Hello!! If You Get This, Answer With Three Random Facts About Yourself And Send It To The Last 7 Blogs

rules: tag 9 people you’d like to catch up with or get to know better

thanks for the tag @doctcr-reid<3

favorite color: pastel pink or purple

currently reading: rn I am finishing midnight sun by stephanie meyers (don’t judge lmao)

last song: literally every song by taylor swift is on repeat, but I just added solar power by lorde to my playlist to spice things up

last movie: sweet and sour

last series: twin peaks

coffee or tea: coffee makes my little heart stay beating lol

currently working on: getting ready to go into my freshman year of college!!! but besides that, I really want to start writing again soon

no pressure tags: anyone who wants to do it! (basically everyone I follow has already done this so oop)

when i say nepotism babies have rights i am talking about him and only him

—𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆-𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔

summary: a collection of moments throughout your relationship with one Aaron Hotchner.

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

word count: 28.8k 

warnings: lots of heavy stuff, lads. mentions of: r*pe and sexual assault, slightly graphic descriptions of violence, hotch gets stabbed, reader gets shot. age gap, SMUT (including dom/sub undertones, oral, floor sex).

notes: takes place from the start of season five to 7x02 i believe? lots of time skips so DONT KILL ME but pls………………….come shout about hotch in my askbox…………………….i have many thoughts

Keep reading

god i love fredward weaselton

Every Part of You (tasm!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: The phone rang again and you took it in your hand, seeing Peter’s face grinning up at you, tongue stuck out between his lips. For a moment, your finger hovered over the button to answer the call, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, instead throwing the device across the room. It didn't ring again. — or, the one where you have a panic attack & Peter is there for you.

Words: 1.5k

Notes: anxiety and panic attack — please read with care; some cursing; negative self-talk, fem!reader, intense feelings. please be kind to yourself if you read this & please don't read it if you are not in the right space to do so. anxiety and panic disorders are different for everyone—this is based on my own experiences and may not represent your own experiences living with anxiety and that's okay and normal. take care of yourselves, loves 🌻 written for some lovely pals who requested this topic xx ily

The squirrels had gotten into your window garden again, telling gnaws in the leaves of your basil plant a conspicuous giveaway. Normally, you’d be cursing the fluffy devils, swearing up and down that if you ever caught the little bastards in the act you’d go medieval.

But you didn’t exactly have time to imagine your revenge or mourn your chewed up herbs as you towelled off your hair and began preparing for the date you and Peter were set to go on that evening. Plus, the excitement you felt buoyed you past the point of anger, your feet nearly gliding along the carpeted floor of your bedroom as you busied yourself with hair and makeup and the always daunting task of picking the right outfit.

It had been a few weeks since you and your boyfriend had gone on a proper date, not that you minded. The nights you spent sprawled across his lap while you battled it out on the XBox were the only thing you needed. But Peter had been busier than usual with what you playfully called his after hours job, a flood of some new drug making its way across the dimly lit alleys and back rooms of New York. And you’d been focusing so intensely on your applications for grad school that you’d hardly gotten a full night of sleep in a week. So you’d both agreed a night out was in order, and Peter would be meeting you at that gorgeous Italian joint that he’d taken you to on your second date.

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table, its neon red letters catching the breath in your chest, stopping you in your tracks as you moved around your bedroom, half-dressed and hair damp.

You were going to be late.

A surge of cold energy made your stomach somersault and you grit your teeth against it. You could hurry, maybe just throw your hair back with a headband?

Those stupid squirrels—if you hadn’t had to spend time worrying about them—

And the subway was always running behind this time of day. You’d end up having to stand, squished between strangers and too warm, sweating and jostled around.

And you still wouldn’t be on time. Because why would anything ever go right? Why couldn’t you do anything right?

Dread crept up your spine, flexing its fingers around your lungs and making you wonder, for a moment, if you were dying, the sudden overwhelming weight of mortality crushing you.

