? For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel that way.

“Sure,” she said with a smirk. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

They began walking across the tarmac together, the gentle evening breeze cooling the hot air from the long day. Hangman kept pace beside her, his hands tucked casually into his flight suit pockets, his easy smile never faltering.

“So,” he began, his tone light, “you’re telling me that after spending four hours out here investigating a crash and coming up empty, you still manage to look this good? I’ve got to say, I’m impressed.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Is that your best line, Lieutenant? You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“Maybe,” Hangman drawled, his Texas accent coming through thick. “But I figure, why mess with what works?”

Y/N shook her head, but she was still smiling. “Is this how you charm all the women you meet?”

He gave her a faux-hurt expression. “Not all the women, Detective. Just the ones who look like they could outsmart me and outshoot me in the same day.”

Y/N laughed, a real laugh, and she realized how rare that had become. Jake was flirty, sure, but in a way that wasn’t overbearing or disrespectful. He wasn’t pushing boundaries—just toeing the line, making her feel lighter after such a long, draining day.

As they reached her car, she stopped, turning to face him. Hangman looked down at her with a playful spark in his eyes, clearly not ready to let the moment end.

“Well, thanks for the escort, Lieutenant Seresin,” Y/N said, her voice softer now. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her work card, handing it to him. “Here. This has my number on it—in case you ever feel like texting. I’m… open to it.”

For a moment, Jake looked surprised, but that charming smile returned quickly as he took the card from her hand. His fingers brushed hers lightly, sending a small spark up her arm. “Now, that’s an offer I won’t pass up,” he said smoothly, tucking the card into his pocket. “You can expect a text soon, Detective. Count on it.”

Y/N felt a strange flutter in her chest as she smiled at him one last time, sliding into her car. As she closed the door and started the engine, Jake stepped back, giving her a two-finger salute before watching her drive away.

For the first time in years, the idea of someone flirting with her didn’t make her feel guarded or anxious. Instead, it felt… nice. Maybe it was Hangman’s easy-going confidence, or maybe it was just time for her to feel something other than the weight of responsibility. Either way, she wasn’t opposed to seeing where things might lead.

As she drove away from the base, Y/N glanced at her phone in the cup holder. And for the first time in a long while, she found herself hoping that a certain charming fighter pilot would follow through on his promise.

[alluraswifey]

POV:Me after I found out Adam died.

[cool-and-grizzled]

Keith glances up from the sketchbook in his lap, comparing the drawing to Lance as he naps next to him leaning against him with Kosmo at their backs, the warm spring afternoon sun washing over them.

There's a calmness in all of this that they don't get a lot of, not with running humanitarian and relief missions all over the literal universe. It's been several years since the end of the war, the Coalition is going strong as ever, but there are still hostile planets. They take those missions themselves with a few trusted members.

They've come back to Earth to visit Lance's family and spend some time with them, and get a bit of rest from all the running around. There's a calmness in Lance's face that he hasn't seen in a while, even in his sleep, and guilt pools in his stomach that he didn't realize it sooner. He knows Lance wouldn't fault him for it, they're both very busy both during missions and between them, and even in the calm moments they can't fully relax -- the years and years of fighting are so ingrained in their bodies that they're always expecting something to go wrong.

Looking back at the sketchbook, it hits him just how much of Lance he has committed to memory. The way his bangs sweep over his forehead and how Keith brushes them aside to press a kiss on it when he leaves early in the morning and Lance isn't awake yet. The thin brows over his deep blue eyes, ones he's smoothed his thumbs over before pulling him into a kiss. The gentle slope of his nose, with the bump where he broke it during a mission a few years back. The freckles dusting his cheek, the ones that Keith connects like constellations. His thin lips, soft and warm against his. The small, white cut that's barely visible on his chin where he cut himself shaving once. The mole under his jaw, near his ear that's made for Keith to kiss.

The blue Altean marks under his eyes, a reminder of what they've gone through that left them a little broken and incomplete, but also a comfort that those who left them will live on through their memories and stories.