No. No. No no no.

You closed your eyes, a tightness building in your chest, and when you opened them, it was as though you were seeing the world through a fishbowl, distorted and grotesque. You felt a cold sweat prickle at the back of your neck, inexplicable fear bubbling in your stomach. You bit your lip, turning around once in place, pinching your wrist to try to focus on anything other than that awful little voice that had begun worming its way into your ear.

You knew there was nothing to worry about. It would be okay if you were late.

But it would ruin everything.

No, it wouldn’t. You tried, truly you did, to force the thoughts you knew were ridiculous out of your head, but your failure to do so only made you more frustrated, more disappointed. Your nails dug into your palms, tiny crescent moon shapes appearing under the pressure.

All the planning Peter had done, for nothing.

Everything seemed to blur and your legs slowly buckled, your body giving you enough time to fall gently to the floor before you hugged your knees up to your chest. Still, you heard whispers, your brain betraying you as it cruelly lashed you with hissing thoughts.

Your nail polish is chipped. Your shirt looks hideous.

And you should be studying. Kiss grad school goodbye. You’ll never get in.

You haven’t called your parents in a week, that’s awful. After everything they did for you.

You are nothing.

You were falling, falling, falling, slipping under the waves of your own insecurities until they blanketed you like an unforgiving, crushing rockslide.

You will never be enough.

Peter is too good for you.

You will never be loved.

You pressed your palms into your eyes, pushing hard to try to distract yourself from the whirl of thoughts in your head, from the tangled knots in your stomach. You lowered yourself onto your side, a sob wracking through your chest.

Peter…

With effort, you reached up for your phone, on the bed above you, fingers trembling, dropping it twice before you managed to tap on Peter’s contact information.

You’ll only make it worse by calling him, idiot. What are you doing?

It rang once. You hung up. Tears now fell freely from your eyes, your chest tight as you tried to suck in air from a room that was growing smaller and smaller, its walls closing in around you.

Then, your phone rang, a cheery sound that cut through the buzzing in your ears. You ignored it, allowing it to go to voicemail. You couldn’t talk to him, not now, not when you were so broken.

So pathetic, upset over literally nothing.

Ruining Peter’s night over literally nothing.

The phone rang again and you took it in your hand, seeing Peter’s face grinning up at you, tongue stuck out between his lips. For a moment, your finger hovered over the button to answer the call, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, instead throwing the device across the room.

It didn’t ring again.

It might have been five minutes or five hours—time slipped by agonizingly slow and all at once—before you heard clambering outside your bedroom window, the sound of someone prying it open and falling with little grace onto your floor.

“Hey ladybug! I’ve been tr—”

You’d known it was Peter even before you heard his voice die in his throat. For his part, he’d been so worried that you’d called him and then not answered he swung over to your place in record time, heart hammering in his chest.

It took him a breath or two to fully take in the scene before him, your form curled up on the floor, shaking with silent sobs.

Shit. He knew what was happening.

Peter was by your side in a second, close enough to offer his hand, far enough to allow you space. You looked up at him with bleary eyes and he smiled weakly.

“Hi beautiful,” he whispered, “I’m here.” He saw the fear in your eyes, the quivering of your lip and his chest constricted. Still, he knew he had to focus on helping you. “You’re having a panic attack, Y/N.” He paused, allowing you to digest his words. When you nodded almost imperceptibly, he continued, “You’re gonna get through this, yeah? It’ll all pass and I’ll be here. Now, you gotta tell me, love, what are five things you see?”

Peter’s voice was warm and soft in your ear, much kinder than the voices swirling in your head. You tried to focus on his words, on his face. Swallowing thickly, drawing in a deep breath, you began to answer. “You,” your voice was shaky, but Peter smiled encouragingly.

“Good, what else?”

“The floor. The bed. Those socks. My hands.” Each item listed gave you a moment’s focus.

“That’s my girl,” Peter encouraged you, still keeping a space between you, “Now four things you can touch?”