He has all of Lance's expressions catalogued, tucked away in a neat little box. The furrow of his brows, the way he gnaws on his lips when he's deep in thought. How his eyes light up, crinkling at the corners and how his grin is lopsided, revealing his slightly crooked teeth whenever Keith makes him laugh. The way he scrunches his nose when something doesn't go his way. He thinks he could fill shelves upon shelves with all the different ways he could draw Lance, and he wouldn't even need to look at him.

Lance stirs next to him, burrowing his face in Keith's shoulder. Keith lifts his free hand, and cards through his hair.

"Sleep well?"

Lance only nods, and takes a deep breath. "I wanna stay like this forever."

"Even when it rains?" He asks, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "Even during hurricane season?"

Lance lifts his head to look at him properly. "Don't be stupid. Of course even then. You and Kosmo give off enough heat for me to steal."

"And what about the water?"

"We're not made of sugar, we're not going to melt."

Keith just laughs, and presses a fleeting kiss to Lance's lips. "You'd be the first to complain about how the clothes stick to you."

"I would not," he pouts, and Keith can't help it.

He brings Lance closer, their breaths mingling in the small space between them before he captures Lance's lips in a proper kiss. He loses himself in the feeling, the way Lance's fingers find their way into his hair, the softness of his lips, the way he has to swallow a little whimper as he kisses Lance at just the right angle.

The sketchbook and the pencil fall off his lap, and Lance pulls away to pick it up. He looks at the page Keith was drawing on, and a teasing smile pulls on his lips.

"What, do you have a crush on me that you drew me? That's so cute."

Keith just looks at him with his eyebrows raised. "We literally just made out and have been dating for years, but sure, go with that."

"Don't be a grumpypants, babe," Lance says, his eyes twinkling happily.

"Don't call me that."

Despite having years to get used to Lance's pet names, they still make him blush, but honestly, he's just so in love that he doesn't care. Not anymore.

"What, grumpypants?"

"Yeah."

"Or what?"

"I'm gonna make you regret it."

"Will you, now?"

"Absolutely."

[sexisbetteronthemoon]

he wants to fuck that old man.

Prying off one glove, Lance took the glass and drank. He jumped a little as Keith spoke, much closer than before, and lowered the glass to find he had knelt beside him. “Is your back hurting?” Keith asked. “I'm old,” Lance said dryly. “My back is always hurting.” “I can help,” Keith said. “This happens to Shiro, too.” Not seeing the harm, Lance shrugged, and Keith moved behind him. When he grabbed hold of Lance's hips, Lance nearly dropped the glass. His spine went liquid and goosebumps spread over his skin as Keith began to massage him through the clothes. “This would work better if you weren't wearing clothes,” Keith said, and Lance coughed, choking on his own spit. “This is fine,” he said hoarsely, and straightened from where he was beginning to bend forward. “You do this for Shiro?” he asked, just for something to say. “No, Adam does that,” Keith said. “But he taught me how in case he's not there to help.” “Well,” Lance said, biting his tongue as Keith dug his thumbs in. He cut off a noise and said, “You've got good hands for it.” “Thanks,” Keith said. “Weren't you helping Shay?” Lance said then, drinking deeply from his glass to keep from saying anything more damning. “Yeah,” Keith said. “But I saw you through the window.” “Uh-huh,” Lance said said, not really hearing him. Keith had good hands. Strong hands. And Lance was about to become putty in them. He needed to get his shit together. “You're tense,” Keith said. “You should take a break.” “Uh-huh,” Lance said blankly, sighing as Keith massaged his shoulders. He was not quite sure when Keith had moved on from his back. “You should be a masseuse,” Lance mumbled. “I don't like touching people,” Keith said. Then he added a, “Usually.” Alarm bells rang in Lance's head, and he pushed himself onto his feet, only just hanging onto his glass. “Well, thanks for that,” Lance said breezily. “I think I'll have a soak and a nap.” “If you want,” Keith called after him, and Lance turned his head. Keith was standing, his eyes dark. “I could massage you after your bath. You'd sleep better.” Jesus H. Christ! “I'm good,” Lance squeaked, and then he quickly made his way indoors.