You reached for his hand and he freely gave it, allowing you to wrap your fingers tightly around his own but keeping his grip loose.

“Your hand,” you whispered. Peter nodded. Your free hand moved up to touch your cheeks, feeling the heat of your skin and the dampness of your tears there. “My face,” you continued.

“Yeah,” Peter smiled, “Your sweet face. What else?”

Time began to settle into its usual rhythms as Peter helped you ground yourself, shift your focus, bringing you out of your head. The bedroom took on its normal appearance, walls no longer falling in around you, objects once again sharp-edged.

Before you could open your mouth to apologize, Peter was rubbing a pattern on your knuckles. “Can I hold you?” he asked. In response, you pushed yourself up and closer to him, falling into his arms as your head met the firm cushion on his chest.

“I’m sorry, Pete.”

“Don’t apologize, Y/N,” Peter kissed the top of your head, “It happens. It’s normal. Today it’s you, tomorrow it’s me, yeah?” You nodded against him and he pulled you closer.

“How about I order us a pizza?” he asked, “We can eat it in bed?”

“Yes please,” you whispered, laughing lightly as Peter picked you up and set you amongst the silky softness of your bedsheets. You watched as he grabbed the phone from his back pocket and called the pizza place across the street, watched the way his lips moved as he spoke and the way his fingers played with the zipper of his hoodie as he idled and the way he kicked off his Chucks and curled his toes, clad in mismatched socks, into a stretch.

You weren’t perfect. Neither was he. There were parts of both of you that were sometimes a little worse for the wear, but what was loving someone if not sinking deep into their skin, replacing their hurt with your love.

Taglist: @v1oletvenus // @violetrainbow412-blog // @veraocruel // @morgane–stark // @frannyyy03 // @nervouslaught3r // @alijulia87 // @kdatthecastle // @di4na // @infp-t-rhi // @dreamer7black // @plutoneu // @equivocalshit // @yodelingzavia // @pinkybee926 // @where-is-my-oat-milk // @lia-andari // @multiple-boxes-of-earthworms // @starkovsmarvel // @lucyysthings // @panicattheeverywherekid // @earthgirl616 // @huhurrr-r // @astoria-reads // @schmuckyschmarnes // @mypalbuck // @spider-starry // @theupsidedownkiss

you’ve gotta be kitten me// [n.l.] prologue

summary: Neville decides to be a good friend, and finds himself volunteering to petsit Hermione’s cat while her and Ron go on their honeymoon. After Crookshanks manages to get into Neville’s greenhouse, he finds himself searching for a veterinarian to help the poor kitty with tummy problems. {Muggle!Reader}

warnings: sick kitty, mentions of animal hospital setting, fem!reader

word count: 700+

A/N: Okay so this definitely took way longer than I hoped it would. I live in Texas, so we have been roughing it the last week because of the storm. Hopefully ya’ll enjoy this intro to what I am hoping will be a 2-3 part series coming soon. I’m not sure when the next part will come, but I promise I will try my best to make it worth the wait. :)

“Neville, if you need anything at all just call us using the hotel number on the fridge or call Molly and she can help you figure out what to do. Oh, and the normal cat-sitter’s number is on the fridge if you have anything come up at work or-”

“Hermione, Crookshanks and I will be fine! I can tell he is willing to be a perfectly behaved chap for his favorite Uncle!” Crookshanks let out a less than enthusiastic meow at Neville’s assumption, clearly unhappy with whatever the man was implying.

Hermione let out a groan but was not able to say much more as Ron was pulling her towards the fireplace so they could floo to their honeymoon destination.

“ ’Mione, sweetheart, the cat will be fine with Neville. Now, let’s go before you start experiencing withdrawal over the damn thing!” Ron let out a forced smile, threw the powder into the fireplace, and pulled his bride forward. They disappeared in a cloud of smoke, causing Neville to let out a cough.