[alluraswifey]

Wow Keith…

James: So, Keith, what do you want to do tonight?

Keith: You, probably.

James: You know you said that out loud, right?

Keith: Yup, no regrets.

[mauvemischief]

HEAR ME OUT keith is in a new city, on his own for definitely not the first time, but it still feels new. What does he do impulsively? Get a puppy. But he definitely is in over his head with Kosmo. He's just too smart, and Keith doesn't know the first thing about training a puppy, or enrichment, or anything. So Kosmo is up at all hours, whining and jumping around the apartment and tearing things up and Keith is at his wit's end. he's about to lose his mind. in the apartment directly below him there is a grad student in a doctorate program for veterinary sciences, currently working at a local vet Clinique after finally finishing his veterinary science undergrad. he's also at his wit's end because his upstairs neighbor never shuts up. he's losing sleep enough as it is, he does not need what little sleep he can get being squandered because it sounds like his upstairs neighbor always has fifteen people in his apartment. Lance McClain is about to lose his shit. finally lance decides he's had it . he marches upstairs after hearing a battery of noises while trying to take a brief nap between his last class and his first shift, and is met with a very haggard looking young man, and a very energetic looking puppy. probably some kind of large mountain dog, if he had to guess. but the young man looks just as exhausted as Lance feels.

[paramoreparaless]

krolia after keith and acxa were born (galra kits aren’t usually this goddamn noisy TEX)

Krolia teaching them how to walk (tex why don’t they already know that. What do you mean human kids don’t usually walk for like a year)

lunch time (Acxa already has most of her galra traits and she’s using them against keith already.)

Playtime (acxa is just using keith as target practice atp)

Playing nice (krolia woke up from her nap)

Bath time 😔

Post bath reflection on life thus far (they are mere months old)

Time to learn to read 💪 (tex: uh are you sure our newborns need to be doing all that? krolia: I’ve already given them a month what am I supposed to do wait forever)

Riding the hover bike with dad 💪 (Tex: hm I don’t think they make helmets that small. Oh well just remember to hold on ok kids)

chilling with mama

bedtime after a busy day of giving dad heart attacks 😴

[lilpotatjj]

Anon Request: yes

It's shorter than usual but it's cute, lovely and funny.

Sam and Cait discuss on scottish baby names.

"Wopp" a large bump was clearly visible above Cait's belly. The baby is currently active, much to the detriment of the Irish woman, who is trying to take a nap. She cleared her throat a little tiredly and turned around when she suddenly felt a warm, loving hand on her belly. It was the hand of the father-to-be, the blond Scotsman, who was gently and soothingly stroking her churning belly. She smiled happily at him and quietly and contentedly examined her husband's expression. Sam had a happy smile on his face. He was proud.

Cait was already eight months pregnant, which her round belly confirmed as if by itself. "What are you thinking?" She broke the silence and sat up a little, her hands on his. "Urquhart" he said dryly, without any further context, giving the Irish woman a questioning face. She blinked briefly, speechless, and finally moved her lips. "What?" she asked with an amused undertone, raising an eyebrow. "His name if it's a boy," he said again dryly, as if the letters were already carved into the gravestone. "Urquhart?" she asked again, this time a little unbelievably. "That's very... Scottish." She stroked her stomach, which had calmed down a bit. The baby was probably just as paralyzed by the name as his mother. "I was thinking of other names... also Scottish, but not... that Scottish," she interjected and Sam looked up at her curiously, finally sitting down next to her on the bed. "If it's a boy, how about Archy or Neill?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "That sounds somehow too... too cute. He needs strong names, like Eildh or Bram!" he said a little excitedly, making Cait laugh. "Bram? Game of Thrones?" she said with a grin, without meaning it maliciously. Sam thought hard now.