“Well, I guess it’s just me and you now, eh?” The cat blinked once, twice, then let out a hiss and strutted away. “Woah bud, don’t get too attached to me, now...”

*****

For the last 24 hours, Neville felt as if he had been walking on eggshells; If he sipped his tea too loudly, the cat would hiss. If he sneezed, two piercing yellowish eyes were trained on him. The only relief he had obtained came from his 8 hours spent at work which were now, to the brunette’s disappointment, coming to an end.

“Crookshanks? Ya still alive mate?” Neville dropped his keys into the tray next to his apartment door and slipped off his loafers.

When he rounded the corner, he felt his heart and lungs drop into his stomach. There lay Crookshanks, sprawled out on the carpet and seemingly having what one could only compare to as a total acid trip. The poor kitten’s eyes were big as saucers, drool was spilling onto the carpet, and his stubby little legs kept rubbing across the floor as if to recreate human touch.

“Bloody’ell, why’s it always gotta be me?” Neville slipped his loafers back on, and quietly managed to pull the cat carrier Hermione left behind from within his closet. “C’mere bud, I promise it’ll be a short ride-”

MREOW.

Long red scratches littered Neville’s left hand, and a surprisingly high whimper left his mouth. “So, I am guessin’ you aren’t taking it easy on me today?”

*****

After a long battle to convince Crookshanks to enter the cat carrier (during which Neville managed to use an entire bottle of catnip spray), Crookshanks was finally contained. Neville had decided against calling Hermione and instead called their usual cat-sitter to ask what vet to bring the loopy cat to.

“Well, I’ve never taken him to Hermione’s vet before, but I can text you the number. Her clinic is down the road from the Diggory’s house, so it shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“Thanks so much, Anna, I’ll be sure to call you if I need anything else!” 

The clearly unamused teen hung up, and Neville decided it was time to move the carrier into the car. Neville, having never owned a cat, had no idea how to put the carrier into the vehicle safely; As a result, the carrier had been heavily covered in 2 seatbelts that were all but knotted around it.

Throughout the whole drive, Crookshanks meowed nonstop. The cat clearly wasn’t a fan of cars (of course, it may have just been that the car belonged to Neville). When he finally pulled up to the vet, he was surprised at how a place he usually thought of as a location for goodbyes looked so peaceful. An elderly woman holding a small chihuahua sat next to the glass door, and a box of treats labeled “take 1 :)” sat on a small stool nearby. As he stepped through the door with the cat in tow, a woman in scrubs behind the counter turned to greet him.

“Hi sir, how may I help you today?”

Neville’s heart leapt into his chest, and he stammered complete nonsense before settling on the words “the cat ate one of my houseplants”.

“Okay sir, fill out these forms and I will bring you into the exam room shortly.” A warm smile was the cause of Neville’s immediate destruction, as he went red in the face and nodded dumbly.

How in Merlin’s name am I gonna get through this?

pissing, shitting, crying, throwing up, all of the above

Travelin' Sailor | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Description: A fic based on the song Travelin' Soldier except it's the happy ending that it should have been

Content: Sad/Lonely!Bob for a minute, less than ideal family dynamics (Bob has mommy issues low key), friends that aren’t supportive, a love at first sight so quick it’s unreal, wrong info about the navy, probably wrong timing of how long it takes to receive a letter from cross country on a naval base, happy ending I promise

The absolute biggest thanks to @hederasgarden for being my beta on this and being incredibly patient with me never wanting to end a sentence properly. Another thank you to the top gun gang discord for encouraging me to write (and post) again, so much love for y'all.

You could always tell when spring was turning to summer despite the dates on the calendar. The humidity had begun to hang around, the sun set later, and those that came in on lunch break used more napkins to wipe their sweat. You found yourself fanning your warm skin in between running food in the family owned diner you worked in when your coworker, Melissa, asked you to cover her section while she took a quick break. It was nearing the end of the day and the dinner rush had begun to die down, so you accepted. 