"How about Tyree?" she asked and Sam nodded slightly in agreement. "That sounds good too," he said and now Cait thought hard. "Drew, or Drewy? Or Faolan." Sam looked thoughtfully and suggested another name. "Cailean," he said and Cait took a deep breath. "Come on, the girls' names," said the Irish woman and Sam burst out. "Maise!" He was quiet, but Cait had to laugh straight away. "Maise? Like Maise Williams? OK, we should definitely cut down on your Game of Thrones time!" she laughed and Sam joined in. "How about Skye?" said Cait and Sam grinned lovingly. "That sounds fantastic, but I like the name Bonnie too," he replied and Cait stroked his cheek. "How about Bonnie Skye?" she asked and Sam smiled in agreement. "I like that combination." He took her hand in his and thought again. "How about Cailean Keith?" he looked at her expectantly but she thought for a moment. "Cailean Neill!" He paused briefly and finally nodded in the affirmative. Cait was satisfied and leaned more into the pillow. Sam stroked her belly again and kissed it tenderly and lovingly. He got an immediate answer from the resident inside. "Hello in there... we don't know each other yet but... we love you already!" he whispered quietly in a gentle tone. The Irish woman smiled happily and ran her hand through the Scotsman's hair. "You're already a great father, darling."

[alluraswifey]

Why he kinda…🫦😍

silly evil galra keith doodle ⭐️ !!!!!

:: close up + sketch ::

[riveranova]

youre headcanons were so funny, could you do more please? there is this trend on tiktok where girlfriends film their boyfriends sleeping positions, can you do that but with the ikemen prince guys?

and female reader please and thank you!💗💗

A/N: I know EXACTLY what you mean! So sorry for the long wait, here you go! <3

I also made this Gender Neutral because there is no mention of any gender. I hope thats fine!

IkePri's Sleeping positions! x GN! Reader - Part 1

Warnings: A teensie bit suggestive, pure crack to be honest, Nokto

Characters: Gilbert, Silvio, Keith, Sariel, Rio, Clavis, Notko, Ikemen Prince

Word Count: 610

Gilbert von Obsidian

- Still - LIke, he doesn't move - He scares the shit out of you because he's literally cold and unmoving - Literally laying there like 🧍🏻 - WILL make fun of you if you panic and wake him up - He's a little shit, obviously he thinks that your crying face is adorable - Do you honestly think that he'd go out like that? - Do you even love him? - It's not that? Ahh, so you doubt him. - ''I'm hurt, little rabbit. I think I need to remind you how alive I truly am, heehee...''

Silvio Ricci

-This man is a prick - If you sleep in the same bed as him, I'm sorry - Will 100% not only steal your blankets and throw them to the floor but will also take up all the space in your bed - I don't think he's completely silent when he sleeps but he doesn't snore either - More like.. really loud breathing - My dog breathes really loud when he's sleeping well - Hold on.. Silvios crest- - I rest my case.

Keith Howell

-I'm pretty sure that he's a silent sleeper - There is one big problem, uh tall problem - Tall. He's very tall. (I'm 181cm, I feel the pain) - I'd imagine that he has trouble sleeping in small beds because of his height - Poor guy is completely folded next to you so that you have some space - His back pain must be horrible, oh dear - Now, his alter is a different story - I think he'd just pull you onto him - He's tall and strong, he can be your bed <3

Sariel Noir

-Does he even sleep - I think the question with him isn't how he sleeps but how you find him sleeping - His job is hard and trying to keep the chaos (Clavis & Nokto, really) in check is a lot - Falls asleep on his desk, mostly - Hunched over his papers, the candle already out and cold for a long time - This man has chronic back pain, that isn't even up for debate - Wakes up easily and decides to follow you into bed

Rio Ortiz

-I think he doesn't sleep much either - For him, I think it's because he just has too much energy - He just loves to get everything ready for you to start your day, he knows you work so, so hard - But even this battery needs some charging sometimes - Can and will sit down on a chair, sleep (sitting straight up) for an hour and wake up as if he slept a week - Has no back pain either - What is his secret? We will never know