A few minutes later, you spotted a tall man with dirty blond hair, outdated wire-framed glasses, and a green jumpsuit making his way across the small dining room to sit at the high top bar. It wasn’t unusual to see men from your small Tennessee town in uniform, many of them took any opportunity to get out just as you were planning yourself. However, most of them were surrounded by loved ones right before deployment. He sat alone, placing his duffel bag on the seat next to him and resting his arms on the counter. As you made your way over to him, you found yourself wondering how someone could be alone at such a time. He had a baby face, but he couldn’t have been much older than you. 

“Can I start you off with something to drink?” you asked with a kind smile, feeling sympathetic. 

“Not really hungry, ma’am. I could use some company though,” the blond man uttered in a quiet voice, as he glanced up only long enough to get a quick look at you. 

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not off for another hour, but if you want to wait until then you’re more than welcome to…Lieutenant Robert Floyd,” you said, reading the patch on his chest as you leaned down and rested your elbows on the bartop in an attempt to see his face better.  He looked down at his fidgeting hands, a deep red forming on his neck as he replied, “That’s fine, I have a few hours until I need to be in Memphis anyways.”

Despite what he said, you still put in an order of fries and got him a fresh cup of iced water. He graciously accepted and you spent the rest of your shift finishing with the few tables you had left, grateful it was a weekday and you didn’t have anyone coming in at the last minute. Throughout clearing tables, grabbing your tips, and beginning to sweep, you felt his eyes on you. Looking up, you had caught the man at the counter looking away as quickly as possible, creating a small smile on your face. As you rounded the corner from the kitchen with your purse and removed your apron, you found him rummaging through his bag.

“Ready to go?” you asked, shaking your hair out from the bow you used to tie it back.

“Um, yeah, I just need to find my wallet to pay for my food,” he stated, not removing his eyes from his duffel as he pushed his hands through the side pockets.

“Don’t worry about it Floyd, consider it a thank you for all that you do,” you said, grabbing his plate and taking it back to the kitchen. You found him shifting in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “Or you can get me next time”.

He relaxed slightly, grabbing his duffel and watching as you came out from behind the bar to meet him. It wasn’t until he was standing next to you that you realized how tall he really was. You grabbed his arm, wishing Melissa a good night and walked through the front door. Starting your walk down the street, you noticed the hot sun finally beginning to set beyond the trees. 

“My name-, he started.

“So, are you,” you began, realizing you had spoken in unisom. “You first.”

“I was, uh, I was just going to say everyone calls me Bob,” he stated, motioning to the patch on his chest.

“Ok, Bob, I was just asking if you were from this area, think I would remember someone like you,” you inquired, watching a small smile, the first you’d seen him crack, appear on his face. 

“No, m’am, I was born and raised just outside of Knoxville, one blinking stoplight, one bar. Seems like you might know the type.” He let out a chuckle as he looked around the small main street you’ve been taking him down for the past few minutes.

Shortly after, the two of you arrived at a small wooden dock overlooking a pond that had begun to look green with lily pads. You sat your bag on the picnic table and walked down the rickety dock, making careful steps to avoid the weaker spots. Looking over your shoulder as you sat, you spotted Bob cautiously trying to follow your steps. You felt the dock shake slightly the closer he got to where you were seated, feet dangling inches above the water. He sat next to you, pulling his legs under him to avoid getting his boots wet. After a few moments of silence he spoke up.

“Miss, I need to be honest here. I know you probably have a boyfriend and I’m just a stranger, but I got no one back home. I remember during basic, they would pass the letters from loved ones out and I would just sit there. Having to would watch everyone read how much they were missed back home and I would just hope that maybe,” he cleared his throat. “Maybe next time, I’d have someone missing me. Yet here I am, headed to base for the next few months with no one. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like to send a letter back here to you.”

You watched him lift his head, his blue eyes meeting yours for the first time. Your heart ached, wondering how a man with so much love could have no one to send a letter home to. 

“Who said I have a boyfriend?” You asked, keeping eye contact as long as he allowed.

“I guess I just assumed a girl like you would have men asking left and right for at least a dance,” Bob said in a voice so quiet, it was barely heard over the sound of the cicadas. 

“Well then, it may come as a surprise to you that I do not have a boyfriend and I have far less men asking me for a dance than you’d expect. Zero to be exact,” you trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by the admission. “But, I really would enjoy receiving a letter from you, Bob”

He smiled at you, “Tell me about yourself“

The two of you spent the next few hours talking about your hometowns, his time training, and even what he could about the next few months. When the time finally came for him to make his way back to town to catch his ride, the sun had set and the air had become cool again.

You walked him back into town, sharing a comfortable silence. Reaching where you had parked, you found yourself filled with dread at the idea of him leaving. You finally met a man your age with a good head on his shoulders, and he was hours away from being shipped across the country from you. Trying not to be bitter in your last moments together, you looked up at him with the best fake smile you could muster. Despite knowing him for only four hours at this point your conversations felt so natural and you hoped that he’d felt the same.

“I wanna thank you for today,” he started, looking down at his hands as you leaned against your car. “Having someone to be with before being sent away made today less dreary…” he trailed off, looking back at your face, and studying your reaction. Although you would never understand what he was feeling now, you couldn’t imagine the loneliness that came from not having anyone to come home to after months away. 

“The pleasure was all mine, never met a navy pilot before.” You smirked, watching him open his mouth in protest. “Sorry, forgot you’re ‘just a WSO’. I can’t believe you thought being the person in charge of dropping bombs from an airplane was lame. I never wanna hear that again, got it?”

He looked at you confused for a moment. “Again?”

“Well, I’m not going to write these letters and pay postage for a man I don’t plan on seeing again. Plus, you owe me for the fries.” You replied, watching his face redden as he pushed his glasses back up.

“You'll wait for me?’ He asked, making sure he was reading you correctly.

“As long as I keep getting replies to my letters.” You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck to embrace him and hoped he couldn’t hear the way your heart was beating out of your chest. After a moment, you pulled away, taking one last look into his eyes as a truck pulled up. As it slowed to where you both stood, you noticed a man in a similar uniform sat in the driver’s seat. Bob took a step back, eyes staying locked on yours as he opened the door and climbed in. You broke contact first, hand rummaging through your purse at your side as you took two steps forward, now standing on the edge of the curb. Your hand hit silk and you pulled the ribbon out quickly.

“Something to remind you to come back,” you said, reaching through the rolled down window, and tying it onto his duffel bag. You knew he’d have to find somewhere else to keep it once he got to base, but for the time being, it would be tied in a bow on the top strap.

You stood still, watching the truck drive away until it turned down a street out of sight. You walked slowly, feet dragging along the pavement to your car. You took a few moments of silence to consider the events of today before you turned the key and made your way home, drafting what you wanted to include in your first letter.

—--------------

The first month went by fast, school was out for the summer which meant there were more teenagers at the restaurant and more time you spent working. The times you weren’t, you spent in thought about Lt. Robert Floyd. Your friends took notice of how often you spent staring off and despite your best efforts to explain the connection, everyone brushed it off as a simple school girl crush over a man in a uniform. At first you were frustrated having to explain how in a few short hours and two letters with military postage, you felt you knew him forever. As the months would go on, the comments from your friends had become less frequent. You didn’t know if it was from them beginning to understand or them growing bored of the same jokes, but it didn’t matter.  The third letter you’d received at the very end of the month had a new return address– San Diego. You felt your heart ache as he was now across the country. 