Clavis Lelouch

-Okay. - We know that this idiot doesn't even have a bed in his room - When he does sleep, he just throws himself into his couch and sleep like that - Because when he's tired.. He's TIRED - Hangs off of the side of the couch like not quite dried paint - Cyran covers him with a blanket sometimes but doesn't bother most of the time because Clavis just plucks it off in his sleep - Doesn't sleep very long or very deep, he has a tight schedule after all! Haha! Ahaha! Haa.. poor Sariel.

Nokto Klein

-:I - I think we all know where this is going - Look, I know he's not ALL about women and sex - But he's MOSTLY about it and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even care where he falls asleep - Literally falls asleep with his arms in postions that do NOT look comfortable - Don't worry tho, just pluck his arms from under whatever bodypart they are and lay him down normally - Deep sleeper, 100% - Has mastered THE nap. Like the one where you wake up and you have imprints of your clothes

Thank you for reading, requests are always open!

[komohine]

I took a 3 hr nap and now im waiting for my food to finish in the air fryer. So heres a little bit more about thaf college au! Btw if i ever were to write it (lowkey considering it now…) I’d start it the morning keith wakes up in james’ bed lol i aint writing everything that happens before that

So i guess this is spoilers for a fic that (lets be honest, probably wont) is to be written? Anyways. Ahem. Lets see if my slightly more energized brain is as shit at writing LOL

Keith doesn’t see James for nearly two weeks straight after that. This was a problem, the end of summer was fast approaching and he really wanted to… What? Resolve things? What could he even say to James that would… God—Keith didnt even know what fucking happened back there. All he knew was that every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 2:15 am he’d anxiously await the tall brunette with the gorgeous grey eyes and deflate when he didn’t show. It wasn’t like Keith actively wanted to see James either: he hadn’t texted once since that incident, and neither had James. He guessed part of him wished James would take the lead on this. James has definitely had girlfriends before. Keith? Nada.

Hey, at least the empty hours staring into the convenience store aisles was good for helping him work through his feelings. He’d always known he was gay, and while James didn’t exactly fit the type he originally had in men, it wasn’t all that surprising either. Handsome, charming, endearingly stupid in his own way (DEFINITELY not in an academic way. It was actually frustrating, his grades, how easily calculations and numbers came to him).

What concerned keith more was the social aspect. Being gay already sucked. But someone like James Griffin, who surrounded himself with (or was forcibly surrounded by, Keith had started to think) the rich kids, those here on scholarships nit because they needed it but because they were just that good. The untouchables in a sense. James almost fit in, to-be inheritor of a large company, star sprinter on the track team, impeccable grades, impeccable social encounters… He could’ve fooled anyone. Hell, he fooled Keith until this summer. But James was different, he didn’t want any of that. Maybe there was a chance, if they just lay super low, they could get by.

Keith finds James on an unexpected walk. The store was always slow at night, so Keith called his coworker to take over for him while he went on his break earlier than usual. He usually sat outside on the curb, but something compelled him to walk on the forest trail. He’d definitely clock back in late, but he didn’t care.

And there, sitting on a lonely bench under the light of a single lamppost, was James. Poised almost like he was waiting for Keith, but Keith knew that James was really just contemplating if he could sprint away unnoticed before Keith could round the bend in the trail. He was playing with his lighter, and he looked incomplete almost, without a cig in hand.

He looked terrible. Again, still hot, but darker shadows under his eyes, his usually pristine hair messy. They held their positions in a long, unbearable silence before Keith slowly took a step forward, then another step, then another, until he was only a foot away from the bench. He pulled a pack of Camel Filters from his pocket (he wasn’t sure when he had began carrying it around—Keith doesn’t think he ever put the one James caught him with away. Just tucked into his pocket, a promise held in limbo) and tossed it at James’ chest. James scrambled to catch it, almost fumbling and dropping it to the ground. God it was like he just three a grenade at him. Well, Keith may as well have.

James looked at the pack, then raised his eyes to keith, the question written all over his face. Did keith really have to spell it out for him? His false, casual confidence quickly left him, and Keith’s casual pose suddenly shrunk in on itself until he was glancing away, shuffling one foot in the dirt. “I gave you the pack. Now you owe me a date.” he muttered, sparing one glance at James before turning on his heels and walking away. Keith found himself stopping and turning even before James called out to him.

“Wait! What time?” Keith looked up from the ground. He knew what they had and yet he somehow still didn’t expect this answer. So he shrugged, like an asshole, and was already turning back to the trail as he told James to text him.

James sat on thaf bench for a long time after Keith left. He fiddled with the pack of cigs, before finally opening it and pulling out a stick. He wasn’t stupid, he knew how Keith felt about him smoking, especially about how much he smoked. But he figured he may as well have one of his last before he would inevitably stop for that raven haired boy.

God. What had he become? Across multiple relationships he had never once entertained the idea of quitting. And now this foul-attitude leech comes along and swindles him into the idea. No, he shouldn’t call him that. But the irony of their social statuses didn’t escape James as he pocketed the pack of cigs and turned to go home for the night. Not before he flipped open his phone and typed Keith a quick text, perfect grammar and all. “When are you free?”

Keith’s roommates (they had all applied to stay in the same dorm and due to extrenuating financial circumstances from them all, were all accepted) did NOT like the idea of Keith dating James when they found out the following semester. “You remember the group project, don’t you?” Pidge had asked, while Lance rattled on in the background about how James had looked at him funny one time some seasons ago. Hunk just stood there shaking his head, which Keith found the most irritating of the three. It was like he was being parented. Terrible. But there was really nothing Keith could say to them to change their minds. They all had their prior perceptions about James, and none strayed too far from the description of “over privileged, stuck up, arrogant, and also a powertripping asshole.” Keith decided it was probably not a good idea to tell them that, apart from a sweet girl known as Allura and his roommates, James really had no friends in his social circle. Just vultures circling him, waiting for any opportunity to snag at his wealth. Hell, Keith had more real friends than James did, and he had the added bonus of not being seen as a cash cow.

But either way, the roommates would have to get used to James being around. He was a man of traditional chivalry, which meant he’d walk Keith to class every morning. James was also a punctual man, which meant he’d show up to their dorm 20 minutes before Keith was ready. Every, single time. Hunk was also a polite man, and didn’t like the thought of James standing outside their door for 20 minutes straight every day (for a multitude of reasons), so he began to invite James in to sit. James had refused actually, until Hunk threatened to tell Keith he was refusing his offers of peace and James relented immediately. God, he was pathetic.

James mostly kept to himself, which surprised everyone in the dorm. Outside, he was much more sociable and extraverted. Of course he still said his greetings to each of the roommates as they exited their respective dorm, but apart from that he made no effort to chat. He was usually preoccupied actually, working through a massive maths workbook he seemed to keep on his person at all times.

Apart from Keith (who didnt like that he now had to get out of bed at a reasonable time as to not make james late waiting for him, but attending lectures was helping with his grades, he admitted), Lance was the one who took the most issue with James’ presence. He wouod scoff, make snarky remarks, the whole nine yards. The worst part is how James never really reacted. He never snapped, nothing. The one time he got James to say something he was just told that he could “scoff all you want, it’s not going to make me leave without Keith.” Which honestly infuriated him more. Because author is tired of people writing shitty jaith only to end in klance, so they’re going to write one sided klance (ft jealous prick lance) into their jaith. Hell yea.