By the second month, you built a routine of sorts. The main part included going into work before the sun rose to distract yourself and avoid worrying about how he was. Some days you felt silly, stressing over a man that was too busy doing tasks of actual importance to worry about some girl he met once at a small diner in a map dot town. Other days, you worried about his safety. You would attempt to reassure yourself with the thought that he knew what he was doing, but his pilot? You had no idea who they were. Did they have someone to come home to? Did they care about the safety of their WSO in the backseat? You wondered if the man that drove him to base was his pilot. 

The days new letters came were your favorite. No matter how soon the last letter had come in, everyday you’d run to the mailbox hoping to find a white envelope with clear, neat handwriting addressed to you. On days you did, you’d drop your bag on the floor of the hallway and hurry to sit and read every word of his surprisingly tidy cursive. After the third read you’d carefully fold it back up exactly as it was and hold it to your chest, sighing deeply. Any chores you’d saved for after work were abandoned in order to get your reply out as soon as possible. 

The third month was hard, nothing you did could distract you from your thoughts. Everywhere you looked there were banners and flags in celebration of those who serve. The local VFW hall was handing out small flags with tags that included names of local veterans or those currently serving. Your friends humored you by tagging along when you placed one in the ground, a small label that read, Lieutenant Robert “BOB” Floyd US Navy, WSO.You spent the Fourth of July watching fireworks with your loved ones, hoping next year he could be beside you on the small blanket. After the holiday passed, you went back to the VFW hall and grabbed the small flag to show Bob when he returned. 

The fourth month brought a lot of doubt from those around you, especially your friends. You were young and they felt you should be out having fun, not waiting by your mailbox hoping for a letter from your favorite sailor. You had shared your frustrations with Melissa and some of the regulars at work, but they encouraged you to ignore what those around you had to say. The older crowd at work especially loved what you were doing, believing it was romantic and a true test of commitment.

At the beginning of the fifth month, you had grown anxious. It had been almost a month since you heard anything from him. The prior letter was short and explained, without giving details, that training was going to be more rigorous to help prepare them for something that had come up. This meant that he wouldn’t be able to write much. In your reply to him you wrote you understood the situation and told him he needed to focus on training. The letters could wait if they needed to, you wanted him to have a clear mind in the sky. That was twenty six days ago. Worried thoughts had begun to take up space in your mind with each day that passed. You wondered if his plane was shot down or if there was a malfunction in equipment during training. In the back of your mind you selfishly wondered if he had grown bored of this game the two of you had been playing. 

After one exceptionally long day you raced home to check your mailbox and this time, there was a letter. In his handwriting, your full name and address were on the front. Tears welled up in your eyes out of relief and you couldn’t wait to open it inside. As you sat in your car, you carefully opened the envelope and saw it contained more pages than he had ever written. Each sentence cleared any doubt you had about him coming back to you.

The first page was strictly apologies. One for the late reply and making you wait for him, the other for not being able to fill you in. In the second page, he went on to explain that he had been selected for a mission that was ‘complicated’, as he described it. He figured it was easier to sugar coat it than worry you that his admiral called it a suicide mission. But somehow, against all odds, everyone made it back on the carrier.

Bob shared more about his family next, he explained that he was raised by a single mother that worked nights and overtime to support them. This led to him joining the navy right out of high school after researching the benefits they could receive. He wanted to step up and help provide a better life for the both of them. He even wrote how he watched her heart break when she found the papers in his bedroom. Instead of beaming with pride as he expected, she was furious, wondering how he could put himself into such a dangerous situation willingly. It’s been nearly four years since they’ve spoken. The fear of losing him in a tragic accident was too great and she couldn’t take anymore heartbreak.

Your cheeks had become damp with tears, but you continued to read. As he would tell you later, you had become the first person Bob ever admitted feeling scared to. He would never tell anyone else, but sometimes the lack of control in the backseat made his hands sweat. This was immediately followed by how in those times of fear the past five months, he would take a deep breath and imagine you. Specifically how you looked dipping the tips of your shoes into the pond with a smile on your face, a pale pink haze from the sunset surrounding you. Your letters  motivated him to stay focused and do whatever he needed to do in order to come back for you. Afterall, he owed you fries, and he could never turn back on that. 