Either way, spending that much time in their dorm, James began to pick up on things. Hunk would complain about the lack of spices in their cupboard, how things would taste so much better if he had just a few more things. Lance would complain about the shitty aftertaste and weird film the cheap whey protein powder left in his mouth. Pidge would come back from class dejected, mourning that fact that her favourite chocolate brand was hit with tariff increases and that it was now out of her weekly budget to buy. Keith rarely complained about groceries, or at all really, but he mentioned on a study date once that it was about time to pool money for their bi-weekly grocery trip, and how he just hoped lance and hunk would show up with more than a crumpled coupon and an actual penny this time.

If there was anything James was taught in his rigorous grooming into being the perfect company leader, it was how to observe, and that details mattered. So a mere two weeks after James had been introduced to Keith’s roommates, Hunk opened up their door to James with a massive delivery of groceries. James ran off before they could say much to thank him, citing his class he needed to get to.

Inside the bags? More spices than Hunk could dream of, the most expensive, golden standard protein powder as well as numerous protein rich foods for Lance, and for Pidge? Two of every flavour of the choclate brand she liked because James didn’t know which one she preferred, and the company made a lot of flavours. Of course, standard grocery ingredients filled the bags as well. Meats, vegetables, even fruits (which none of the roommates had the privilege of tasting since they came back to college). Inside, a quaint little card “Let me know if I missed anything. -J”

In any other circumstance, an obnoxious display if wealth. But for starving college students? Paired with the attention to detail it was like a gift from God. Hunk and Pidge proceeded to beg Keith to never break up with James. Lance? Lance thought it was an obnoxious display of wealth, and actually pointedly used his old shitty protein powder until it ran out and he was forced to taste the divinity of the one James had bought for him. Quickly, his loathing for the dude grew. It got to a point where Hunk, not even Keith, had to confront him about his constant antagonization of James. Because at that point James had more or less proven to them that he at least wasn’t an asshole. Stuck up, over privileged, and arrogant still? Yes.

It all boils over one night when Lance was out late partying. He’d lost his dorm key somewhere, and Hunk slept like a rock and Pidge was either playing club penguin with her headphones on, music full blast, or also sleeping (she sleeps with earplugs in, half the time Keith has to wake her in the mornings). His only hope of getting in was Keith, but he didn’t know what time it was and he knew Keith worked late as hell anyways. So he sat there in his pajama pants (the party was sleepover themed), his shirt was gone, hell if he knows where it went, and he was spiralling a bit. Being rejected by a girl who looked a little bit too similar to Keith wasn’t helping, either. Second year had been much less glamorous and it was all because of James. James who was smart, effortlessly charismatic, never fucked up a social situation, hot, athletic, rich, everything Lance wasn’t. He didn’t even know why he was comparing himself to James in the first place—But when Keith rounded the corner in his convenience store uniform, looking exhausted to hell and back, Lance knew. Actually, he’d always known, but he’d never been drunk enough to admit it to himself. Him, a popular frat boy, liking another boy for one, and to have it be the weird, social outcast leech kid Keith of all people? It was absurd. Or maybe that mindset is what kept Lance from making a move while James swooped in from out of nowhere and took everything in one easy motion.

Lance stood, shakily, when he saw keith. Keith said something, but he didn’t really hear it. Instead, he cornered Keith, trapping him between his body and the wall. “Lance” Keith warned, and lance hung his head. He wasn’t stupid, he knew keith could and would kick his ass if he tried anything. He also wasn’t the asshole to try anything in the first place, he just wasn’t thinking right.

“I’ve liked you for so long, since first year” he mumbled out. What was the point in him saying any of this? To be humiliated? “But now you’ve got yourself a shiny boyfriend. How can I ever compare?” Lance crumpled to the ground, squatting with his face in his hands. God he hoped he didnt remember this in the morning. He heard Keith exhale slowly through his nose.

“Yea, I know… Come on, lets get you inside.” Lance flinched at the tenderness of the second sentence, as if the first hadn’t knifed him in his sternum. Keith knew. There was no chance from the beginning. Lance couldn’t tell if this was better or worse as Keith unlocked the dorm door and lead Lance in by his elbow.

ok i fear ive wasted enough time on this… back to work unfortunately