You sat in your car until long after the sun had set and the cool breeze coming in the windows helped to dry your tear stained cheeks. You held the letter against your chest like all the times before, but this time it wasn’t just to feel close to him, it was to make sure that you weren’t dreaming. You wanted to be sure that the pages where he had poured his heart out to you were real. You tried to imagine him writing the letter, probably on a bunk too small for his height. Maybe it was late at night after everyone else had fallen asleep. Above all, you wondered if he felt the same butterflies writing it as you did reading it. The thought alone left you with a giddy smile as you walked into the house. 

Three weeks had passed since that day and you still reread parts of the letter daily. Specifically, the final paragraph where he’d promised to come back. You’d gotten a few letters since, one that had come the next day apologizing for dumping a lot on you. He hoped it hadn’t scared you off, but if it did, he understood. At the end of it he told you that they were starting to wrap up this deployment and while it could still take another month until he was back, the end was within reach. After receiving it you woke up everyday excited to see if today was the day. However, you didn’t feel disappointed when you returned home alone because that meant you were one day closer.

On the last Saturday of the fifth month, you arrived at work early in anticipation of a busy day. There was a lot that needed to be done and you didn’t want to be working on it while the breakfast rush was coming in. As expected, the diner filled up within an hour of being open and remained busy for most of the day. Thankful for the fall weather that had begun to come in, you opened the windows in the late afternoon to get some fresh air before remaking the coffee. With your back still turned to the door you heard the familiar chime of the bell alerting you to someone arriving.

“I’ll seat you in just a second!” You called out, focused on pouring fresh water into the coffee pot.

“That’s alright ma'am, I think I’ll sit at the counter if that’s alright. Just here for some fries,” a timid voice replied. 

You turned around to greet the man and there he stood, Lieutenant Robert Floyd in the same green flight suit you met him in nearly six months ago. He had a slight tan from the west coast sun and he looked tired, but it was him. You stared in disbelief, wondering if your eyes were playing tricks on you.

It took one of your favorite regulars yelling out, “Well honey, don’t just stand there, welcome the sailor home!” to snap you out of your trance.

You don’t remember where the mug you were holding went, all you could focus on was taking the five large steps across the outdated tile to be standing in front of him. Bob met you halfway and pulled you into a tight hug, his hand holding the back of your neck. You nuzzled your head into his shoulder and inhaled, trying to memorize the way this moment felt in every sense. The silence that had fallen over the diner was gradually replaced with the regular sounds of the dinner rush, but you don’t hear any of it. The only thing you could focus on was his heart beating, the sound grounding you to him. After a few moments, you removed your head from its spot and looked into his eyes. His watery blue eyes meet yours as the tears that had been collecting begin to descend down your cheeks. 

“Hey, hey, hey, no tears okay? I’m here, plus I brought something back for you,” he said as he moved his thumbs from the side of your face to wipe your tears. One hand unzipped the flight suit and the other reached into the breast pocket, pulling out the same silk ribbon you had given him. You were surprised at the condition. It was perfectly intact. He reached around your shoulders to tie your hair back with it, similar to how it was when he first got a glimpse of you. As you opened your mouth to ask how he kept it so nice, Melissa called out, “Alright kids, outta here, I’ll close up tonight.”

Before you could protest, Bob had your hand in his and was pulling you outside to where his truck was parked. As you reached the door he turned you, pressing your back against the warm metal and leaning down close, trying to judge your reaction. With a subtle nod, he closed the gap between the two of you for the first time. His lips were soft and you reached up to grab at the back of his neck..

He pulled away first. “It’s nice to have someone to come home to.”

Tagging: @skvatnavle @a-reader-and-a-writer @callsign-phoenix @wildbornsiren @hederasgarden

hi i’d like thomas gibson to run me over :)

fr

George Weasley in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire