#colorado sober living

[hazelbooksoberliving]

Enhancing Your Healing Journey with Recovery Yoga at Hazelbrook Sober Living

At Hazelbrook Sober Living, we believe that healing is a holistic process that nurtures both the mind and body. One of the most transformative practices we offer is recovery yoga—an approach designed to support those in addiction recovery by fostering emotional resilience, mental clarity, and physical wellness.

Recovery yoga combines traditional yoga techniques with a focus on addiction recovery, making it an ideal complement to other recovery methods. It helps participants reconnect with their bodies and develop mindfulness, which is key to managing triggers and stressors. By focusing on breathwork, meditation, and gentle movements, this form of yoga aids in reducing anxiety, cravings, and depression, while promoting a sense of calm and inner peace.

At Hazelbrook Sober Living, our experienced yoga instructors understand the unique needs of individuals in recovery. Our classes are tailored to meet all levels of experience, ensuring that everyone feels comfortable and supported throughout their journey. The atmosphere is one of acceptance and healing, where participants are encouraged to explore the benefits of yoga at their own pace.

The physical benefits of recovery yoga are undeniable. It improves flexibility, strength, and balance, all of which contribute to overall well-being. More importantly, it provides a safe space to process emotions and practice mindfulness, essential tools for anyone committed to sobriety. Regular yoga practice helps in developing a deeper connection with oneself, making it easier to stay focused and present in daily life.

At Hazelbrook Sober Living, we incorporate recovery yoga into our holistic treatment plans, offering weekly sessions for residents who are looking to enrich their recovery experience. We’ve seen firsthand how this practice aids in emotional healing and enhances the recovery process. The mental clarity gained through yoga empowers individuals to make healthier choices, while the physical practice boosts energy levels and promotes a healthier lifestyle.

Whether you're just beginning your recovery journey or are well on your way, adding yoga to your routine can be a game-changer. Join us at Hazelbrook Sober Living and experience how recovery yoga can help you on your path to long-term sobriety and wellness. Through mindful movements and a supportive environment, you can rediscover balance, strength, and peace in your recovery.

By incorporating recovery yoga into your sobriety plan, you're not just working towards a sober life—you're cultivating a life filled with purpose, strength, and serenity. Contact Hazelbrook Sober Living today to learn more about our recovery yoga program and how it can support your journey to a healthier, happier you.

[hazelbrookcommunity]

Effective Addiction Treatment at Hazelbrook Community Center: Your Path to Recovery and Wellness

Addiction is a complex and challenging condition that affects millions of individuals and their families worldwide. At Hazelbrook Community Center, we understand the profound impact addiction can have on every aspect of life. Our mission is to provide compassionate, comprehensive, and evidence-based addiction treatment to help you reclaim your life and achieve lasting recovery.

Why Choose Hazelbrook Community Center for Addiction Treatment?

1. Personalized Treatment Plans

At Hazelbrook Community Center, we recognize that every individual's journey through addiction is unique. Our dedicated team of professionals works closely with each client to develop a personalized treatment plan tailored to their specific needs and goals. From the initial assessment to ongoing support, we are committed to ensuring you receive the most effective care possible.

2. Experienced and Compassionate Staff

Our staff comprises experienced and compassionate addiction specialists, therapists, and medical professionals who are dedicated to supporting you every step of the way. With a deep understanding of addiction and recovery, our team is equipped to provide the highest level of care and support, helping you navigate the challenges of addiction treatment with empathy and expertise.

3. Comprehensive Range of Services

Hazelbrook Community Center offers a comprehensive range of services designed to address all aspects of addiction and recovery. Our treatment programs include:

Detoxification Services: Safe and medically supervised detox to manage withdrawal symptoms.

Individual and Group Therapy: Evidence-based therapeutic approaches to address the psychological aspects of addiction.

Family Support Programs: Engaging and supporting families in the recovery process to rebuild relationships and foster a supportive environment.

Aftercare and Relapse Prevention: Ongoing support and resources to help you maintain sobriety and prevent relapse.

4. Evidence-Based Therapies

Our addiction treatment programs are grounded in evidence-based therapies that have been proven effective in treating addiction. We incorporate a variety of therapeutic modalities, including cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT), dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), motivational interviewing, and more, to address the root causes of addiction and promote lasting recovery.

5. Holistic Approach to Recovery

At Hazelbrook Community Center, we believe in treating the whole person, not just the addiction. Our holistic approach to recovery includes services such as:

Nutritional Counseling: Promoting physical health and well-being through balanced nutrition.

Exercise and Wellness Programs: Encouraging physical activity to support mental and physical health.

Mindfulness and Meditation: Techniques to reduce stress and enhance emotional regulation.

6. Safe and Supportive Environment

Creating a safe and supportive environment is essential for effective addiction treatment. Hazelbrook Community Center offers a welcoming and nurturing space where you can focus on your recovery without distractions. Our facilities are designed to provide comfort and tranquility, fostering a sense of peace and security.

Start Your Journey to Recovery Today

If you or a loved one is struggling with addiction, know that you are not alone. At Hazelbrook Community Center, we are here to help you take the first step toward recovery. Our compassionate team is ready to support you on your journey to a healthier, happier life. Contact us today to learn more about our addiction treatment programs and start your path to recovery and wellness.

Hazelbrook Community Center: Your partner in recovery, every step of the way.

[scottklumb]

I am 14 years sober today!!! This day is more exciting to me than my birthday because it is the day I decided to change my life for the better and change my life forever. Getting sober was one of the best decisions I could've ever made, and I am so grateful for how my life has turned out. Getting sober has made me more determined and driven, which helps me in my daily life with my home life, mental health, and career. If it weren't for getting sober, I would still be stuck at rock bottom trying to figure out my life and find my way. My life continues to grow with new opportunities, one of which starts later this week, and I cannot wait to share more about it and document my entire experience.

Sobriety was never easy, but because of the hard work I put into it, my life continues to shine through with bigger and better things. Years ago, I would've never thought I would get married while my parents were still alive or have the success in filmmaking I have now. Without sobriety, I believe I would not be where I am today. My sobriety is one of the most important things to me in my life, and I would never trade it for anything in the world.

If you, a friend, or a loved one are struggling with addiction issues, please know that if you are willing to build the courage and take the first step to try and get sober, life can get better. Please feel free to reach out to me, and I would be happy to listen and be there for you however I can. The first steps of recovery are scary and take a lot of work, but from my experience, I can say it is well worth it.

[redrockrecoverycenter]

Red Rock Recovery Center, is a leading drug treatment in Colorado. Our experienced staff will walk alongside you on this journey, providing unwavering support and guidance as you navigate through each stage of recovery. We offer a range of comprehensive programs that address not only the physical aspects of addiction but also the emotional, psychological, and spiritual components.

Red Rock Recovery Center 8805 W 14th Ave, Suite 310, Lakewood, CO 80215 (855) 908–0071

My Official Website: https://www.redrockrecoverycenter.com/ Google Plus Listing: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=9956482867187777369

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Service We Offer:

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[featherandferns]

guilty as sin? (fic - part 1/2)

jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | largely inspired by the bible

content warning: sexual content; mentions of parental abuse (physical abuse) | any questions for trigger warnings, feel free to inbox anonymously

word count: 14k.

blurb: when you, John B's half sister, return to Kildare after over two years of living in Colorado, your adolescent crush that you harboured for his best friend comes screaming back. Because you and JJ can't be together in real life, what's the harm in a fantasy?

“And this is your room.”

The syrup-coloured wood is the first thing your eyes meet when John B pushes open the bedroom door. There’s the vague lingering smell of teenage boy which he’s tried to air out, the window open ajar, and the clutter of his belongings has been moved to make space for your own. As you drop your duffel bag and step into the room, you take in the walls. There’s posters and prints stuck above his bed, dotted around on slats of wood separating windows: someone surfing; a rockstar smashing his guitar. An old skateboard deck is nailed into the wall alongside a license plate. The sheets are bright blue, the bed freshly made, and a clean towel is folded up at the foot. It’s well-lit with plenty of daylight flowing through the many windows. Homely and inviting.

“Is it, uh, alright?”

You turn to find John B leaning against the doorframe, hands in his short pockets. Smiling, you nod.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “I’m honestly chill with crashing on the couch, though.”

It’s pretty obvious this was his room: you feel guilty kicking him out.

He shakes his head and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I moved into my dad’s room anyway. This has been the spare for a while.”

“Well, thanks,” you smile.

He nods, mirroring your content. “I’ll let you settle in and stuff. I moved all my crap out the closet so you can put your stuff in there, and the top bedside drawer is empty.”

“That’s perfect,” you say. You lift your bag with a grunt and dump it on the bed.

“I gotta go to work but call if you need anything. Shouldn’t be back too late.”

Unzipping your bag, you look to him. “Where’d you work?”

“Got this gig helping out at Ward Cameron’s. Don’t know if you remember him?”

“Course I do,” you snort. “The kingpin of Kildare, and your dad’s treasure hunting buddy.”

There’s a tense silence as your words catch up with you. You press your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“Shit, sorry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.”

“It’s cool,” John B says, graciously gliding past it. “Anyway, he pays pretty good so can’t complain. Mostly just handy-man odd jobs.”

“Very noble work,” you joke.

With a quiet laugh, John B nods and backs out the door. He lingers another moment, contemplating saying something else. “Look, uh, I know it isn’t ideal circumstances, you coming back to Kildare and stuff, but I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s nice having you back, sis.”

Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.

“Thanks,” you quietly reply.

He nods once more and pats the doorframe in farewell. “Right, I’ll let you get unpacked. See you later.”

“See ya.”

When John B leaves – the front door shuddering against the house as it slams shut – you’re overcome with quiet. In Colorado, where you lived with your mom in the city, there was little nature. You forgot how peaceful Kildare is. Through the crack in the window, birdsong and cricket chimes accompany the sound of your unpacking. You turf out your clothes and take to putting them in the closet. Shoes and bags and bikinis. A jacket and a few sweatshirts. It was easy enough to plan for your outfits considering you’re only staying the summer. You remember the weather in Kildare well enough from when you used to live here.

Once you’ve unpacked your clothes, you find your paints. A box of watercolours which have seen much use and love, the hinges rusted and the inside of the palette smeared with dried mixed paint. Turning to the bedside table, you pull open the bottom drawer on accident. You come face to face with corny porno magazines, a box of tissues, two wrapped condoms and a half empty bottle of painkillers.

“Gross,” you mutter, slamming it shut. Yep, this was definitely a dude’s bedroom.

The top drawer is empty, like John B promised. You fill it with your paints and sketchbooks and pencils.

As the day ploughs on, the room becomes increasingly saturated with your personality. Postcards from Colorado, of the towns and cities you visited, photographs from school of your friends and classmates: you scatter them along them wall, amongst John B’s. Some of your favourite paintings, alongside artists which inspire you, join the mix. On the desk you add a few of your own books to the haphazard stack of abandoned homework and school reports.

At the bottom of your duffle bag is your penny board. You look around the room, searching for empty space to slot it without adding to already cluttered surroundings, and opt to slot it under the bed. Ducking down, you come face to face with a collection of empty beer cans. Clearly the spring cleaning only went so far. It’s noisy as you drag them out, but you’re certain you hear someone shouting. Pausing, sitting back on your haunches, you turn to peer out the open bedroom door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear footsteps.

“Yo! JB, you home?”

It’s a guy shouting. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. When he comes into the corridor, he glances into Big John’s bedroom (now claimed by your older half-brother) first. Blonde messy hair and well-worn combat boots instantly name him. JJ.  He turns to the spare bedroom and stops short the moment his eyes land on you, sat amongst a pile of trash.

“You’re not John B,” he says.

“What gave me away?” you reply with a lift of your brows.

There’s a long awkward moment where he stares at you. You can practically hear the cogs turning as he takes you in. When you lift your arm up to scratch the back of your neck, realisation dawns upon him. You imagine your scar on the outside of your elbow gave you away.

“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.

You laugh. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”

JJ steps into the room and you get to your feet. He tackles you into a hug. It’s too short, too sudden, and then he’s stepping away from you again, leaving you dizzy on your feet.

“The fuck? You’re, like, grown now,” he says.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “well, I am sixteen.”

“The fuck!” he repeats. He then takes in where you’re standing, and the state of the room, and frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with your mom?”

“I was,” you say. You kick one of the cans out the way and fold your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I came back for the summer.”

“Oh, that’s sick!”

You laugh. It’s a nice reaction to have from someone who you haven’t seen for over two years.

“John B gave you his old room then?”

He walks into it as if it’s his own. You watch as he studies the new additions to the wall that you’ve added. Lingers on one of your paintings.

"Yeah, he’s moved into his dad’s, apparently.”

“Yeah, he moved in there a while ago,” JJ tells you. “I’ve been sleeping in here most of the time.”

Your mind flashes back to the bedside drawer stocked with teenage boy necessities. Ah, makes sense. You remember how JJ was when you were a dorky thirteen-year-old. At the ripe age of fourteen, he had girls fawning after him. He was shameless in his reputation. The conversations you overheard between himself and John B as he’d brag about his escapades are seared into your memory, as you felt your wasted preteen heart splinter with every tale. It’s no surprise now that he’s probably just as unruly. Especially considering how he looks. There isn’t much time to ogle though because he’s looking away from the décor, meeting your gaze again.

“That explains all the empty beer cans, then,” you say.

He cringes. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

You shrug. “It’s cool. I need to toss ‘em out but I don’t know where the trash bags are…”

“Oh, right,” he says, breezing past you. His cologne lingers in the air when he leaves. There’s the smallest moment for you to catch your breath as JJ bangs around in the kitchen, and then he reappears with a roll of black bags. Tosses them to you and you catch. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

You begin to shove the cans into the bag and JJ starts to help. His black button-up gapes open as he leans over and it takes everything not to glance down his shirt like some pervert.

“How come you didn’t want to stay in Colorado for the summer, then?”

“Change of scenery,” you vaguely reply. It isn’t a complete lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either.

“Well, you chose the best summer to come back. Our mission this year is to have the best summer of all time.”

“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.

JJ glances up at you, flashing you a grin. “Nah, we got it in the bag.”

You find yourself smiling back, held captive under his stare. When he takes the now full trash bag off you, tying it off, you snap out of it.

“So, where’s your brother at then?” he asks, heading out the room. You follow.

“At work. Said he does jobs for Cameron now.”

“Oh, yeah. Cameron sorta took him under his wing after his dad…went missing,” JJ replies.

You have a feeling that the way people talk about John B’s father is rather doctored.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” you tell him, referring to Big John.

As you step on the porch, the sunlight warms your face. The floorboards creak as you make your way down them, to the garbage can outside.

“It was insane,” JJ says to you. He tosses the trash away. “I mean, we all knew Big John was a bit too into the whole royal-merchant thing but…we never thought it’d go that far, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”

JJ looks at you a moment longer. Then, he laughs to himself and shakes his head. “Can’t believe you’re sixteen now.”

“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”

“What? I look good or something?”

He does a small spin on the spot, arms held out by his sides. You roll your eyes, acting as if you’re unaffected. It’s hard to swallow the reflex reaction of yes.

“Or something,” you say.

JJ takes it in stride. “Well, you look pretty cute yourself considering you’ve been in the mountains for the last three years.”

“I don’t live in the mountains,” you snort. The word ‘cute’ rattles around your head like a pinball.

“You’re taller now too. Practically come up to my shoulders. I remember when me and John B could pick you up by your ankle like a marlin.”

“Yeah, I remember that too,” you not-so-fondly recall.

JJ grins and steps over to you. Despite both of your growth spurts, you still have to look up at him, and him down at you. His eyes are just as dreamy as you remember them. When you first left for Colorado, you hardly had time to pack. In the midst of chaos, taking a picture of your brother’s best friend didn’t seem all that important. Cut to you spending endless nights trying to remember his eyes, the exact colour and the exact shape. Trying to remember the dimples that popped out when he smiled. The pure joy in his laugh. The way your heart felt like it might explode whenever he looked at you, even if it were for a second.

But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.

“Well, see you around, little Routledge,” he says, stepping away. “Tell your brother I was looking for him.”

Because even after all these years, you’re still just John B’s little sister in JJ’s eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You stare into your can of cider. In the night, the only light being that from the bonfire John B started up in the backyard, you can’t make out the colour of it. Just the swirling of liquid. You’d spent the last three days working on a watercolour of the marsh side to John B’s house, but you couldn’t capture the movement of the water quite right.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.

“What’s there to be confused about, Pope?” JJ sighs, seemingly exhausted from the questions. There had been an influx of them the minute John B brought you out of the Chateau. “His mom shagged her dad and boom, here she is.”

“Charming mental images there, JJ, thanks,” John B cringes.

You laugh into your drink.

“No, I get that. But…You used to live here, right?” Pope asks you.

You nod.

“But then you moved to Colorado?”

“Yeah?”

“But now you’re back here?”

“Apparently,” you say.

Pope’s frown deepens: apparently that cleared nothing up for him. You’ve never known someone so analytical. “This is complicated,” he observes.

“No shit,” Kiara quips.

It was complicated. Families usually are. You and John B had different dads, in short. Your shared mom cheated on Big John when John B was hardly a year old, putting you around 11 or so months behind him. She ran off to Raleigh with your dad to try and fix their tumultuous relationship, leaving you with Big John for practically thirteen years. Whilst he wasn't unkind to you, he never saw you as his. You supposed you were a reminder of his ex-wife's unfaithfulness. But John B treated you like blood, as did his friends.

Just after your thirteen birthday, your mom decided to flee the state, and she was taking you with her. It all came out of the blue. You weren’t exactly thrilled to go to Colorado. You liked Kildare, and North Carolina, and John B and his friends. Kiara was always nice to you. She never talked down to you, despite you being seen as John B’s little sister. You bonded over turtles and Bob Marley. JJ was different. He’d prank you with John B and tease you about your dolls, but he’d also patch you up if you fell and calm you down after a nightmare. Your crush on him evolved naturally over time. What started as childhood infatuation with the supposed delinquent of Kildare became real. You liked JJ. He was funny and rambunctious, but he had a kindness and tenderness that he kept hidden below. He was often at the house as his own family situation was far from perfect, so having him around became as familiar as John B’s presence. When you left, JJ gave you a hug that you wished would last a lifetime.

But you drifted away in Colorado. You didn’t have anybody’s phone number, save for Big John’s (which your mom refused to let you use), and you were too young to remember addresses to write to them. Social media was never something you latched onto and eventually it all faded away into a strange, dreamlike memory. Being back here is almost proof that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.

“We’re half siblings,” you say, whittling down your family history into a simple statement. “That’s all you really need to know.”

“Damn straight,” JJ whoops, downing the last of his drink. He crunches the can in his fist and heads to the cooler for another.

“You’re staying for the whole summer then?” Kiara asks.

You nod. “I’m tryna get a job at this restaurant in town to keep me busy.”

“Screw that. Just come smoke and surf with us all day, that’ll keep you occupied,” JJ grins.

He’s comfortable in himself, relaxing in a lawn chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. His t-shirt represents one of Kildare’s small-town establishments and his shorts are stained with dust and dirt from riding his bike.

“She’s the good one out of us lot,” John B announces, gesturing to you. “Out of all the Routledge offspring, she’s gonna go places. You’re not gonna taint that, JJ.”

“And by ‘all the Routledge offspring’ you mean yourself and her?” Pope checks.

John B nods fervently. “I’m telling you! She’s madly talented.”

“You’re drunk; it’s giving you beer goggles,” you dismiss, finishing your drink.

“You were always the creative one,” JJ remarks. Everyone looks over to him. “Me and John B would be out on the water and she’d be drawing it.”

“Maybe you can show us some of your stuff,” Kiara says.

You laugh and shake your head. “Maybe not.”

The alcohol wizzes up your body as you get to your feet and you take it as a good time to call it quits.

“I think I’m gonna head in.”

“What?”

“No!”

“Come on!”

You laugh, shaking off the group’s disputes. “I’m tired!”

“Lightweight,” JJ teases. You flip him off as you pass, ditching your empty can in the garbage as you go.

“Night guys!” you holler as you head back into the house.

“Night!”

The bedroom John B offered you is starting to feel less like a guest house. You shrug off your cardigan – it stinks of smoke from the fire – and close the door. Through the window, you can hear the group chattering.

Pope seems nice. He hadn’t been around when you lived in Kildare, but you recognised his name. Heyward was a legend on the Cut; you could see his dad in his eyes. Kiara was just as you remembered her, if not more consumed by her environmental activism than before. JJ was the most staggering change of all. He’d grown into his looks, matured around the face. Any puppy fat that you remembered from childhood had vanished. Lithe and lively, he was an American heartthrob, through and through.

As you do your skincare, you glance out the window. You can make out JJ, sat with his back to you. His arms are flailing around as he tells a story. You can’t make out the details through the window but the looks on everyone’s faces tells you it’s pretty damn entertaining. He was always the joker, humour hiding whatever was happening underneath like he was arming himself with a grin. The unexplained bruises on his face and the painful batterings on his body were never explained whenever he’d stay at Big John’s, when you were younger.

The moment he shifts in his seat, you dart away from the window, scared to get caught, and finish getting ready for bed.

A bad dream rouses you awake. It was about Colorado. The warped memories keep you from falling back asleep, no matter how hard you try. Sighing, you stare at the ceiling. The room is bathed in moonlight, cosy in the wooden interior, and you contemplate sitting outside for a bit. The same cardigan from earlier gets pulled on over your vest top and you slip into some crocs.

You head for the front door, creeping past John B’s room, and step onto the porch. There’s a warm, humid air in the night. The crickets and owls harmonise with the faint buzz of mosquitos who surround the porch light. That’s when you realise that it’s already on, and you’re not alone. JJ’s on the porch, laid out on the sofa. He’s smoking a joint. The smell of weed merges into that of the dying embers from the abandoned, extinguished bonfire. You rap gently on the wall as you approach, hoping not to startle him.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at the sound.

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you say. “I thought everyone went home.”

“They did. I’m crashing here tonight. My dad’s…”

He falters, glances up at you, and shakes his head.

“Don’t need to bore you with it.”

“You’re not boring,” you hear yourself tell him.

Smiling, JJ offers the joint to you. You take it, sitting down in the red armchair at the foot of the sofa. The weed consumes your senses when you take a drag, hitting the back of your throat and dulling your thoughts.

“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.

“Big smoking community out in Colorado?” JJ asks.

You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”

He takes the joint back when you lean over to him. Tilts his head back as he takes another hit. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, hasn’t even taken off his boots; his hair is tousled like he tried to sleep but couldn’t. You’re caught in the act of staring at him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a joke. Instead, he holds your gaze. It’s almost like a silent challenge: who’ll break first?

“Can I say something kinda inappropriate?” he asks.

“I feel like you have to, now.”

JJ grins at that, amused. “You’re way cuter than I remember you.”

“Oh? You mean sweaty thirteen-year-old, chalk-highlight-pink-hair wasn’t cute?” you joke.

Shaking his head, he adds, “No. Well, yeah, but not in the way you are now.”

Your stomach tightens and heart constricts, and you wish you had the joint to have something to distract yourself with. You hope you sound calm and collected when you say, “thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” JJ jokes. He takes another long, deep drag. “Is it nice? Being back in Kildare?”

You glance off to the marsh. You forgot to check the time when you got up but judging from the endless navy blue of the sky, it’s still late.

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

You look back to him. “It’s better than Colorado.”

“So, you’re not missing home then?”

The blunt is passed back to you. Taking a drag, you ponder his question. “I don’t think I know where home is right now. I don’t think it’s Colorado, but I don’t know if it’s here either. Maybe I don’t have one.”

JJ doesn’t say anything and you remember yourself. Laughing self-deprecatingly, you shake your head.

“Sorry, think this joint’s going to my head. That was dramatic.”

“No, no, I get ya,” JJ assures. “I know what you mean.”

“You don’t like Kildare?” you ask him.

His expression darkens like a shadow has cast over him. “It depends.”

“Hm,” you say. Nothing more is said on the matter. You get the sense that JJ was vague on purpose.

Pulling your legs into your seat, you glance around at the clutter on the porch. A surfboard is lent against the nett lining of the porch; a rusting duck ornament balances on one of the beams. What looks to be a broken radio sits beside a half-full bottle of rum on a small table by the couch.

“I think it’s good for John B, having you back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ smiles. “He sorta spun out when his dad disappeared. You’re kinda the only family he has left.”

“You’re his family too. Been around longer than I have,” you tell him.

JJ’s smile softens. He glances away from you, fiddling with the paper of the joint, almost as if he’s flustered. “Thanks.”

“So,” you say, “you got some poor girl on this island falling after you?”

“Rude of you to assume there’s only one,” JJ grins wickedly.

You roll your eyes.

“What about you? Some West Coast jock waiting for you back in the home state?”

The sarcastic ‘har har’ that he gets has JJ frowning, bemused.

“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”

“Now that I find hard to believe,” JJ says.

Before you can ask what he means by that, or spiral out by thinking too much about it, JJ’s getting to his feet. He puts the blunt out on the window ledge, ditching the empty butt in a filthy dish. Stretching his arms over his head, sighing, you watch as his t-shirt rides up. The tensing of his abdominal muscles is like torture. God, to run your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, tangle them in the salt-soaked strands of his hair…

“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.

You blink away from his chest and meet his gaze. There’s a strange expression on his face, one you don’t recognise, and you want to scrutinise it and find out what it means. But it’s gone in a flash, as is he as he heads back into the house. You watch through the window as his silhouette drops onto the pull-out sofa.

It takes a minute to regain your composure.

You can’t think of JJ like that. He certainly doesn’t think of you like that, and that childhood crush has long been put to bed. Shaking it awake is the last thing you need right now. Besides, he’s John B’s best friend. Your brother’s best friend. The same brother who’s taken you back into his house, offered you a room, free of charge, without complaint or question. And it seems like John B needs as many people around him as possible right now. But it’s hard to maintain that line of thought, when as you lie back down in your bed, desperate to get some sleep, you can vividly picture the slit of JJ’s chest that you were privy to just moments ago when you close your eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You follow Tom through the restaurant. He’s the supervisor, eighteen and a fresh high school graduate. It’s hard to keep up with him as he points things out: waiter’s station; kitchen; storeroom…You’d forgotten how overwhelming job orientations can be.

“And this,” he pushes a door open, “is the staff room.”

You glance in and take in the messy pile of shoes, the overflowing trash can, and the three coat pegs overwhelmed with bags and hoodies.

“Love what you’ve done with the space.”

Tom laughs. He closes the door and leans against the doorframe. Broad shouldered, he stands taller than you by a couple inches.

“So, what made you want to work here?”

“I’m really interested in not being broke,” you reply, making him laugh.

“You new to the island? Feel like I haven’t seen you around?”

“This island that small?”

“Or you’re just that unforgettable,” he smoothly returns.

Your face fires up. Laughing nervously, you shift your stance. “I just moved in with my half-brother for the summer. Need something to keep me busy for a few months.”

“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”

“Dunno,” you say. He starts back into the main restaurant building. They haven’t opened yet. It’s void of life. “John B Routledge?”

“Oh shit, yeah. JB,” he says, flashing you a grin.

He’s charming in a disarming way. The kind of face that a modelling agency would swipe up because of his easy marketability.

When the two of you approach the bar, there’s a girl stood polishing wine glasses. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. Her smile is sweet and welcoming like warm hot chocolate on a winter’s night.

“Hey, Lizzy. This is the new starter,” Tom introduces.

“I’m guessing I got the job then?” you ask him. He nods. With that, you offer a hand to Lizzy.

“Nice to meet ya,” she says, shaking it. “Could do with more girls around here.”

“Happy to help,” you reply.

“So, you think you can cover a shift tomorrow night? I figured cause you’ve waitressed before it shouldn’t take too long for you to learn the ropes here,” Tom says.

You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says.

You bid farewell to himself and Lizzy, seeing yourself out the front door. The restaurant is in the heart of the cut, surrounded by other small businesses and hipster start-ups. You begin the journey home, plugging in your headphones and submerging yourself in Reggae music. Children play in the local park and preteens chatter as they speed past you on their bikes. There’s a warm breeze that brushes past you; it smells of sea water and fried fish. You’re passing the harbour. Eyes land on Heyward’s store, the logo just as you remember it from all those years ago. It’s surreal being back.

When your phone buzzes, you pause your sightseeing to check it. It might be John B asking after the interview. Your throat closes up when you see your mom’s contact pop up. A text. ‘Call me back.’

Just like that, you’re dragged out of Kildare and are back in Colorado.

It’s impossible to ignore the text, but you do your best either way. You don’t even remember half the journey to the Chateau as you walk through the door. JJ is home. He’s sat at the messy dining table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. Tugging out your earbuds, you give a small wave hello.

“How’d the interview go? That was today, right?”

“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.

“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

You ditch your bag by the door along with your phone. Taking the seat opposite him, you sit cross-legged on the wooden chair. The sketchbook you’d abandoned earlier lays dormant. Opening it up, you flick to your latest piece of the marsh. It’s coming together rather well. You’d decided to add the H.M.S Pogue, sat harboured on the grass. JJ peers over his bowl to the painting.

“Holy shit. That’s sick,” he says through his mouthful of Captain Crunch.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m pretty happy with how it’s come out, considering how old these paints are.”

JJ watches as you crack open the aforementioned watercolours. The smell of artificial paint teases the air. Dampening a thin brush in the mason jar of water, you dip into the blue.

“They bad quality or something?”

“A little. They best ones are Winsor and Newton, but I can’t justify spending over twenty bucks on paints.”

“Why not? You’ve clearly got a gift,” JJ says.

You hate how casual he is when he says things like that to you. Like it doesn’t knock the breath out of you like a sucker punch to the chest.

“S’just practice,” you mumble.

You can feel his gaze as you paint. Resting your chin in your hand, you work at the water under the jetty, trying to perfect the shading. You want to feel as though you can walk into the painting; like you could drown in the crystal clean waves.

Painting had become an escape when you were in Colorado. Whatever you could remember of Kildare, you’d paint. When that well ran dry, you began to paint places you wished you could go. Anywhere but the dilapidating family home you’d found yourself in. Secret gardens made of twisting ivy and crumbling, ornate statues hidden amongst orchids and rose bushes. Cosmic planes with make-believe ice cream stations snuck onto Mars and Venus; whales which bathed in the stars and caught a tan in moonbeams. Underwater societies full of sea kelp and multicoloured coral reefs, with octopi hiding amongst crabs and shellfish.

You glance up to find JJ transfixed on the painting. There’s a crease between his brows as if he’s the one concentrating. It makes you laugh, quiet and under breath, and he looks up. Holds your stare.

“That’s amazing, that you can just do that,” JJ says, remarking to your work.

You swallow the sickly rush that his words give you. His tongue dampens his lower lip, tantalisingly slow. You feel it hit somewhere deep inside of you. Something in the air shifts.

Then, so quiet neither of you can be sure he really said it, he utters, “you’re amazing.”

“Yo!”

The door swings open with your brother’s arrival. Your head spins over your shoulder to the front door. John B stands holding a bag of takeout burgers in the air beside his head.

“Y’all hungry?”

“Hell yeah,” JJ says.

When you look to him, it feels as if you could have imagined the whole interaction had just moments ago. JJ’s sat in his seat as he was before, unfazed.

He abandons his cereal and follows John B into the kitchen like a starving dog, begging for food. You place your paintbrush back into the water and join them. John B unpacks the burgers and fries onto half-clean plates. You watch JJ toss a fry into the air and catch it, whooping in celebration. A plate is handed back to you, over John B’s shoulder.

“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”

“Thank you,” you sing-song, taking the plate off him.

JJ turns around and looks at you with faux disgust. “No pickles?”

You shake your head, heading back to the table. JJ and John B join you with their own quick dinners, and the three of you eat. You tell John B about the summer job you secured, and he tells you and JJ about Sarah Cameron and her new boy-toy Topper. JJ says he’s “biceps without a brain” when you ask which one Topper is.

“That can’t be his real name,” you snort.

“Oh, it is,” John B replies.

“His name is almost as dumb as he is,” JJ sniggers.

There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.

“Two official weeks into summer,” John B randomly announces.

You quirk a brow. “Two weeks since I came back to Kildare.”

JJ holds his cup of soda up in a toast. John B wipes his mouth and raises his own, as do you. The three of you clink cups, smiling at the stupidity. As you bring your cup to your lips to drink, you find your eyes meeting JJ’s across the table. He holds your gaze as he sips, swallows and licks his lips of the sugar. You feel it hit somewhere deep, deep inside of you. JJ looks back to John B and starts recounting his tales of the day fishing, leaving you stumped.

What the hell was that?

~*~*~*~*~*~*

As your days in Kildare stretch on, your imagination becomes your most loved and loathed place all at once.

The Pogues had taken you under their wing without a second thought. It felt as if it wasn’t just because you were John B’s younger sister. Kiara would spend hours talking to you about music and star signs. Pope would discuss books and artists that he’d read about, falling into a huge debate about whether Andy Warhol is as legendary as everyone makes him out to be (the answer is, of course, yes). You and John B connected as brother and sister, filling that hole of ‘family’ that had been taken from both of you within the past year. Movie nights sharing popcorn and critiquing corny horror films, and mornings spent tending to the yard and fishing at the jetty: you felt yourself coming back bit by bit, in the company of the brunette.

But spending time with the Pogues came with spending more time with JJ. That little childhood crush that you’d claimed had succumb a long, undisturbed slumber…Oh, she had been awoken. Him staying over more and more on the pull-out when him and his dad ‘got into a thing’ meant the throw pillows smelt like his cologne and soap. He’d offer you his sweatshirt when sat around the bonfire on evenings drinking, and the warm distinct smell of him would consume you, drown you in the pheromones, affecting you like some pathetic animal in heat. Days spent surfing and sunbathing at the break gave you space to shamelessly ogle his bare chest, splattered in sea water, scorched and tanned with sunlight. The ripple of his lats when wearing his useless muscle tees as he waxed his board in the surf shack. His jawline strong and steely when annoyed or focused, with faint blonde stubble a week after shaving. But you swear he knew how it affected you. Swear he knew it drove you crazy whenever he’d fleetingly touch your back, brushing past you in the kitchen to grab a drink, or adjust your grip when helping him fix up his bike. When sharing a blunt on the porch (as you often did when sleep couldn’t come), he’d take his time passing it to you, fingers brushing. Innocent, incidental touches that felt calculated and planned. The way his eyes would gaze into yours, like he could read your thoughts and decipher your wants. A vague, barely-there smirk to his lips, constantly tortured by his tongue and teeth…

God, your whole body feels as if it has been on fire for the past week.

You blame your overactive thoughts of JJ on your boredom. Working at the restaurant hadn’t been sufficient distraction from the mess that is your life right now. Even now, as you stand before the till, typing through an order for the kitchen and bar, you feel your mind wandering. To thoughts of the Chateau, and to a certain blonde-haired guy sprawled on the pull-out sofa, shirtless, back on proud display…

“You gonna be much longer?”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.

You hope your embarrassment doesn’t read on your face. It’s not as if he could hear your thoughts, so you’re not sure why you feel caught in the act. You finish selecting the sides for table 16 and press ‘store table’. Stepping to the side to grab some side plates, Tom takes over the till.

He’s nice. Makes you laugh a lot at work, as you slander rude tables and gush over those that tip an extra twenty.

After depositing the side plates at the table, you head to the bar to run the drinks you put through. Lizzy is mixing the cocktail you ordered. She pours rum into a shaker and then passionfruit puree.

“Can I ask you something?” you say to her.

She glances over. The two of you had gotten closer at work. You were hoping to hang out with her one time down at the beach, or maybe grab lunch after a morning shift. She runs a hand over her buzzcut hair style and nods.

“Do you think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?”

“Bit deep to be asking that at eight o’clock at night, don’t you think?” she smirks.

You roll your eyes. As she goes on making the cocktail, you elaborate. “I have this dumbass crush on this guy which I know I shouldn’t have…I just feel bad for thinking about him so much.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.

There’s the loud rattle of ice against stainless steel as Lizzy shakes the cocktail. Then, as she strains it into a martini glass, she looks up at you once more.    

“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”

“Maybe.”

Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Is it Tom?”

And, no, it isn’t Tom, but maybe saying it is means she won’t keep digging. You’d rather keep your embarrassing years-long infatuation with your brother’s best friend close to the chest. So, you do your best to look meek as you nod.

“Holy shit! Well, if it makes you feel better, he’s totally into you,” Lizzy tells you.

“He is?”

“Hell yeah. Guy practically ogles you across the room,” she says.

You glance over to Tom. He’s stood before a table, talking away, scribbling down their order on a notepad. At the feeling of being watched, he looks up and meets your gaze. You flash him a small smile and he mirrors it quickly before returning his focus to the task at hand.

“So, do you?”

“Think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?” Lizzy checks. You nod. She ponders the question whilst garnishing the cocktail. “No. No, I think only actions talk. I mean, I think bad things all the time about customers who are dicks. I could put glass in their drinks: that’d show them sort of thing. But I don’t actually put glass in their drinks, so I’m off the hook. Nobody’s the wiser.”

It’s a somewhat extreme example but it gets the point across. You take the tray and nod.

“I mean, maybe fantasising about it might be cathartic. Get it out your system, you know?” Her sly wink speaks volumes as to what these ‘fantasies’ are about. You roll your eyes.

“Thank you for your advice, Lizz. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

With that, you walk over table 16 and deliver their drinks. The rest of the shift passes by rather quickly. You end up making a bet with Tom that you can sell more pints of larger than him and come up victorious, leaving work with an extra ten dollars in your pockets.

The streets are painted sunset purple, orange and pink. You spot John B’s campervan, known as The Twinkie, in the parking lot; he’d promised to pick you up after work tonight. But as you walk up to the passenger side, you realise it’s JJ behind the wheel. You’re not sure if the feeling of your organs shrinking is a good thing or a bad thing.

“Where’s John B?” you ask, climbing in beside him.

“Nice way to say, ‘hi JJ, it’s so good to see you!’”

“Okay, hi JJ,” you say, rolling your eyes. He starts the engine. “Now, where’s my brother?”

“He had to go do something for Cameron.”

“At ten at night?”

“Dude, I just work here, a’right? I do as he says so he lets me stay on his sofa,” JJ says. You laugh.

The radio kicks on and ‘Downtown Lights’ starts to play. You look out the window as he drives, watching the houses fade into overgrow and trees.

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“We can swing by a Wendy’s on the way home, if you wanna,” JJ says.

You smile as you look over to him, nodding. With that, he takes the next left and the two of you make your way in comfortable silence to the drive through. At the worker’s request, JJ recounts his order: two hamburgers, both with cheese, one without pickles. Oh and a large Pepsi.

As he pulls forward to pay, you say, “you remembered I don’t like pickles?”

He glances over to you like you’re stupid for even asking. “Course.”

Food secured, Pepsi in the cupholder for you both to share, you start the journey to the Chateau.

“Feed me a fry?”

You laugh and oblige. It’s the least you can do, considering he bought you takeout, after all. You turf one out the brown paper bag and hold up to his lips. His breath fans against your fingers as he takes it. Chews and swallows. You managed to tear your eyes away. That man could yawn and you’d be mesmerised, you swear. It’s pathetic.

“Thanks.”

“Course.”

The ride back is over way too soon. You take what’s left of your food and your bag, opening the door. “You staying over tonight?”

JJ contemplates a moment before shaking his head. He studies his hands as they run up and over the steering wheel when he says, “no. No, I gotta go home sometime.”

“Right,” you quietly say. The last fight him and his dad got in was ugly. He came over, shaking with anger, a purple bruise forming under his eye. It scared the shit out of you to let him go back there alone. “Well, thanks for the food.”

JJ looks up from the steering wheel and takes you in. His lips move, like he wants to say something, but he seems to abandon the thought. You take it as your cue to leave.

“See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”

You hate that nickname. The resentment is thick to swallow as you say goodnight, stepping out the van.

John B isn’t home when you walk into the Chateau. The lights are off, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The sofa bed is unmade from the last time JJ slept on it. You contemplate crashing on it for the night, just so you can feel as if you’re near to him, but you know that’s insane. If John B were to find you there, he’d only be concerned that something was wrong with your own room, either way. So you trundle back to your bedroom and strip out of your uniform. Makeup rinsed off and teeth brushed, you crawl into bed and drift off easily.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

His lips are hot and wet on your skin, kissing down your stomach. Your breathing’s laboured like you’re fighting an adrenaline rush. He seems to notice, laughing darkly against your tummy.

“So wound up already and I’ve barely touched you,” JJ croons in his southern drawl.

Your eyes slip shut, fighting back a whimper as his fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of your panties. A moan finally lets slip at the sensation of his lips pressing against your crotch, over the cotton.

“You want it?”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah? You want my mouth?”

“Yes, JJ, please.”

It’s embarrassing to beg but you don’t have much left in your mind other than thoughts of him to even care.

Fingers knotting into his hair, you try and coax him lower still. And he obliges. Drags your panties down your legs like time is a luxury. You wonder if he likes teasing you; if it brings him pleasure like the feeling of his hands on your body does for you. He leans back on his haunches and runs his palms up and down your thighs, staring at you exposed pussy. His shark tooth necklace sits against his toned chest and you’re jealous of how close it gets to be to him.

“Fuck,” JJ groans as you open your legs.

He leans back down and nuzzles your inner thigh, pressing a sharp kiss with his teeth, sucking in the skin and relishing your pleasured yelp. It feels as if he’s marking you as he leaves the hickey: mine.

“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”

Before you can let out another pathetic plea, JJ situates himself between your legs and goes down on you. Eats you out like a man who’s been lost at sea, like a man starved. Sighs at the taste of you on his tongue, kissing at your thighs as if to catch his breath, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. The damp of his tongue laps at your clit and your legs lock around him in a vice. He’s indefatigable, insatiable and…it’s too much.

“I can’t,” you whine hopelessly. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, eyes clenched shut.

“Come on,” JJ preens. “Wanna see you come.”

He leans close to your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth, and slips a finger into your seeping hole. Your orgasm comes like waves crashing over splintered rocks; breathing jagged and vision blurring behind eyelids. Somewhere in the euphoric haze you cry out his name. Flashes of colour blending into a mercurial high as he works you through your ecstasy, unrelenting.

You gasp awake.

Had you been sleeping?

Your forehead is damp with sweat, throat parched and chest heaving. Anyone would have thought you’d have just sprinted three miles. When you sit up in bed, you register the pulsing between your legs and the telltale stickiness of your thighs.

Shit. Good thing there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.

Wiping at your face, your skin feels red hot. You venture to the bathroom and drink water from the faucet. Making eye contact with yourself is too hard right now, considering you just had the most incredible wet dream about your brother’s best friend. Now that the high is passing, you’re overcome with shame and guilt. You’re delusional. Maybe you should submit yourself to be sectioned. Would be a good way to kill some of these summer weeks…

Heading back to bed feels like returning to the scene of a crime. Instead, you head out onto the porch, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. John B’s a deep sleeper, you’ve come to learn. You’ve never heard him get up in the night, in all your moments of insomnia. There’s no risk of crossing paths with him out here.

Stepping out onto the paint-peeled floorboards, you notice he forgot to turn off the porch light when he came home. Great, I guess I know where my wage is going. But as you head to your favourite red armchair, ready to gaze out at the marsh and watch the waterside plants dance in the breeze, you freeze.

JJ’s on the sofa. And he’s awake. You can tell just from where you’re stood.

Before you can flee back to your room, the floorboard creaks. JJ jolts up and looks around, eyes landing on you. You swallow. The moment you lay eyes on him, part of your dream comes screaming back to you. The way your voice cracked as you cried out his name, tumbling over the edge. You quickly shun away the thoughts, slamming them closed in a box, before your body can lose itself to the fantasy once more. Please God tell me that I didn’t actually scream his name.

“Hi,” you dumbly say.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” you say.

JJ shrugs. “Change of plans, I guess.”

“Oh.”

He looks back ahead at the armchair, back to you, and you can’t help but pull a face akin to holy shit what the fuck do I do? When he holds up a joint, you decide to stay. Panties are just the same as a bikini anyway, and he’s seen you in those. You make sure to wear your cutest ones when he’s surfing with you. The ones that are tight in all the right places and hug your figure in a way that you wished he would. Oh my God, shut up. You wordlessly take the joint as you quickly step past him, planting yourself in the armchair. You pull your legs up and sit atop of them, taking a long drag to try and calm your racing mind and heart. Inspecting the floor seems a good thing to do, suddenly. The divots in the wood from worms and the strips of paint. Looking up, you find JJ’s eyes trained on your legs. His gaze diverts when you lean forward, offering him the blunt again. As he lifts himself to take it, you see him wince, and now in the light of the porch, fully taking him in you, you can make out the bloody cut beside his eye.

“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”

“It’s fine,” he reflexively says. He takes another hit. “Just need some self-medication.”

“Bullshit. You need to clean that thing ‘fore it gets infected.”

“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.

With that, you get to your feet and head back into the house. The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. It’s probably the least dusty thing in the whole room. Returning to him, you forget all about the reason that you got up in the first place and shove it to the back of your mind. This was more important than worrying about some dumb dream. Shoving his legs off the couch, you force him to make space for you. You place the first aid kit on your lap and open it. JJ keeps smoking. The smell of weed clouds your senses. Picking out a disinfectant wipe, you turn to him.

“This’ll sting,” you say, opening the packet.

“That’s what she said.”

You frown. “What kind of kinky ass sex are you having?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins.

For a moment dread drops down your body, chilling your spine. Did he hear you? No, no he couldn’t have. You probably didn’t make a noise. He’s just being his usual, salacious self.

You take his jawline in hold gently between your fingers. The bone is hard beneath the soft of his skin; fine stubble scratches your fingertips. Leaning up, you try not to get distracted in his eyes as you dab at the cut. You apologise as he hisses. It doesn’t look as intimidating when clean of blood, which is more than a relief. You dip back into the first aid kit and offer up two band aids. One is plain nude and the other Hello Kitty.

“Take your pick.”

He rolls his eyes with a small smile and grabs the Hello Kitty one, holding it out to you. You shift onto your knees, bending over him to plant it over his cut. You notice a bruise forming on his cheek bone on the other side, and a cut lip. You should have insisted he stayed over when he dropped you off. He looks up, as if he can hear your thoughts, and meets your gaze. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to move away.

“It’s not your fault,” he quietly says.

You swallow. It’s scary how easy he can read you. Makes you worry what other thoughts he can tell from your face. “Wished you just stayed here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hate the thought of you going back to that house.”

“That’s sweet,” he smiles. “But if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have you here taking care of me.”

“Oh, was it all part of your masterplan?” you joke, finding your smile again. His seems to grow at the sight.

“Something like that.”

When his lips press to yours, you’re taken aback. It feels like fire, searing hot, and you flinch like you’ve been burnt. You gape at him, wide eyed, and it seems to register what he’s just done. You both move to put as much space between you as possible, as if trying to keep the blaze from spreading.

“Shit, I—”

“I should go back to bed,” you hurry out.

JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”

In your scramble to get back to your feet and back in your room, the first aid kit falls to the floor, the contents spilling out. You cuss and drop to your knees, rushing to retrieve all the clutter. JJ joins you, passing you gloves and bandages. You find some nerve to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says. The sincerity in his voice…It’s painful.

“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”

You sigh. Your speech is just as messed as your mind. Closing your eyes, gathering your words, you take a deep breath. Looking back to JJ, you shake your head.

“We can’t.”

“I know,” he replies, almost sadly. Nods once more. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…high. And tired.”

“Right. Course.”

And whilst his excuses should sting, they don’t, because you don’t believe them. JJ smokes enough weed to not be affected all that much by half a joint. But you don’t argue. Instead, you close the box and go to head inside. You stop in the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.

You spare him one last glance. He’s on the floor, head hung and back to you, and you consider staying. But you don’t. You go straight to bed, acting as if a fresh start tomorrow will reset the entire thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the morning, JJ’s gone. John B doesn’t seem to have even realised he’d stayed over. You find your older brother in the kitchen, washing up the dirty dishes. Swiping up a towel, you come to help.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

“Like a rock,” he grins. “You still up for that keggar tonight, at the boneyard?”

“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”

“Yeah. All the others are going,” John B says.

“Yeah, I’ll go. I think I’m catching a ride with Lizzy from work.”

“Alright. Just stay safe.”

“I will,” you drawl. He smiles at you before turning back to the washing up. “Hey, John B?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”

“Yeah, course,” he says. He pauses his handy work, turning his attention to you. “You’ve always got a bed to crash on here, even if child services are up my ass.”

“I appreciate it. I really needed to get out of Colorado.”

The seven missed calls from your mom slip into your mind. Her texts go unanswered, but she knows you read them. You don’t want her to think you’re in danger. Talking to her is just too much right now.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I needed you back too,” he says. “Things have been kinda messy since my dad…disappeared. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.”

“You’re never gonna be on your own, though,” you smile. “The Pogues would do anything for you. It’s actually kinda scary.”

John B laughs at that. “Yeah, yeah, they’re, uh, not the smartest.”

“Apart from Pope,” you point out. He nods, smiling as he looks back to the soapy water.

“Yeah, apart from Pope.”

“JJ cares about you a lot,” you feel the need to add. His voice last night, apology ready, after your kiss, echoes in your mind.

“I know. I feel like you two are the best things in my life right now,” John B admits. The guilt multiples by tenfold with that. You fix your face when he looks to you. “So, thanks.”

“No worries, big bro,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”

With that, you both continue cleaning the pots. The shame from last night gets shoved down into the deepest, darkest pit of your stomach, and you try to go about your day without sparing another thought to JJ.

On the way to the keggar, Lizzy grills you about your ‘crush’ on Tom. “He’s gonna be there tonight, I think.”

“Oh, really?” you say. You know you don’t sound enthused. It’s too much effort to pretend.

“Everything good?” she frowns, glancing away from the road.

You nod and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, I think.”

“Couple drinks in you and you’ll be wide awake, I promise,” she assures.

Nodding, you shift in your seat and look out the window. Your skirt rides up in the processes. It’s a little short but it’s so ridiculously hot tonight, you can’t seem to care. A crotchet style crop-top dresses down the outfit. You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard for a beachside keggar. As you pull up closer to the boneyard, cars line the roads. Lizzy finds a spot and parks. You grab the crate of Budlight and her the box of White Claw, and you hop out the car towards the beach. Her stories about work and school have brightened your mood.

She’s tall and remarkably cool in a way that you never will be. She has stick and poke tattoos on her knees and elbows, and nine piercings on one ear. Her nose ring and snake bite piercings are far from intimidating on her cherub like features. The buzzcut has been dyed neon blue, standing bright against her dark skin. As you pass groups of teens, she shouts hello to those she recognises and shares the odd bro-hug.

You add your drinks to the pile of booze before grabbing a can, cracking it open. A quick scan of the scene tells you that the Pogues are still pre-drinking at the Chateau. You’d managed to dodge JJ so far.

“This is a pretty decent turn out,” Lizzy tells you, swigging from her can.

“Know a lot of people here?”

“Sure,” she says. She points to a gaggle of polo-shirt wearing pretty boys who look like they could snap you with one finger. “Those are the gym rat kooks. That tall blonde Topper is with the princess of Figure Eight, Sarah Cameron.”

JJ was right: biceps without a brain. You watch as he shotguns a drink and cracks the can on his forehead. Sarah Cameron, blonde hair straight flowing down her back, does not look impressed.

“And her brother Rafe. That guy’s all kinds of whacked out,” Lizzy mutters. You follow her finger to spot a tall, short haired guy. He looks unapproachable, even from far away.

“Yo Lizzy!”

You both turn to find a crowd of girls and guys. One of them is waving at Lizzy and she waves back.

“Come on, I know these guys. They’re cool,” she tells you, taking your hand and guiding you over.

You’re introduced to everyone and soon enough are roped into beer pong and shots. It’s fun though. Everyone’s having a laugh, cheering each other on. You hear about some good spots to grab food and learn Michael, Lizzy’s closest friend, can drink you under the table. A few hours in and there’s a comfortable buzz to your bones. You haven’t thought about the Pogues, or JJ, or the fleeting kiss all night. As you laugh along to one of Michael’s soccer stories, someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to come face to face with Tom.

“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”

“Hey, Tom,” she smiles before sending you a more than suggestive look. Oh, shit. The lie. “Hey, why don’t you go get my girl a top up?”

Before you can contest, she’s taking your half full can out of your hand and coaxing you away with an assuring smile. Tom takes it in stride and walks with you to the coolers. He grabs two cans of beer, passing one to you, and you cheers him.

“How you finding Kildare?”

“Good.”

“Yeah? You been hanging with John B’s crowd, right?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” you smile, nodding. He makes a face before taking a drink. You frown. “What?”

“Nah, nothing. They’re just kinda…well, I mean, some people think they’re bad news.”

“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.

“Just reputations and all that. Like that JJ guy. He’s got slippery fingers, if you know what I mean,” Tom says, wiggling his own in demonstration.

Suddenly this conversation is very unappealing. You glance off to Lizzy and the others. “I should probably get back to them. Thanks for the drink, though.”

“No, hey, no,” Tom says. He grabs you by the wrist. “Come on, I was being a dick. I’ve had one too many. Let’s just hang, alright? I really wanna get to know you.”

You look between him and Lizzy and sigh. Taking a swig, you shrug. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off.”

“I like the Pogues. They’re a good group,” you feel the need to defend.

“No, yeah, they are!” Tom agrees. You can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. “I just don’t want you to get corrupted by them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just, you’re new here—”

“And so I’m clueless on how to judge people?” you finish sardonically.

Tom rolls his eyes and it makes your anger tick. “Come on, you don’t gotta be a bitch about this.”

“What did you just call me? You know what? Forget it,” you scoff, snatching your arm away from his hold. “Have fun drinking on your own.”

But you don’t get very far before he’s grabbing at you again. “Calm down, would you? Just gimme—”

“Let go!” you demand.

His grip only tightens. The strong front you’re putting on begins to crumble under the panic of this guy is way bigger than me.

“Just quit bitching and we can talk,” he says harshly.

“I don’t want to talk. Now please let go of me,” you firmly return.

He doesn’t let go. Keeps chattering away, insisting that you have to hear him out.

“Let go, Tom!”

“Everything good here?”

Your wide eyes look away from Tom and land on JJ, and your whole body relaxes. He’s looking at you and the panic must read clear on your face because his demeanour changes in a split second. Jaw tight, he turns to Tom.

“I think you should let go, man.”

“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” Tom scoffs.

JJ takes another step towards him. He towers over Tom by enough to be intimidating. “Think you should listen to her.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tom snarls. He lets go of you and you can feel your skin breathing. You rub at the pink marks, easing the sting. Tom gets into JJ’s face, undeterred from a fight. “You wanna keep John B’s sloppy sister for yourself, huh?”

JJ’s fist flies at Tom’s face, making an ugly, visceral sound as it lands on his left cheek. You gasp. Nearly knocked off balance, Tom stumbles on the sand. The commotion has drawn in somewhat of a crowd. Before you can intervene, Tom’s throwing hands. He aims an upper cut to JJ’s jaw but he’s quick to dodge, landing his own punch instead by Tom’s eyebrow. That one seems to deter him. He trips backwards. The chanting of the crowds egging it on makes you feel sick. You’d just finished patching JJ up last night, and you’ve seen his anger before. It takes control quickly and blinds him to reason. The last thing he needs is to wind up in a cell. So, before he can land another hit, you’re stepping forward and grabbing at his arm, stopping him.

“Come on, let’s just go,” you say pleadingly.

His chest is heaving with anger, breathing short and jaw heavy set and tense. He hesitates, looking between yourself and Tom. He’s still cradling his last hit, trying to regain his composure. Sighing, JJ lets you lead him away. Tom’s heckling is laced with slurs directed at you, and you have to keep a steady grip on JJ to keep him from going back.

“He’s not worth it, JayJ,” you mutter.

“You’re so wrong,” JJ darkly returns, but he doesn’t go back.

Away from the beach, back on the road, you let go. He paces for a moment, trying to calm himself. Tugs off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, breathing deep and slow. You don’t speak: just let him go through the motions. Babying him through this isn’t going to help anyone.

Whilst violence isn’t the answer to anything, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for JJ’s help.

Letting him cool off, you take a seat on one of the fallen tree trunks.

“Hey.”

Looking up, JJ walks over. He’s mostly back to himself.

“You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. Just freaked me out a bit. He’s not usually like that. He’s just drunk.”

“Like that’s an excuse,” JJ scoffs. He takes the spot next to you, sitting worryingly close.

The culmination of last night and tonight makes your head spin. The effects of the alcohol vanished the moment Tom took a hold of you. Now you just want to forget the whole thing.

“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.

You turn your head to face him and smile smally, nodding.

“Come on. I brought my bike.”

His red bike is parked beside the Twinkie. He climbs on first and offers a hand to help you onto the back. Your arms slot around his middle, circling around his taught chest, pressing yourself against him. Face resting on the middle of his back, you try not to inhale the smell of him. It might be too much for tonight. His calloused hands on yours have you shifting your hold, ensuring your tight against him like a backpack.

“Good?”

“Good,” you quietly reply.

He kicks off the stand and starts up the engine. You pull away from the keggar and up the road, zipping down the isolated streets. There’s nobody around at this time. Not a soul in sight. It feels so right, wrapped up against him like this, safe in his presence. Tom was wrong: JJ wasn’t bad news. Sure, he was a klepto, but he was the same guy who learnt how to sew to fix your favourite pair of shorts when you were little. The same guy who stepped up when some dirtbag was harassing you. The same guy who remembered you don’t like pickles on your burgers. Who looked at your paintings as if they were Picasso.

Somewhere along the ride, one of JJ’s hands comes to rest on your own. You don’t ask why and don’t pull away. Just let the reassuring weight of his hand on yours stay there and ground you to him like an anchor. Here, flying through the night, you can pretend like all the other shit doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him.

He starts onto a dirt track, slowing down, and a house emerges. Pastel yellow painted exterior hidden behind porch netting. There’s clutter of engines and fishing gear amongst surfing supplies. He pulls to a stop and kicks on the stand, turning off the engine. It’s quiet now, without its rumble. “Your dad home?” you can’t help but ask, staring at the front door.

JJ shakes his head. “No. He’s out on Friday nights. Kinda the only routine he has.”

You don’t ask where and he doesn’t expand. You step off the bike and watch as he clambers off too. Fixing your skirt, you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t. “I should probably head back,” you say. You’re not entirely sure why you came to his place instead. You’d assumed when you got on the bike that he’d take you back the Chateau.

“I mean, we can share a joint first if you want. Help you calm down and stuff, after that shitshow,” JJ half-chuckles.

There’s something heavy in the humid air. It’s hard to describe, hard to place, but you can feel it like static electricity. You find yourself nodding. He nods too and starts up to the house, hands in his black short pockets. You watch his feet sink into the grass and guide your eyes up his figure. His shoulders are tense, dressed under a thin t-shirt. He ditches his cap on the kitchen counter when you walk through the door. Through the house, past the neglection, and to his bedroom. He flicks on the light and clears his throat as he goes to his desk drawer.

You stand, leaning against his door until it clicks closed, and look around his room. There’s a world map pinned to the wall but no markings on it asides from one: Kildare, North Carolina. Print outs of palm trees and pressed, framed butterflies and leaves seem less innocent when placed between posters of models on the beach. The floor is a mess of dirty clothes and empty beer cans. Several dead vapes litter near the overflowing bin, and cigarette and joint buds scatter the windowsill and beside table. But the smell of JJ hangs strong in the air; it makes you smile to yourself.

“Alright,” JJ sighs. The desk drawer slams closed and he turns around, holding up a fresh joint and lighter. His initials are scratched into the metal: JJ. He sits on the bed and places the blunt between his lips, flicking at his lighter. You watch him take a drag and take it off him when he offers it over.

No words are shared as you pass the bud for several minutes. You both glance around the room, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but each other.

“How’s your face?”

“Huh?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.

You nod to his cheek. “Your cut from the other night?”

“Oh, right,” he mumbles. He lifts a finger and strokes it absentmindedly. “It’s alright.”

“Good.”

JJ hands you the joint again, you take a drag, you pass it back to him. That same feeling from earlier, when you first climbed off the bike, has only amplified.

“So…”

You brave clearing the distance between you. You take the spot next to him on the bed.

“We gonna talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” JJ deflects, studying the floor.

“Well, you kissed me,” you eventually reply, taking the joint back. “So, there’s that.”

“I already told you,” he sighs. “I was tired and doped up.”

When you say nothing, he looks up at you. "What? You think I'm lying?"

You take a drag. Shrugging, you honestly reply, “yeah, a little.”

He holds your gaze as if challenging you to back down. You don’t. Beating around the bush won’t help anything here, and its obvious you can’t go back to acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t move past it until you know why he did.

“S’just weird,” JJ mutters, looking away. “What happened last night, with me and you. S’just weird.”

“Yeah, it was weird for me too,” you agree. Swallowing, you take another hit. “But not bad weird, right?”

JJ’s head lifts once more. His eyes flash across your face like he’s searching for some kind of trap. He sucks his teeth in contemplation. “No. Not bad weird.”

Your heart stutters, breathing shaky and unsure. You feel your eyes dart down to his strawberry pink lips, and his to yours. But then he’s shaking his head. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know…” you breathe. You’re transfixed on his lips. Can’t move away, can’t bring yourself too. The blunt in your fingers is burning away, ash dropping to the floor, but you don’t care. All of it, everything but JJ, is white noise.

The moment you flit your eyes up to his, something shifts in him. His jaw ticks as he clenches it. Your brows pull in thought but there’s no time for you to ask.

“Fuck it.”

His lips are on yours within a breadth. He consumes your senses like a drug, dulling down anything else until all your thoughts are on him. He grabs for the blunt in your fingers, haphazardly putting it on the bedside table, and then his hands are sliding up along your sides, up your back, into your hair. One finds purchase on your cheek, and you rest your jaw in his hold like a bird settled in its favourite branch. The way he holds you like you’re something holy is different to how sinful his kiss is. It’s pure passion: raw, animalistic heat from weeks of build-up. And, God, it feels so right. The way his tongue brushes against yours, warm in your mouth, heavy in your head. The nip of his teeth on your lips and the fanning of his breath when he has to break for air. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not by anyone. It’s dizzying.

Until it isn’t, and he’s pulling away. His forehead rests against your own. You’re both panting. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.

You slide a hand up his neck, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He practically melts under your touch, eyes slipping shut. “I know,” you whisper distractedly. Your thumb traces his lower lip. It’s swollen from your kisses.

He blinks his eyes open. “I’m serious. He can’t know.”

“He won’t,” you say, going to reconnect your lips.

But JJ stops you. “No, he can’t. He’d…God, he just can’t.”

You want to cry, seeing the moral dilemma weigh on JJ, feeling you share the burden. But the thought of walking away from this, of not feeling every inch of him, of never hearing him fall apart, makes you want to sob.

“Maybe just one time,” you murmur. Your finger traces down his chin, along the centre of his neck. “And we can just get it out of our system.”

“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”

“Yeah?”

You meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, heavy with lust, and you feel your body ignite. “Touch me, please.”

With that simple mark of consent, JJ’s unchained. He doesn’t hold back when your lips reconnect. Somehow it becomes deeper, rougher, better. It’s such a strange oxymoron, the way he touches you and kisses you. You pull away to remove your crop top, and he takes the moment to strip off his shirt. The two of you are shameless as you take in the other. Reaching out a hand, you run your fingers up his chest in the way that you’ve imagined so many times before. It’s funny how in your head, you’ve already done it. His eyes dip down, watching your hands explore. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his left pectoral, then his right. Sighing, his chest drops up and down with uneven breathes.

“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.

His fingers tether into your hair. There’s a slight tug that sends ripples of pleasure through your body in ways that it shouldn’t as he pulls you away, guiding your lips back to him. As he crawls atop of you, you inch up the bed, skirt riding up. You settle on our back. JJ’s greedy in his touch. Strokes your skin, explores your body, like it’s his own. And in a way it is because you’d give him anything if he asked. When his fingers slip behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra, you lift yourself onto your elbows. He holds your gaze as he unfastens it, guiding it off your shoulders, helping it off your arms.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

A smile teases at your lips. It takes a certain type of guy to make you blush at the sound of his curses. Your head rocks back, eyes sinking closed, as his lips latch around your nipple. A hand palms at the skin, teasing your breast, exploring your reactions. You sigh out your pleasure, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. It’s better than you imagined. Tops every fantasy, every wet dream, every sinful thought. And it’s only just begun.

“So fucking sexy,” JJ groans, kissing up your body until he finds your lips.

You don’t want him away from you. He looms over you, encasing you in the safe, consuming feeling of his presence, trapping you in the smell of his cologne and soap that you’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Through the kisses and love bites marked into necks and collarbones, you feel one of his hands ghost the outline of your figure. Traces down so slowly like you might not even notice. Down, down, to your panties. It’s there that he sweeps over your cotton covered mound. You sigh against his lips in anticipation.

“I know you’ve been thinking ��bout this,” JJ says.

His voice is just as you pictured it: deep and crooning, his Southern accent at forefront. You want to bottle it like brandy and drink it until you black out. His lips work down your neck as he lightly circles your clit over your panties and you can’t stop your moan.

“I heard you, the other night.” Your eyes shoot open. JJ meets your gaze. He’s dying, the desperation clear as day on his face. His eyes themselves could send him straight to hell. There’s the shadow of a smirk.

“Were you thinking of me, whilst you were getting off?”

You go to push him away. The last thing you need is for him to tease you about it and make fun. But he doesn’t let you. Instead, he kisses just below your ear.

“Cause I think about you. Every night since you’ve been back. Can’t jack off to anything else,” he confesses into the crux of your ear. Your only reply is a small, surprised gasp. Your body’s ablaze with his words.

His fingers finally dip below your panties, sliding between your soaking folds. He groans at the sensation and you feel your legs give way. He works at you for a while, toying with you like it’s a side hobby. You’re only half aware of the sounds you make. One of your hands has situated itself on his upper back, nails scratching at the skin. JJ can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It’s one blasphemy after another, and it drives you deeper and deeper into the abyss. He seems to become impatient. He removes fingers to push your underwear down. You kick them off at the ankles with a small giggle.

The moment his finger sinks into you, you swear you’ve seen heaven. JJ worships you, taking his time to inch you closer and closer to the edge. Another finger, then another. The stretch is heaven. Your back arches off the bed, mouth agape, brain dumb with pleasure. He won’t be quiet. He whispers praises into your ear. Narrates his own fantasies he’s harboured about you. Know you’ve been teasing me with those tiny bikinis. I wish I fucked you on the porch the other night. The moment his thumb swipes over your clit, you know you’re close. And then he’s bending his fingers just slightly, hitting that spot. You abandon all religion: this is the only type of prayer you need.

JJ has the audacity to laugh as you climax. You grasp uselessly at his body, the bedsheets, anything. You use a shaky hand to push his fingers away, overstimulated, and he finally relents. Starts kissing at your neck like a Goddamn vampire.

“That good, huh?”

You can’t really formulate words. You just drag his face to yours, kissing him senseless. When you inevitably part for breath, JJ leans back. He pinches your chin between two fingers, gnawing at his lower lip, and parts your lips for him. Your body pulses at the submissiveness he’s placed you under. Then his used fingers are slipped into your mouth. You close your lips around them, holding his gaze as you suck them clean. The salty distinct taste is unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant. He gives a small laugh, like he’s in disbelief.

“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do this?”

You pull his hand free, taking grip on his shoulders. Pushing him against his bedroom wall, you move to straddle him. His hands fall onto your hips. Somewhere in your heady make-out, you rock yourself back on him. JJ groans; his head knocks back against the wall. He’s rock hard. It must be torture. You shuffle off him to make room to pull his shorts off. They join the mess of clothes on the floor. The tip leaks precum, straining painfully. You go to jack him off but JJ stops you.

“I won’t last,” he admits, half-embarrassed.

You nod, biting back your smile. “You got protection?”

“Top drawer,” he says, nodding to the bedside table.

You lean over and dig about before finding a condom. You come back, tear it open, and gently slide it over him. He lets out a shuddering breath at your touch, eyes clenched shut in concentration. It makes you feel slightly guilty for letting him indulge you for so long, but this will pay it back.

Straddling him once more, you steady yourself with one hand on either shoulder. His find home on your hips once more, and he helps you line up. Then you slowly sink down onto him. The stretch stings despite the earlier efforts. Head hanging forward, mouth falling open in silent moans, eyes clenching shut, you take him in. JJ’s mumbling praises, eyes transfixed on where you connect, spurring you on. Taking me so good. Jus’little more. You rock against him, using whatever energy you have to ride him. He helps guide you, head resting against the wall. You love that he isn’t quiet. Love that you’re on top and can see every ripple of pleasure course through him, reflect on his face. But when his eyes slip shut, you take a hand and guide his face to yours. Pressing your forehead against him, you lean forward and steady yourself with a hand on his chest. The new angle is euphoric. You moan and whine against his lips, eyes staring into his own. It’s the most hideously lewd symphony as the two of you chase your highs. There’s only one thought in your mind. And when JJ comes unannounced, shuddering as he finishes, never looking away from your eyes, only one thought is in your mind.

If it can only happen this once, it has to be perfect...

to be continued (part 2 will be released later this week)

[almostgenerallyalways]

to absent friends and those at sea

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem reader Category: angst / fluff Word count: 6,2K CW: language, don't know how the navy works, maybe workplace bullying, this is a 'there's only one bed' fic that got out of control

Summary: Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

2023

“Your flight is about to get canceled.”

You start, thrown by the appearance of Hangman at your side, interrupting your intense scrutiny of the departures board where another forty minutes have just been added to the already considerable delay of your outbound flight to Seattle.

“What are you still doing here?” You eye him suspiciously, adjusting your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Nice to see you too, Mir.” He smiles, completely unperturbed as always. “I stayed back to hang out with Coyote. Haven’t seen him much since he was transferred. He left this morning.” He pauses for a moment, indifferently examining his fingernails. “You?”

You sigh. “I thought I’d take advantage of being in the Rockies to hike.”

The man next to you smirks. “In other words, you got drenched.”

“More or less.”

Two days ago, Saturday, had been a beautiful, sunny day for a wedding: Every circumstance had been perfect to reunite most of your Top Gun class, gathered with assorted family, friends and colleagues of the happy couple, to watch Halo say yes to her wife.

You’d enjoyed yourself immensely; the majestic scenery of Halo’s remote hometown in the Colorado mountains, the beautiful venue and decorations, and best of all: being with one of your best friends on the happiest day of her life.

Then the next day, as you’d rolled out of bed bright and early, only slightly hungover, you’d opened the curtains of your hotel room to unannounced streaks of rain.

Not put off by a little change in weather, you’d checked if there were any safety warnings for the trail you’d chosen, and set out in spite of the adverse conditions. The experience had been less enjoyable than anticipated: the beautiful views over the Rockies obscured by a thick layer of fog, you’d returned to your room early last night, chilled to the bone, every stitch of clothing you’d been wearing soaked through.

Another announcement pings over the speakers, interrupting your reflections. The status next to your flight number and destination now blinks in bold, red typeface: CANCELED.

“Told you.” Your unwanted companion grins helpfully.

Around you, people are starting to move, expressing their panicked complaints. You groan as you realise you are going to be stuck here overnight: it is almost 8 PM, and with the rain and mist not letting up, there’s no way another flight is leaving this small airport tonight.

“Listen, Mir,” Hangman says, expression more sober now, “My flight to San Diego was canceled, and I just stood in line for two hours to get a room for tonight. You’ll be here for hours if you have to get one.”

He considers you, any trace of mockery gone from his face for once. “You wanna crash with me?”

Pressure starts to build behind your temples, as you quickly consider your options. On the one hand, you are tired and cranky and in desperate need of sleep: having been one of the last guests shutting down the wedding in the late hours of Saturday night, and having spent most of your Sunday hiking up a non-rewarding mountain in the pouring rain, you’d love to avoid spending hours in the line that you see the crowd of weary and pissed-off people scramble to form, leading up to the United desk.

On the other hand: Hangman.

He smiles tentatively, as if he can read your thoughts on your face. He probably can. “It’s a double.”

You close your eyes, feeling like you might live to regret this decision: “Okay. Fine. Thanks.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

Top Gun is a dream and an outright nightmare.

Brought in two weeks after the start of the program to replace someone who was summarily discharged, you’re determined to prove your worth.

When you are first introduced to the men and women (woman, singular, you correct yourself) who are to be your classmates and competition, it’s clear the group dynamics have already been cemented. Some eye you suspiciously, leaning back in their chairs, trying to get a read on the late addition. Some don’t even bother to look.

A blonde pilot in the second row scoffs when the instructor reads a short overview of your scant accomplishments, and another man sitting next to him laughs in response, poorly covering it up with a cough.

It takes everything you have to tough it out. They’re throwing you in the deep end, barely allowing any time or grace to make up for the hours and hours of valuable technical and practical training you’ve missed.

On day eight, though, you execute your first successful stealth manoeuvre, getting the upper hand over one of the instructors. As the details in the move are analysed in front of the class, for the first time, you feel a begrudging respect from some of them.

Not everyone, though. Two seats to your left, Seresin makes a show of studying his cuticles.

* * *

Halo is your lifeline. As the only two women in the class, you gravitate towards each other, finding some respite from the hyper-masculine bullshit of the rest of the group.

Or maybe she’s an angel, as her recently coined callsign suggests.

You’re lounging on the rec room couch with Halo’s feet in your lap, debriefing the day’s hop, when Seresin and two of his usual hangers-on walk in. (Their names are Miller and Wozniak. Halo and you have taken to referring to them as Crabbe and Goyle.)

“Ladies.” He grins, flashing you a smile with no warmth behind it.

A feeling of dread gathers in your stomach.

He casually picks an apple out of the fruit bowl and pretends to inspect it as he comments: “Poor showing out there today. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna play in the big leagues with the boys.”

Halo, laid back on the couch, rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Jake.”

He grins at her and takes a bite, crunching loudly. “You know, Halo, it’s not so much you I’m worried about. But this one-” He gestures at you with the piece of fruit. He has never referred to you by your name. “Is on thin ice, I hear. Heard they’re regretting calling her up.”

At this, Halo sits up, looking like she wants to give him a piece of her mind, but you stop her with a touch to her arm. “Forget it, Callie.”

* * *

You’re breathing heavy, blood rushing in your ears as your body is pushed to its physical limits, your F-18 protesting as you accelerate into a sharp turn curving around a particularly treacherous stretch of the San Jacinto mountains.

Your gamble has paid off, though, as you come out right on top of your prey. You can taste bile in the back of your throat as you lock tone on Fanboy’s jet.

It tastes like victory.

Back on the tarmac, peeling off the top half of your sweat-drenched flight suit, Halo throws her arms around your neck as Fanboy shakes your hand, a bemused smile on his face. “Nice work out there. Never even saw you coming.”

Later, at the Hard Deck, one pilot after another buys you drinks as you finally earn your callsign: Mirage.

* * *

It gets easier from there on out, and it doesn’t.

On the one hand, you don’t feel like you constantly have to defend your place anymore. After you score big in the mountains, Hangman finally has the decency to shut his mouth around you. You’ve found a natural understanding with most of the other pilots – the competition is fierce, but nights at the bar bring everyone back on equal footing.

Yet as the program ramps up to its conclusion, so does the pressure. Some mornings you can’t choke down breakfast, your stomach seized up into a knot of nerves and anticipation.

In week ten, you’re having so much trouble with a simulation that you, your wingman and his backseater get shot down six times in a row. Your arms burn with the hundreds of push-ups you’re grinding into the blistering tarmac, your CO never running out of the torrent of abuse he’s heaping onto your back.

You can’t sleep that night, keep seeing the disappointed look on your wingman’s face as you’d fucked up again and again. Around three in the morning, you give up on sleep and head to the on-base gym.

You crank a treadmill up to high and you run, run, run until your lungs are burning and your mouth tastes like metal. Rivulets of sweat drip down your back, down your face, mingling with tears you didn’t realise you’d been holding back, until finally your legs are screaming at you to stop, and you sit down at the end of another treadmill, your shoulders shaking, cradling your face in your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but you know it’s not fully morning yet when a pair of white sneakers appears in your line of vision.

“Mir?”

Of course it had to be him, of all people, seeing you at your worst and most vulnerable.

“Go away.” You manage to grunt.

He doesn’t. Instead, he sits down next to you, hovering at a distance – still too close.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and if you weren’t burning with embarrassment and rage, his hesitant tone might give you pause.

You lift your face from your knees, steeling yourself. You must look ridiculous, you think, a sweaty heap of a girl having a mental breakdown at the bottom of some exercise equipment. You refuse to look at him. “I’m fine.”

He reaches out tentatively, trying to brush away a strand of hair that’s plastered to the side of your face, and you all but jump back: “Goddamn it, Seresin, don’t touch me.”

Finding the strength to push yourself up, you turn to him: “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t come anywhere near me.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

When Koehler is discharged, Jake Seresin feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under him.

They came up together through the Academy, and while Jake isn’t sure he would’ve called him a friend in any other circumstances, at least… At least he was an ally. Familiar. Someone who saw through his cocky bullshit and gave as good as he got.

The chances of both of them getting into Top Gun were astronomically small – and then Koehler immediately went and fucked it up. Jake cannot comprehend it.

He feels off-kilter, his only confidant having made a spectacularly embarrassing exit from the program. He can feel the rest of the class watching him, like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water, waiting for him to make a deadly mistake too.

But Jake didn’t come here to screw up. He came here to win. So he does the only thing he knows how to do – he ramps it up, builds his walls higher, needles people harder – gets under their skin before they can get under his.

He knows it’s not making him many friends – but it works. People don’t question him. He takes no prisoners, flies like he’s the only one out there, puts himself first always – and is ranked near the top of the class for doing so.

When you’re introduced as Koehler’s replacement, he can’t believe it. It feels like adding salt to the wound, bringing in someone who didn’t even make the cut-off on their own merit. So if you get it a little worse than the others – well.

He sees you struggling, those first weeks, and it only confirms his thinking.

One scorching afternoon, after a long series of dogfights ends in embarrassment for half the class, he’s in the rec room pressing a cold compress to his face, discussing the day’s events with Wozniak: “I mean, did you see her out there? That’s what happens when you pull the B-team off the bench. She’s got no business being here. She’s dragging everyone down.”

Wozniak doesn’t immediately respond, and Jake looks up to find you standing in the doorway, looking caught off guard. You recover after a second, straightening your back, and grab a water from the cooler, studiously not looking at him.

You never look at him, after that.

But he looks at you.

* * *

You have bags under your eyes. The line of your jaw has gotten a little sharper. You get a little quieter, even more so than before.

He notices these things just like he notices the redoubled resolve stiffening your spine.

You start creeping up in the rankings, slowly, point by point, and while he doesn’t like that, he respects it.

After the mountains, where you pull a trick out of the bag that takes him completely by surprise, he lines up to congratulate you. Fanboy takes it on the chin, he’s a good guy, and Jake claps him on the back before turning to you, Halo still at your side. But you won’t look at him, and ignore his outstretched hand.

He supposes he deserves that.

* * *

A few weeks later, he wakes up earlier than usual after a night of fitful sleep, his body still processing the adrenaline from an open-sea simulation the day before. Jake came out on top, though he ditched his wingman to do so. Several others didn’t manage to complete the exercise, a crucial barrier for the last stretch of the thirteen-week program.

After tossing and turning for twenty minutes, the light outside his cracked window starting to shift incrementally from pitch black to indigo blue, he decides to head to the gym.

When he steps into the cavernous, air-conditioned room, he immediately senses someone else’s presence, though he can’t see anyone using any of the rows and rows of equipment. It’s not until he rounds into a stretch of treadmills that he spots you, hunched over into your bare knees.

“Mir?” He approaches hesitantly, noting the flushed skin of your back, your hair matted with sweat.

“Go away.” He gets in response, but he can’t, not when you’re sitting there trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asks, even though he can clearly see that you’re not.

You lift your face, surreptitiously swiping at your eyes with your palm. “I’m fine.”

Still not looking at him. Never looking at him.

He reaches out a hand, tentatively; he wants to make this better –

He has to make this better, make you feel–

- but you recoil from him, and he sits there for a long time after you’ve banged the door shut behind you like you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Sits there for a good long while, with the ghost of your presence.

* * *

Jake wins the trophy.

It’s a raucous night at the Hard Deck and he feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Sure, he doesn’t know where they’re shipping him off next week – but for now, he has won and no one can take that away from him, not the pilots giving him sideways glances at the bar, not his father, no one.

Fanboy bumps his shoulder and hands him what must be his fifth or sixth beer of the night. Over on the jukebox, Son of a Preacher Man starts playing and he glances over to see you throw your arms around Halo’s shoulders, laughing, dancing her around the crowded room a little unsteadily. You look lighter, happier than he’s ever seen you.

He watches for long moment, transfixed, until he realises Mickey is talking to him.

Mickey turns around, trying to follow Jake’s line of sight, and finds you. “Oh, dude.” He turns back, clinks Jake’s beer with his own. “I’m sorry to tell you, I think that ship has sailed, man.”

Right, Jake thinks, taking a long pull of his beer. And why should he care? He’s got what he came to North Island for.

No one can take that away.

* * *

2018

He doesn’t see you again for two years. Two years of him being shipped from base to base, coast to coast and back again, the Navy’s prize pony, getting new orders every few months.

He shows up in Oceana, papers in hand; greets familiar faces at The Admiral’s and trades stories over the sound of classic rock and the clicking of pool cues.

Then he turns around and bumps into – you.

It puts him on the back foot, coming face to face with you unexpectedly. You look like you’re caught off guard, too, but you recover quickly. “Hangman.”

“Mirage.” He smirks, defences slotting into place. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You look a little bit older, sharper in ways, your watchful eyes clearly on guard as he leans against the bartop, giving you a once-over. It’s a tactical mistake, on his part – it only serves to ignite something warm deep inside of him.

“Gonna be here for a while. Think we can kiss and make up?”

You shoot him a withering glance, like you expected better out of him. “In your dreams, Bagman.”

The bartender brings you your drink, and you smile sweetly at him. “Terry, put one of whatever he’s having on my card, will you? Fucking new guy’s gonna need it.”

* * *

And it’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. You work perfectly well together. 

It’s just that –

No matter how much he needles and cajoles, flirts or tries to rile you up, you only ever treat him as –

A colleague. Which is what he is, sure, but –

He doesn’t ever get that part of you, the part that laughs easy with Fanboy or does shots with Bambi, the part of you that bodily holds up Halo after she gets the call that her childhood dog has died, the part of you that sits next to the radio, fists clenched with anticipation when someone is flying a tough hop, the part of you that envelops them into a full body hug after.

The part of you that has your eyes light up when you look at someone, instead of straight through him.

And no matter how many times he tells himself to move on, he never quite stops wanting it.

* * *

2021

Deployed in the South China Sea, he flies one of the more difficult, harebrained missions of his life with you.

He finds you, after, where you’re slumped against a steel wall on deck, your flight suit half off, trying to catch your breath; and hands you a Sprite.

You consider him for a moment before taking the soda. It feels a little like you’re really looking at him for the first time.

“This is my favourite.”

He sits down, not close, exactly, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin. “Yeah.”

A beat passes. You open the can with a hiss, and he exhales: “Nice work back there.”

“You too, Bagman.”

The wind whips across the deck, but you’re sheltered from it by the structure, leaving only the noise.

“Do you know where you’re headed after this?” he asks.

“Back to Bahrain, still got another fourteen months there. You?”

“San Diego.”

You give a little quirk of your mouth. “Lucky.”

“I thought you’d be stateside. I thought you might have…” He holds up his right hand, indicates his ring finger. “That guy in Fallon. Search & Rescue with the dark eyes.”

You take a sip of your drink. “You noticed his eyes?”

Jake shrugs.

You look at the wide expanse of ocean churning beyond the flanks of the carrier. “No. He was… He wanted to settle in Nevada, have kids.” You give him a wry smile that doesn’t quite make it to your eyes. “Wasn’t ready to give all this up.”

“Ah.” Jake says, his throat a little dry. It feels like the realest conversation he’s ever had with you, and yet, he can’t think what to say.

You sit there for a while, in what feels like something close to companiable silence, until it’s time to debrief.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

2023

The receptionist looks up apologetically from her sleek desk. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Seresin. Because of all the delayed passengers, we’re getting a lot of demand for double rooms for families. Is there any way you would take a single? We can offer you complimentary breakfast.”

Jake looks at you hesitantly, shifting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

You rub your temples, doing nothing to alleviate the increasing pounding in your skull. Of course this was going to happen. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

“I can, uh,” You see him looking around for a sofa, but there isn’t one.

You sigh, letting your bag drop onto the plush grey-green carpet. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve shared worse sleeping arrangements.”

These have usually involved a barracks or an aircraft carrier, and between twenty to two hundred of your coworkers, but who’s counting.

“I suppose that’s true.” He replies, staring at the bed.

At least it’s big, you think, and you can’t wait to plop your head down on one of its crisp white pillows. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

* * *

After your shower, you’re in bed, waiting with no small amount of apprehension for Hangman to emerge from his turn in the bathroom.

When he does, in boxers and a t-shirt, his normally slicked-back hair slightly peaky and darkened by the water, he looks younger than he is. He looks a little like he did when you first knew him.

He pulls back the covers and settles against the pillows on his side, the mattress dipping with the weight of him. He’s heavier than he looks – you’re always a little surprised by the lean, solid mass of him. It’s a byproduct, you suppose, of years of studiously not looking at him when you can avoid it.

“I guess that’s goodnight, Mir.”

You look up at him, facing you. The proximity of him is unfamiliar, and a little unnerving.

You have to close your eyes against it.

“Night, Hangman.”

When you open your eyes again, he considers you for a moment with an expression you can’t place.

“I wanted to talk to you, you know, at the wedding, but you kept disappearing on me.”

You don’t really know what to say in response. “I didn’t realise we had much to say to each other.”

His face shutters, and you feel a little pang of guilt. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

He shifts onto his back. “You looked beautiful. Just wanted to say that.”

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, and it takes you a second to reply, guardedly: “Thanks. You didn’t look too bad yourself.”

But then he never does, does he? Jake Seresin, golden boy, never a hair out of place.

He doesn’t respond, and you burrow into your pillow, determined to let sleep take you over as soon as possible.

* * *

You wake from a fitful sleep to movement beside you. It takes you a second or two to remember where you are, and with whom, before you realise that the man next to you is breathing in wheezy stops and starts, a low, panicked murmur emanating from his throat.

You hesitate for an instant before propping yourself up on your arm, using your free hand to lightly shake his shoulder. “Bagman. Hey. Seresin, wake up.” He’s breathing hard, radiating heat. “Hey. Jake.”

He comes to, slowly, gasping for air, as if emerging from deep below the surface of a rough sea. His skin, where you are holding onto him, is overly hot, the fabric of his t-shirt damp. He scrambles to prop himself up, causing you to pull back your hand, but he grabs your wrist hard before you can fully pull away.

“What,” He manages, the look in his eyes still wild and unfocused, roaming over you. It takes a second, two, three, before realization dawns, and he starts to calm down. His tight grip on your wrist eases slightly.

Despite the low light of the dark room, you see a flush start to creep up the skin of his throat. “Mir. I’m sorry. I was…”

For the first time, you feel something akin to tenderness for him. You try to sweep some of the sweaty strands of hair off his forehead, hindered by his continued grasp on your arm. “It’s okay. You’re fine.” You pause, feeling a little awkward. “Could’ve just as well been me.”

At that, he lets go of your wrist, letting himself drop back onto the pillow. He stares at the ceiling, and you let yourself settle back onto your side, watching the steadily slowing rise and fall of his chest.

Just as you wonder whether you should just go back to sleep, let the both of you pretend this never happened, he says, “They’re always the same. Me, trying to save one of you, and failing. It’s getting better, they used to be much more frequent, I’m talking to someone, but…”

“I stop sleeping.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you’re saying them. “When it gets really bad.” 

You have never shared this broken, faulty part of yourself with anyone, but somehow, looking at the shadowy form of Hangman’s shoulder two inches from your face, it tumbles out.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t function, I fly like a zombie. Sometimes I genuinely worry they’re going to ground me.”

You see his little smirk appear, even in the dark. “I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen you fly badly.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.” You say it without venom, thumping his stomach lightly. “That’s certainly not what you used to say.” On the rebound, he catches your hand, cradling it just below his ribs.

You don’t pull it back.

A few minutes go by in silence, and you just when you start thinking he may have fallen asleep, he says: “Mir.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you ever…?” He exhales a puff of breath. “Will you ever forgive me?”

You fold your arm under your pillow, wary, and consider your answer for a moment. “I forgave you a long time ago.” You pause, scared to say too much. “I just… don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m twenty-three again, always having to prove myself because I’m not good enough.”

You watch his chest rise as he inhales, fall again with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that. I can’t excuse it. From the beginning I blamed you for replacing Koehler when it had nothing to do with you.”

His voice drops a little bit. “To be honest, I was scared I wouldn’t make it without him.”

Now it’s your turn to smirk. “The great Hangman Seresin, scared?”

He turns onto his side to face you, his expression solemn. “Seriously, Mir. I was insecure and I covered it up by being a dick. Maybe I still do, to some extent.”

His eyes turn downwards, to the space between your bodies. “But I feel like I’ve been trying to make things right with you for a while.”

You can’t deny this. You’ve always rebuffed any attempt on his part to approach you beyond what was strictly necessary.

“I guess I’m a champion grudge holder.”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, a crooked smile appearing on his face. “Seven years and two entire deployments together, though?”

You scoff, realising how ridiculous this sounds, but you can’t help it – it felt very personal to you. “You don’t know what it was like. I didn’t make the initial cut. By the time I got to San Diego I was two weeks behind everyone, one of only two women, and on top of that you, the class golden boy, hated me being there.”

You pause, inhaling to steady yourself. “I felt like I was under so much pressure, it fucked me up.”

When you meet Hangman’s eyes again, something in his face has softened.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, the skin of his palm rough.

You take in the sharp lines and smooth planes of his face, hair in disarray from a sweaty, restless sleep. He’s very close, and you don’t know if it’s the weird, suspended-in-time quality of this darkened room, or the weight that’s been lifted off your shoulders through this little exchange, weight you hadn’t even realised was there; but for the first time you feel like you might like Hangman.

Not Hangman, Jake, brass and bravado stripped away, looking at you like you’re something precious, something he’s a little bit afraid of.

It's a lot of things to feel, in the middle of the night, after seven years of cold war.

You clear your throat, but your voice still comes out a little raspier than you intend to: “Alright then, Bagman. Détente?”

Out comes that crooked little quirk of his lips again: “Alright, Mirage. Détente.”

He’s still holding on to your hand, and he pulls it a little closer into his body.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake wakes up to the frantic buzzing of his phone and reaches for it on the nightstand, the endeavour complicated by your head weighing down his other arm. The crisp first light of day is seeping through a gap in the curtains, framing a picture of you sleeping curled into his chest so pointedly he almost has to assume he’s still asleep.

After a second or two, this assumption is dispelled by a very chipper United rep talking away at him, informing him that he’s booked onto a flight to San Diego at 10:45.

“Okay, uh, that works,” He manages, trying to keep his voice down so that you don’t wake up, but it’s too late: already you’re looking up at him, blinking sleep out of your eyes.

He ends the call, puts the phone down, and after a second’s hesitation, returns his arm to its place around your waist.

He looks down at you, not even sure what he’s asking: Is this okay? Do you still hate me?

Do you realize I’ve wanted this for years?

Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

You shift slightly, and he reflexively tightens his fingers into the fabric of your shirt. He sees your pupils go wide, and it’s stupid, the jolt he feels at that – it goes straight to his gut.

Then your phone rings, too, and the moment bursts like a soap bubble. You prop yourself up, pulling away from him to answer it.

When you’re done arranging your flight, he can feel the atmosphere has shifted. You don’t look at him when you say: “We should probably start packing up, huh?”

“Mir, wait,” He says, and he knows he sounds a little desperate, but there’s so many things he wants to say, finally, if this is the best chance he’ll get.

“Jake,” you interrupt, and the pleading tone of your voice shuts him up.

Later, on his flight, he’ll think about falling asleep with your hand in his, and his heart will break a little.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Halo calls you, ten days into the honeymoon, to exalt Jess, marriage, and Hawaii, in that order.

You’re at home, cooking dinner, a Motown playlist on in the background while she details all the kayaking, wine tasting and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes they’ve been doing. Your heart swells at her happiness. “I’m so glad you guys are having a great time.”

She asks how your hike went, and you end up telling her what happened – the canceled flight, Hangman, all of it.

Halo snorts. “Oh, poor guy. I’m not sure his outsize ego will recover from this.” She pauses to say something to Jess. “Though I’d feel more sorry for him if he hadn’t literally waited for an adverse weather event to try to tell you how he feels.”

You plop down on the couch with your plate of pasta. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Come on, dude. He’s been in love with you for years.”

“Huh.” You say, eloquently.

* * *

You book a ticket to San Diego. You take four days’ leave, and you’re not even sure Jake is there. If he isn’t, you think, clicking to skip the seat selection, you’ll take it as a sign.

Which is stupid. You don’t believe in that kind of thing. Maybe this entire idea is stupid, you consider, as you board your flight at SeaTac.

When you walk into the Hard Deck on Friday night, it feels a little like the first time: You’re nervous, your hands clammy as you run them down your shorts. Penny waves you over and pours you a tequila soda, which you accept gratefully. People you know start noticing your presence, coming up to catch up at the bar.

You’re talking to Fritz, who’s already a little worse for wear, when Jake comes in. He catches sight of you and stops short. You forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

Fritz turns around and clocks him, shooting you a wide grin. “Ah. Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He comes up next to you at the bar, taking the place Fritz vacates. “Hey. No one told me you were gonna be in town.”

He looks good, if a little tired: sun kissed skin and slightly deeper lines in the corners of his eyes when he gives you a smile that feels perfunctory. He’s wearing his khakis, in pristine condition, though he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Penny has already put a beer in front of him, and he takes a long pull on it before really looking at you.

The look in his eyes feels like the confirmation you needed.

“Last minute decision.” You say, inclining your head in the direction of the back exit. “Would you mind if we talked somewhere quieter?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t question it, and he follows you out to the back porch.

It’s a warm night, late summer – the kind you love.

You set your drink down on the railing, suddenly nervous, and turn around, leaning back against the salt-weathered wood to face Jake. The music filters out from the bar, muted by the windows – a moody Tom Waits song.

“I’m sorry.” You start, “For leaving the way I did in Colorado. I think I was overwhelmed, by you, by what I was feeling- I got scared.”

“By what you were feeling,” He says, like he needs to repeat it to be sure.

You nod, willing yourself to be brave this time. “Yeah. I spent seven years keeping up my defences around you and then I wake up once with your arms around me and I’m like oh, fuck and-” You stop yourself, looking out at the calm ocean waves in the distance, the sun just beginning to dip into the horizon. “Fuck, I’m not explaining this very well.”

Jake’s face shows the beginning of a smile. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

He steps in closer to you, and your hands go to his waist. You feel a little lightheaded with him so close, but you’re determined to continue. “And I didn’t know what to make of it. You looking at me like that. I told myself it wasn’t real so I could go back to where I was comfortable – not thinking about you.”

He closes the gap between you, an arm around your shoulder, tucking his face into your hair. “I assure you, Mir, that the way I feel about you is very real.”

His voice in your ear feels like a balm, and you tighten your fingers into his shirt, bringing your body flush with his. It’s still overwhelming – how he’s familiar and new at once, the scent of his warm skin and pressed uniform, the feeling of his lips against your temple. “Yeah, well. Not thinking about you wasn’t going very well.”

He lifts you up to sit on the railing, bringing your face level with his, and steadies you with his hands on your waist. “Mir. Did you come out here for me?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, running your thumbs up the sloped curve to his neck, and smile at the visible reaction this has on him. “Yes, Bagman.”

He kisses you then, and it feels like the solution to a problem you hadn’t even realised had been weighing on you – tangling your fingers into his hair, drawing him in closer between your knees. He keeps repeating your name, like he can’t quite believe you, and you keep answering him with more kisses, needing him to know – what?

That you’ve caught up with him. That you’re here now.

You both slow down when you simultaneously become aware that there’s a small crowd on the other side of the windows, gawking at you. You think you see an open-mouthed Mickey, pool cue still in hand. At the moment, you don’t have it in you to care.

“How long are you staying?” Jake murmurs into your neck, his arms around you.

“Monday.” You breathe, resting your chin on the top of his head. “But I’ll be back soon.”

*******

end notes: omg sorry i didn't write anything for so long - life's just been A LOT. i hope you enjoyed it. check out my masterlist <3 title from the royal navy toasts

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

A Patient Man Chapter 3

Summary: Sebastian swore to never fall for another co-star again. Until Y/N drops into his life.

Previous chapter Next chapter

4 Weeks Later

“YOU DIDN’T!” Chris yelled right in Sebastian’s face.  Anthony laughed loudly, his hand slapping the table and making the drinks slosh dangerously.  Sebastian had recounted what happened on set with Y/N a few weeks before, and with a couple drinks in him, hadn’t been able to filter the story as well as he would have liked.  He didn’t tell them about what you had said afterwards, though.  He wanted to save that memory just for him.  Chris kept staring at him with wide eyes, a look of complete astonishment on his face.  Anthony finally calmed down enough to wipe away at his now-wet eyes, laughing so hard he’d started crying.  “Oh my God, you, ha ha ha!  I’m sorry...ha!  What did she say?” 

Sebastian shrugged.  “She just said it was okay, that she wasn’t embarrassed, that I shouldn’t be embarrassed.  It was awful, I felt so stupid.”

“Well you should feel stupid you idiot!” Chris yelled at him again, too tipsy to realize how closely he was leaning into Sebastian.  “I mean, obviously it was amazing enough to make you lose it, so she must be...wow, but seriously dude?  God!” Chris was awestruck, completely flabbergasted by this news.  

“Man I always knew there was a bit of freakiness in Y/N.  I just have that freaky radar, I can tell,” Anthony slurred, a big smile plastered on his face as he watched Sebastian shift uncomfortably at the conversation.

In the last few weeks there had been an evident shift in Y/N and Sebastian’s relationship.  After that day of shooting the lap dance scene in the film, Sebastian could tell that Y/N was much more flirtatious with him, and a bit more touchy-feely than she had been with him before.  They had wrapped up filming shortly after and had all parted ways, him to Los Angeles for a few days to visit some friends and family and her with her family back to Colorado, where she had bought a house after becoming famous and coming into a good amount of money.  She had grown up through her adolescent years there and had always wanted to go back someday, and as she had said, “Living in L.A. or New York would be easier for jobs and traveling, but I just really need to get away and be normal again, too.” 

Sebastian planned on going to Colorado to surprise her and see her and the munchkins for a week before jetting off to his next job, which would keep him away for a little over two months.  He was excited for this next project he would be working on, but was finding the idea of leaving his little makeshift family behind extremely difficult.  He should have known going out and getting slightly drunk with Chris and Anthony would end up in him sharing too much.  

“Seb, you have to tell her,” Chris piped up suddenly.  Sebastian looked at him horrified.  “Just hear me out, okay?  You and her became fast friends when you met.  You’ve been basically inseparable, when you can help it, ever since.  The chemistry between you guys is so strong it’s sickening most of the time!  You are totally in love with her, and I can see she’s in love with you even if she’s not ready to admit it to herself.  And the fact that she has kids, plural, doesn’t even phase you because you love them, and they love you!”  Sebastian smiled at Chris’s words, not knowing what to say.

“She’ll probably want to take it slow with you, dude.  She’ll probably be scared to have a serious relationship, but you have to talk to her.  Get it out there,” Anthony spoke up, the conversation sobering him up.  “The worst she could say is no, but she definitely wouldn’t kick you out of her life.  She loves you, man, just go get her.”

Sebastian gave them a small smile, nodding his head.  He knew they were right.  He couldn’t keep living with this mounting sexual tension and confusing relationship frustration at his inability to tell her how he felt anymore.  “You’re right, you’re both right.  I’ll talk to her when I see her in Colorado.”

“Yeah!” they both shouted, fists flying in victory in the air then high-fiving each other.  Sebastian laughed, hoping that the upcoming conversation with Y/N would end in his favor.

3 Days Later

The doorbell rang loudly in Y/N’s Colorado home.  It was 11:00 a.m., so with Lulu at school and Ollie at Preschool Y/N couldn’t fathom who would come to her house at this time.  She walked to the door and looked through the peephole, then let out a screech when she could see who it was and flung the door open.  “SEBASTIAN!” she screamed, “What are you doing here?”

Sebastian found himself being tackled on her stoop and fought to keep himself upright as she threw herself into him and hugged him tight.  He laughed as she nuzzled his chest with her cheek and held her close to him when he got his balance.  “I missed you, too, love-of-my-life,” he said quietly as he kissed the top of her head.  Y/N looked up at him and smiled, not surprised by the nickname he’d picked up from their first Marvel movie together.  “I just thought I’d come visit my favorite person and the other two favorite people in my life, if that’s okay?” he asked hesitantly, rubbing her arms with his big hands.  

“Of course you can! You can stay here if you don’t have a hotel or something lined up.  The kids are at school but they are going to be so happy you’re here!” she happily giggled as she grabbed one of the bags by his feet and led him inside.  “I’m glad you’re here,” she added, flashing him another smile as she brought him to the guest bedroom that was across the hall from hers.  Sebastian had stayed in her house before as he had been traveling and had always loved her house.  It was moody but open while feeling extremely homey and lived-in.  She somehow managed to make it look straight out of a home decor magazine while having two rambunctious children with toys and children’s books strewn everywhere.  Sebastian could see himself living this life with her kids, her house, with her.  

Sebastian laid his stuff down on the guest bed and quickly turned to Y/N to grab the bag she had in her hand.  “I really appreciate you letting me stay here.  I can’t wait to see my munchkins, but I actually wanted to talk to you for a minute so, I’m glad we have some privacy,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.  He knew if he didn’t talk to her about his feelings right then, he never would.  

“Oh, okay.  What did you want to talk about?” she hesitantly asked, sitting down at the head of the bed, crossing her legs and leaning against the headboard, grabbing a pillow to cradle against her stomach.  She looked concerned and a little nervous.

“It’s uh…” Sebastian stuttered out.  He could feel his heart clenching as the pit in his stomach got heavier with each second.  Just say it, you got this.  The worst she’ll say is no.  Which might kill him, but at least he’d have an answer.  He shoved the bags out of the way so he could sit down across from her on the bed, keeping his legs close to her crossed ones.  “I…I’ve been, um, for a while now, uh…” he laughed at himself then, hanging his face into his hands and rubbing his eyes.

“Jesus, Seb, just spit it out,” Y/N laughed along with him, but her eyes were apprehensive, her hands now wringing the pillow she was holding.  Sebastian looked at her then, admiring her Y/C/E eyes, the curve of her lips, the slope of her nose, how she had her hair loosely styled.  He got lost in her for a minute and without really thinking he breathed out, “God you’re beautiful.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at this, her hands quickly stilling and her mouth slightly dropping open.  Sebastian took that moment to reach out for her hands and hold them in his, rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs like he’d done multiple times before.  He took another deep breath, steeled himself and quickly put his metaphorical cards on the table.  “I’m in love with you,” he said resolutely, keeping eye contact with her.  Y/N silently gasped, her hands stiffening in his grasp.  “And hey, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I just needed to let you know.  You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you, your friendship, the relationship with your kids, I don’t wanna lose any of that just because I feel something more for you.  I just need you to know that I think about you all day, I dream about you every night, I want nothing more than to be near you all the time.  I want you, so fucking badly it hurts.  If what happened a few weeks ago didn’t make it obvious enough then please believe me when I say it now.  I want you and all that comes with you.  And if you’ll give me a chance, I think you and I could be pretty great.”

Y/N stared at him, her hands still stiff in his fingers, barely breathing.  Sebastian waited, knowing that this would be a lot for her to take in.  She slowly blinked, seeming to come back from wherever she’d gone to mentally.  She looked down at their hands, then back up at his face, looking between his eyes as if trying to find something in them.  She unhooked her hands from his and softly grabbed his face, bringing him close to her face, still staring into what felt like his very soul.  He let himself be guided to her, letting her figure out what she needed.  After what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds, she seemed satisfied with what she found.  Y/N silently laughed, her lips lifting softly.  Sebastian smiled back at her, still waiting.  She was rapidly going through many emotions, and he was waiting for her to settle.

Y/N’s eyes suddenly became sad and doubtful, her mouth turning down, her hands slipping from his face.  He caught her hands and scooted forward on the bed.  “Whoa, hold on, where’d you go?” he scrunched his eyebrows at this reaction.  “What’s wrong?  Tell me what’s happening in your pretty head.”

Y/N seemed to deflate a bit, her shoulders sagging.  “I just…you deserve to be loved by someone who can love you fully, Sebastian,” she started, her eyes welling up with unshed tears.

“What do you mean?” he asked lowly, his heart hurting to see her cry.

Y/N sniffed, the first few tears starting to fall.  “I was in love before, and he died on me.  It wasn’t like we broke up or anyone cheated or drifted apart.  We were going to be together forever.  And then he was gone…horribly, so suddenly.  I don’t think I can handle that again, if this didn’t work out.  You deserve someone who hasn’t already lost part of their heart to someone.  I’ll always love him,” she sobbed, furiously wiping her eyes.  “And I know he’d want me to love, and be loved again, not be alone for the rest of my life.  I just,” she sighed heavily, her red rimmed eyes now looking up at him, “I’m scared,” she whispered.

Sebastian wiped a few more tears from her cheeks, giving her a reassuring smile.  “Oh sweets, I know you’ll always love him.  I don’t want to ever replace him or make you forget him.  It will never be the same love, but it’ll still be love.  Just a different one, a different kind.  You have every right to be scared.  You went through an unbelievable loss.  But can you answer one question for me?”

Y/N sniffed again, nodding her head as she looked at him again.  

“Don’t think too hard about it.  Just the first word that comes to your mind…” he paused, his fingers trailing down her neck to her chest, over her heart.  “Do you love me?”

Y/N snorted quietly at the question, “Of course I do.”

“Okay, now one more,” he pressed a little harder over her heart.  “Are you in love with me?”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she gazed at him.  She paused for a moment before reaching her hand and placing it over his hand on her heart.  “A lot more than I probably should be,” she sighed wistfully.  

Sebastian’s face split into a wide smile, “I don’t think that’s possible.  And definitely not more than I love you.”

Y/N smiled widely back at him, her eyelashes fluttering at more unshed tears building in the corners of her eyes.  “I love you,” she said, “and I think we could be pretty great, too.  But you’re going to need to be patient with me.  I’m still a bit…broken,” she confessed, turning her gaze away to her lap.  Sebastian lifted her chin back up with his other hand, holding her face still as she slowly met his eyes.  He leaned in til he could scrunch up his nose and rub the tip of his nose on hers, making her giggle at the affection.  

“We’re all a little broken, Y/N.  I’m a patient man.  All I want is you, however you’ll let me have you.”  Y/N stared at him, her eyes slipping to his lips and back.  Sebastian took the initiative at her nonverbal cue, pressing his nose against hers again, then angling it more towards her cheek, ghosting his lips over the corner of her mouth and towards her jaw.  Y/N let out a shuttered breath, her lips chasing his mouth.  He smirked at her eagerness, secretly loving how much he was turning her on like she turned him on.  “Will you let me have you, sweetness?”  

Y/N gasped, reaching out a hand and fisting his shirt in her fingers, her other hand dropping from his still splayed on her heart and gripping his knee to ground herself.  She nodded quickly, her eyes looking wild and wanting, angling her face towards his again to try and get him close to her lips again.  Sebastian licked his lips, the smirk growing as he slightly pulled away from her reach.  “Use your words, love,” he nearly moaned at the look in her eyes.  She breathed in deeply at the command, biting her lip before peering up at him with a promising look.  

“Yes, I’m all yours,” Y/N whispered. 

That was all Sebastian needed to push forward, slotting his mouth onto hers in a deep kiss.  They had kissed multiple times before for movies, had simulated love scenes on set, she’d made him cum from a lap dance for Christ’s sake, and yet none of it seemed to compare to this kiss.  They were both too eager, yearning and too high on the feeling of requited love that they didn’t seem to even realize that Y/N had climbed into his lap, fingers fisting into his hair.  Sebastian was gripping her hips, her butt, her legs, then running his hands up her back, one arm caging her against him, the other hand holding her close by the neck.  The kiss was all tongue and teeth, biting lips and peppering wet kisses and kitten licks along each other’s jaws.  At one point Sebastian’s hands went under her shirt and kneaded the soft flesh of her sides as he sucked on her neck.  Y/N moaned at the sensation, making him still his hands on the skin at her hips, his head dropping to her chest, breathing heavily.  Y/N was gripping his shoulders, gasping for air, a questioning look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” she muttered, trying to get him to look at her.  Sebastian shook his head, trying to catch his breath.

“Nothing, sweets, nothing,” he heaved, his thumbs giving her hips a small rub.  “I’m just trying not to lose it again.”

Y/N laughed at that, her laugh making her chest bounce in his face.  Sebastian just smiled, moving to hide his face in her neck.

“Aw, Seb, you poor horny thing,” she laughed again, pinching his arm.

“Hey, don’t judge me,” his reply muffled in her neck, his hands tickling her sides.  She yelped at the feeling, twisting to get out of his hold, making them both fall onto the bed, Sebastian hovering over her.  They settled into silence and stared at each other for a few moments.  Y/N’s fingers were aimlessly roaming his face, caressing the fine lines, the crinkles around his eyes as he smiled, scratching the stubble on his face, and softly tapping the dimple in his chin.  Sebastian was mesmerized at her actions, his eyes roaming her face, then pushing some hair behind her ear.  As her eyes finally met him again he leaned down and nuzzled her nose with his, a new tradition they seemed to have picked up along the way.   Y/N giggled and nuzzled him back, her hands weaving into his hair again, pushing back the strands and scratching his scalp, making him hum at the massaging effect.  

“So does this mean we’re like, boyfriend-girlfriend?” Y/N teased.  Sebastian snorted, hanging his head into her neck again, making her laugh again.

“Yes, we’re like, boyfriend-girlfriend,” he sassed back, nipping at her earlobe.  Y/N gasped at that, swatting his shoulder.

“You gotta stop that, I can’t handle it,” she whined, pretending to be upset.  Sebastian smirked down at her.

“Why?  Why can’t I love on you, huh?  You’re just too delicious, I need a taste…” he dipped his head, nipping her earlobe again then licking and sucking the skin below her ear.  Y/N tried to muffle another moan, almost choking on the air she sucked in.  She quickly recovered herself and pushed his shoulders back a little for some space.  He immediately stopped, looking at her inquisitively.  “Is this okay?  I’m sorry, that was all too fast, you said be patient with you and I just–”

“No, no, Seb you’re fine, you’re perfect,” Y/N reassured him, holding his face again.  “I don’t mind this, it’s okay.  I’m just out of practice, inexperienced, so I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by it all right now.”  Sebastian nodded in understanding, pushing himself up on his elbow so he wasn’t right on top of her anymore.  He laid his free hand back on her cheek, swiping the skin on her cheekbone, taking her in.  She looked beautiful like this, hair messy on the bed below her, cheeks pink from exertion, lips slightly swollen from the bruising kiss they shared.  He couldn’t wait until they’d get to a point in their relationship where she’d let him have her this way, but he’d be patient.  He couldn’t stop his smile again, making his cheeks hurt with how much he’d been doing it.

“It’s okay, love.  Whenever you’re ready I’ll be ready.  We’ll just take it slow.  Whatever you need,” Sebastian stated quietly.  Y/N seemed encouraged by this, nodding.  Sebastian leaned in again, giving her cheeks, then her forehead, then her nose, and finally her lips small pecks of kisses. 

[effy-writes]

Addict (Blitzø x Reader)

3: Pilot: Pill

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been about 3 months since you moved it with Blitz/fucked him and Stolas, and ohhh boy Blitz sure does keep reminding you of it. He would always say how much you miss his dick and everytime you go take a shower he’s always like “Showering without me?”

“Yes, Blitz. Showering without you yet again.”

“Oh come on, we saw each other naked before!”

“Yeah a one time thing that I really don’t want to talk about.”

Now, with your addiction, you got away with taking adderal. It doesn't do much, but it's better than being sober. Sometimes whenever the crew goes out to kill, you will leave the office and go find either coke or meth and get high before they all come back. Blitz however, doesn't know that any of this is happening even though you guys been living together for 3 months now.

Blitz walked in front of the whiteboard while you were viciously sweeping the floor due to the amount of energy you had.

"Alright. Now, I know business has been... a bit slow lately, yes. It's no one's fault, okay? I'm not naming any names here... Moxxie. Now, does anyone have... any bright ideas on how we can get business drummin' up again?"

"What about a car wash?"

"This is Hell, Millie. No one cares about cars being clean here, okay? Wh- Ooh! What about a billboard?"

Moxxie rolled his eyes, "We can't afford a billboard, sir."

"Helpful, Moxxie. Really glad you're in the room right now. Have you guys forgotten what service we provide?"

Blitz proceeded to turn on the TV, showing everyone assassinating the humans from earth. 

"Ahh, those were the good times." Blitz reminisced.

"I don't need any reminding, sir. Considering you blew most of our salaries on an obnoxious TV ad last week. One that you then additionally paid to have run for a full three hours on a channel... nobody watches."

"Uh, hey. Excuse me? What's "obnoxious" about a super-fun jingle, alright? It's a fun distraction when an advertisement's spittin' bullshit! Y/n, any ideas?"

You stopped dead in your tracks. "Uh..I don't know. I'm a janitor."

"Useless." Blitz scoffed.

Loona received a call and answered nonchalantly, "I.M.P.", The two talked for a bit and she hung up.

"Colorado. Some guy named Eddie." She flipped a page of the magazine that she's reading.

"Finally." Moxxie said, getting up from his chair and walking towards the portal that Loona opened up.

You continued to sweep and mop the entire floor. Running around and dusting every little thing.

"Blitz isn't here, you can stop working." Loona said, not looking up from her magazine.

"I like to clean, keeps my mind busy."

An hour later you were on the floor, scrubbing the left over gunk with a toothbrush. Loona would occasionally glance at you and roll her eyes.

The door of the room opened up, making you stand up and pretend that you're not cracked out. "Uh, who's this?" You pointed to the boy laying on a stretcher.

"Moxxie was being retarded and shot the wrong person." Blitz huffed.

"I'm sorry, sir! I'd like to go on record and say that incident was Loona's fault. Dispatch is supposed to give us the right info on the target."

"Oh, sit on a dick, Moxxie."

"YOU sit! Sit on... a... and the... d-- DO YOUR JOB!!" He slammed his fist on the table.

"Hey, now. We don't blame our screwups on Loona, okay?! She didn't do anything wrooooong~"

"Are you kidding me, sir? She's awful!"

Loona flipped him off before answering the phone. "I.M.P....Blitz! That clingy, rich asshole is on the phone! Says it's urgent and wants to talk to you! Sounds a little DTF-y."

"Oh, GOD, it was one time! If Y/n and I hadn't slept with that privileged asshole, none of us would have access to the living world." He crossed his arms.

"...You what?" Moxxie looked disgusted.

"Blitz! What the fuck!?" You walked over to him. "That was supposed to be a secret!"

"Wait," Millie stood up. "You slept with our boss?" She smiled.

"I got sucked into it. Don't want to talk about it."

Blitz put his arm around you, "I don't know, you seem to enjoy it." He teased. You pushed him off and sat down next to Millie.

"Blitzzz answer the phone!" Loona groaned.

Blitz motioned you to come with him to the office to talk to Stolas. At first you shook your head and stayed still. "Dude, he wanted you, not me."

"We're in this together, I don't want to be left alone to talk to him."

You eventually gave in and followed Blitz into his office. He planted himself onto his chair and picked up the phone, "Hey Stolas."

"There's a political candidate causing trouble up on Earth for a few of my associates. He's trying to convince people global warming exists!"

"Doesn't it?" You replied.

"Well... yes. But, more people die if nothing is done about it. And it gets lonely here~"

"Okay, well. Yeah, that makes sense." Blitz agreed.

"You know what happens when I'm lonely, Blitzy and Y/n?"

"How come I don't get a nickname?" You joked.

"God-fuckin'-dammit." Blitz said under his breath.

"When I'm lonely, I become hungry. And when I become hungry, I want to choke on that red cock of yours...Y/n fingering me, and me licking all of your cum, before taking out your cock, and fucking Y/n while she’s sucking me with more teeth until she’s screaming daddy like a FUCKING baby--!"

Blitz ended the call, looking traumatized. You on the other hand was laughing your ass off. "Looks like he wants us to fuck him."

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"A little." You snickered.

Blitz broke his phone and blended it.

"Loona!" He shouted.

She entered the office and put her hands on her hip.

"Eat this. And then y'know that bridge over the freeway?"

"Yeah?"

"Shit off it!"

The three walked out of the office, you leaned against the door.

"Look, the point is, Loona is a valued member of our family, and we don't get rid of family." Blitz finished off the conversation from earlier.

"We aren't a family, sir! You are the boss! We are the employees! You treat her like she's some troubled teenager! She's more like a meth-addicted homeless woman you let man the phones!"

You and Blitz exchanged glances. He walked up to the window to change topics. "That is offensive! Without homeless people, I wouldn't have HALF the joy and laughter I do in this life!"

"While we're on the subject of "family", can you stop finding me and Millie outside of work? Can't you just hang out with Y/n instead?"

"Come on, sweetie! It's not that big a deal." Millie smiled.

"Excuse me...WHAT?!"

"Y/n and I live together, i'm up her ass as much as I'm up yours."

"You're literally up in my ass." You snorted.

"Just... stop... doing that!" Moxxie said to Blitz, but might as well as say it to you.

Blitz shrugged. "I don't see what the issue is! There somethin' you don't want me seein'?"

"No!"

"You a baby-wiener-haver?"

"Sir, what you say and how you act is totally INAPPROPRIATE!" Moxxie stood up.

"Calm down, Mox! You're gonna have another panic attack!"

"I AM CALM!"

"Shh-shh-shh. There, there."

"Look, I don't judge the boring couple stuff you do outside work hours. So, don't... judge me!" Blitz crossed his arms.

"Oh, I do judge you, sir! Quite a lot, actually! Y/n how come you don't stop him?"

"I have no control of what he does."

"Mox, he's our boss!"

"No-no-no, it's fine Mills, your husband is just... how do I say this without being offensive? ...retarded."

"Does immaturely insulting me make you feel better about your sad situationship with Y/n?"

"Moxxie for the last time we're not dating!" You interjected.

"Oh come on! You two are fucking each other, live with each other, and constantly flirting."

"Friends with benefits." You shrugged.

"Y/n has too many problems to date." Blitz stated.

"Fuck you too then! You have more problems than me!"

"At least I'm not a dru-"

"Don't." You gritted your teeth.

"Moxxie, the only reason you have a wife is because you're easy to manage!" Loona looked up from her phone.

Millie slams her hands against the table, "No, he's not, you BITCH!"

"Do not talk to my receptionist that way! She's sensitive!" Blitz crossed his arms.

"Yes, I am!"

"You guys are all fucking assholes."

Everyone looked at the kid.

"Oh, shut up, kid! You're lucky to witness this!" Blitz pointed his finger.

"It's been a literal hell having to pretend to be paralyzed so you fuckshits wouldn't kill me! But, now I want that. I want death!"

Eddie pointed to Blitz. "You are a selfish, greedy clown. And I'm a kid! We're supposed to like clowns! Even the creepy ones!"

"HA!" You slapped your knee.

"What's up with your teeth?" Eddie laughed, "Looks like you smoke meth, especially with your fucked up skin and the fact that half of your teeth is gone."

You put your hand over your mouth.

"Hey, now! That's not very--"

Eddie interrupted Moxxie, "If I wanted to hear from a spineless jackass, I'd rip out your spine and ask you some shit."

"That's my husband you're talkin' to!" Millie slammed her fist on the table.

"That's your husband?! I figured you for a slut. But, I didn't know you needed dick that bad! And you!" He pointed to Loona.

"What? What about me?"

"Nothing. I don't talk to dogs. I'm a cat person."

"Wow. Ah, y'know, kid, you kind of are a piece of shit." Blitz replied.

Everyone in unison agreed as you tugged on Blitz's sleeve to get his attention. "Are my teeth that bad?" You whispered in a sad voice, opening your mouth ever so slightly.

"Do you want me to be honest or nice?" He whispered back.

"Fuck you."

"Oh, fuck! Guys, I just got a text from our client! Guess he was the right target after all." Loona smiled.

"Who?"

"Him."

"Me?" Eddie said in disbelief.

"Yup." She said smugly.

"They wanted us to kill an actual child?" Blitz raised his eyebrow.

"That's what they're sayin'."

"...Well, Christ on a stick. I guess there is a God."

Blitz draws a flintlock pistol and fires it at Eddie, resulting in blood splattering everywhere.

"Y/n you're the janitor, go clean it up." Blitz smirked.

"Let me go to the bathroom first." You fast walked into the bathroom and locked the door, pulling out a baggy from your pocket. You poured the adderal onto your hand and brought it to your mouth, swollowing the white pills dry.

You left the bathroom once it kicked in, and cleaned up the mess while the others got rid of Eddie's body.

[toastybagel-fanfiction]

behind the glass chapter 12 alternate opening

hey y'all!!! so i completely rewrote the beginning of chapter 12 before posting it but i kept the old opening in a different doc so i could post it on here. enjoy!

“I used to think about this all the time…” Vincent stood in the living room, turning around, taking in every little detail. “Our own house.”

“You mean apartment?” Scott chuckled, standing beside Vincent. “It’s not really anything special. It’s kinda shitty.”

“I don’t care about that.” Vincent’s have trailed across Scott’s shoulders, wrapping his arm around Scott and holding him close. “It’s special because we live here together.”

“You’re sweet,” Scott replied with a smile, melting into Vincent’s touch. “I’m glad you like it; I don’t think I’m ready to let it go yet.”

A black cat scampered out from between two boxes, hesitantly batting at a flap of cardboard hanging off of a box.

“I could live here forever, Scott, until the end of our days- until we’re old and gray.”

“Is that from one of your songs?” Scott looked up at Vincent, playfully poking his nose.

“No, but I might use it as inspiration.” Vincent’s eyes had flickered over to an empty spot on the floor beside the couch. “Would you mind if I got a piano?”

“Not at all. Would you mind if I got a liquor shelf?”

“I thought you didn’t drink after…” Vincent trailed off, looking down into Scott’s eyes. “You know, after high school, you told me that you didn’t want to drink anymore.”

“Things change.” Scott glanced down at the college sweatshirt that Vincent was wearing. He gently ran his fingers over the embroidered letters. “We’ve changed. Sometimes, I need a nice distraction, and drinking does that for me.”

“As long as you’re responsible about it-” Vincent gently tilted Scott’s chin upward. “Drink as much as you like. I don’t want you to become dependent, though; I lived with alcoholics my whole childhood and it’s not pretty.”

“After that one party…” Scott’s head was empty. He didn’t have memories of being drunk, only memories of paying for it the morning after. He wasn’t sure which night was the worst. “I don’t want to drink so much that I lose control, but I also don’t want to be sober forever.”

“It’s not that bad,” Vincent replied with a shrug. “I hardly drank while I was across the pond, and I still enjoyed my time there.”

“I never left Colorado. I don’t know if I ever will.” Scott took a step back. “I’m glad you had a good time, Vince.”

“You still haven’t told me what you’ve been up to.” Vincent lowered his voice.

“I went to school and didn’t like it, so I dropped out and stayed with Michael for a while.” Scott avoided looking into Vincent’s eyes as he stepped to the side, idly peeking into a few boxes that were stacked against the wall.

“Then?” Vincent insisted after a moment of silence.

“Then, I got a job at Freddy Fazbear’s and moved here,” Scott hesitated, feeling the sting of regret in his chest as he watched Vincent nod in reply. “It was boring without you around.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.” Looking up, Scott met Vincent’s eyes. “That’s it.”

“Scott, please…” Vincent reached forward, delicately taking Scott’s hand. “Promise that, someday, you’ll tell me what you’ve really been doing these past few years.”

Scott took a step toward Vincent.

“I’ve already told you-”

“I know.” Vincent was softly smiling as he let go of one of Scott’s hands to lay a hand on the side of his face. “Whenever you’re ready, I want you to tell me everything. I don’t care how long I have to wait.” Vincent paused for a moment, taking a breath. “I know you’ve been thinking about something. I see it every time you look at me.”

“I’m not ready.”

“That’s okay.”

Vincent pressed his lips against Scott’s for only a moment before pulling away and wandering into the kitchen. Hearing plates clatter together from across the room, Scott sat down on the couch and simply observed his surroundings. The stacks of boxes towered over him now. He couldn’t imagine fitting all of Vincent’s stuff into his tiny apartment.

Did he want Vincent to move out?

No, of course not. Scott couldn’t stand to live alone anymore. If Vincent hadn’t been planning to return to Colorado, Scott would have already moved out of his apartment and started knocking on Michael’s door, begging for a place to stay. Living with Vincent was the best option that Scott had, and he knew it.

He stood up and paced across the room, pushing the swinging doors open and leaning against the tile wall.

“Vincent?”

Vincent set down the dish in his hand before he could lift it into the cupboard, turning around to face Scott.

“Yeah?”

“If I told you the truth, what would you say?”

The doorbell rang. Jeremy could hear it from outside of the apartment as he stood beside Scott on the porch.

“I’m not ready,” Scott muttered. 

“You need to go home, Scott. You’ve been missing for weeks.” 

“William was right; I don’t think I can look Vincent in the eye, not after what I did.”

Jeremy’s eyes flickered over to Scott.

“Are you gonna tell him?” he asked, turning his head.

“I don’t know.” Scott shifted his weight between his feet, the wooden planks creaking. “I mean, I’ll tell him where I was, but everything else…”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence. Jeremy rang the doorbell again.

“Could you stick around for a few minutes after we go inside?” Scott glanced toward the window, which was completely covered with a thick curtain. The fabric stirred as if someone passed by it.

“Sure, I can.”

“Thank you.”

The door clicked as it opened, Vincent stepping in front of the door before freezing in shock.

“Scott…” Vincent uttered, as if he had nearly forgotten how to say it. “You- You’re alive…”

Vincent stepped forward, beaming as he wrapped his arms around Scott.

“You’re ali-” 

He was cut off by a soft yelp, pulling away to find Scott’s hand cupped around his bandaged shoulder.

“He just got out of the hospital,” Jeremy explained somberly. “I found him with a stab wound in his shoulder.”

Vincent knelt to the ground, grasping Scott’s hand and staring up into his pained eyes.

“Where was he?” Vincent’s eyes didn’t leave Scott’s. “Who stabbed him?”

Jeremy gently nudged Scott’s shoulder.

“Scott?” He muttered. “Do you want me to tell Vincent what I saw?”

“No-” Scott shook his head, staring down at Vincent and his disheveled hair and the old t-shirt and sweatpants that Scott had rarely seen him wear. Grasping onto Vincent’s hands, Scott could practically feel the grief radiating off of him. 

“It was William Afton, wasn’t it?” Vincent shot a concerned glance at Jeremy. “He tried to kill you.”

“He tried to kill me…” Scott mumbled emptily, unsure if he believed his own words.

“Did he do anything else?”

Shaking his head again, Scott broke eye contact with Vincent.

“When he first got admitted,” Jeremy added. “They said that he was dehydrated and that he had a mild chemical burn in his throat.”

“Chemical burn?” Vincent’s gaze flickered from Jeremy to Scott. “Did he try to poison you?”

“I- I don’t know-” Scott choked out, his heart beginning to beat erratically in his chest. “I don’t remember anything else-”

“Hey,” Vincent squeezed Scott’s hands tightly, lowering his voice and attempting to quell his own anxiety as well as Scott’s. “Hey, I’m sorry. I won’t ask you any more questions.” He looked up at Jeremy with a sympathetic gaze. “Maybe we should wait a day or two before we talk about this.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” Jeremy took a step back. “Will you guys be okay if I go home until then?”

Scott nodded, attempting to take slow, steady breaths even though his heart refused to stop racing.

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Vincent replied, pulling himself to his feet. “Thank you for bringing Scott home. If there’s anything you need, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“It’s not a problem, really; I’m just glad that I was able to bring him home.” Jeremy patted Scott on the back before turning around, glancing at the couple once more. “See you guys later.”

With a wave of his hand, Jeremy was walking down the stairs of the apartment complex, his footsteps gradually fading away.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Vincent murmured, still holding tightly onto Scott’s hand to ensure that he truly was there. “This place felt so empty without you, Scott.”

Vincent led Scott through the open apartment door, closing it behind them as they stepped further inside. The apartment was dark, the only light source streaming in from between the curtains on the windows. When he flipped the light switch, Scott almost expected the apartment to be a cluttered mess.

It wasn’t. The apartment was clean except for a few throw pillows and a blanket that had fallen on the floor. It was just as Scott had seen it before he left for William’s house.

“Home, sweet home, right?” Vincent joked, reaching out to playfully punch Scott’s shoulder but quickly pulling his hand away. “If I had known you were coming home, I would have cleaned up a bit.”

“It’s alright.” Scott turned toward the bedroom door, noticing how the room was still a mess and the bed hadn’t been made. “It’s the same.”

“Yeah,” Vincent replied hesitantly. “It’s been kind of uneventful these past few weeks. I haven’t done much besides…” He trailed off, watching as Scott walked past him and stared up at the decorations on the wall. “...looking for you…”

Taking a seat on the couch, Vincent’s eyes were locked on Scott, watching as he looked around the house as if it was completely foreign to him. Eventually, Scott noticed Vincent’s staring and looked back at him.

“Oh, sorry,” Scott mumbled as he sat down beside Vincent with a sigh.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I don’t know.” Scott’s voice began to quiver. “I’m sorry for disappearing, and for leaving you alone, and for…” He took a shallow breath. “...for everything.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Vincent reached out, hesitantly brushing his hand against Scott’s back. “You’re safe here; everything is okay.”

“This is all my fault.” Scott glanced down at Vincent’s clothes before turning to apprehensively scan the entire apartment. Vincent had been devastated, and nothing had changed in the weeks that Scott was absent. “I did this to you.”

“It’s not your fault-” Vincent attempted to console Scott, realizing that his words were falling on deaf ears. “Scott, I need you to listen to me.”

“I’m sorry…” Scott whimpered, curling up against the armrest of the couch and burying his face in his arms. “I’m so sorry.” He gasped for air as he sobbed, recoiling every time Vincent tried to comfort him.

“Come to bed, Scott,” Vincent asked later that night, kneeling beside the couch. “Please come to bed with me.”

“I don’t know if I…” Scott trailed off, his left hand idly touching his right shoulder. “If I should…”

“I promise, I won’t hurt you. I just need to know that you’re still here with me.”

That was it. Scott knew that Vincent didn’t trust him. It was understandable, too; Scott wouldn’t trust Vincent if he decided one day to pack up and disappear in the middle of the woods one day. Why did he expect to be forgiven so easily-

“Scott?” Vincent gently tapped his knee, trying to get his attention. “Do you want the bed to yourself?”

“No- I-” He stammered, nearly forgetting what Vincent had just said. “I can sleep with you. That’s okay.”

“Want to change those bandages before we go to bed?” Vincent rested his hand on Scott’s arm. “I can help if you need me to.”

“Would you?” Scott reluctantly asked, remembering with a shiver the first time he saw the wound clearly. He never made an attempt to see it again.

[faithdeans]

western au fic recs part 1

i have loads of these but i've decided to re-read them all before reccomending them. idk how many parts there will be of this but probably at least another 2 and one for ficlets! anyway hiii have fun and pls let me know how you find them!!! i also left comments because idk how to shut up!

Vagabonds by chevrolangels [89k]

Dean is a sheriff in a tiny town in Colorado, restless and unsatisfied with his life. It's not like what he's read about in the dime novels since he was little, capturing dangerous outlaws and being the last word of the law. More like tossing the town drunk in a cell to sober up when they get a little too rowdy. But Dean's chance comes when a thief rolls through their town. He pursues the thief, which puts him right into the path of Emmanuel, a notorious outlaw. When he is captured by the outlaw and his gang to be held for ransom, Dean starts off on a journey he could have never envisioned, and learns that perhaps there's more to Emmanuel than meets the eye.

i reread this the other day and if you didn't already see my posts let me say i lost my damn mind all over again. the pacing and characterisation in this fic are perfect. it's a delicious slowburn, the action is amazing, and also as someone who has a hard time handling angst, this fic is the perfect level for me. the end makes me cry because i never wanna finish it. the stories of the side-characters are just as enthralling as dean and cas. i could read a million one-shots based on this fic. i'd probably say it's my favourite fic, period.

The Shawnee Trail by emmbrancsxx0 [166k]

In 1887, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak lead a peaceful life in Lawrence, Kansas. Dean and Sam are stagecoach messengers for Wells, Fargo and Castiel is the town doctor. When Castiel's patient, Kelly Kline, knocks on their door one night about to give birth, she asks for the Winchesters and Castiel's help in protecting her son against one of the west's most notorious outlaws. To fulfill that promise, the men set out on a journey full of shootouts, trouble with the law, gambling, and an important discovery: Dean and Castiel really need to define the nature of their relationship.

okay to everyone asking which fic i was talking about when i posted "fics that make you pace around your room at midnight while sobbing", i was talking about this. this fic felt like a movie, it felt like i was living it, like i was riding with them. the storytelling is unbelievably vivid. i was hanging on to the "angst with a happy ending" tag for dear life. this fic is a rollercoaster of an adventure and a wonderfully moving ode to the western genre. it's truly one of those fics where you finish it and you can't believe this is supernatural fanfic and not a critically acclaimed piece of literature.

Lonesome Rider by onwardorange [67k]

Dean Winchester, better known as the “Lonesome Rider” throughout the Wild West, spends his days galavanting from town to town, drinking, dancing, and flirting his way into people’s beds. He’s got no responsibilities and no direction in life; it’s just him, his beloved horse, Baby, and the open road. And that’s just the way Dean likes it𑁋or so he tells himself. That is, until the day Sam falls deathly ill. When nothing is able to cure him, Dean makes a desperate deal to save Sam’s life that puts his own on the line. Enter Castiel Novak, a small town preacher in possession of the Colt, a gun rumored to be able to kill just about anything as well as the one thing that could save Dean’s life. When the gun is stolen by a gang of infamous outlaws, Dean and Castiel must travel across the West together to get it back, though what they discover between themselves along the way may turn out to be more powerful than the Colt itself.

this fic was so sweet and full of heart that it actually left me breathless in places. the way dean and cas bickering was written was so s spot on. hurt/comfort that will blow your cock and balls straight off. and the pining!!!! oh the pining!!! something about this story is like a warm hug and i just didn't wanna put it down. also the constellation scene and certain recurring themes to do with it. *dies*

[hazelbooksoberliving]

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[hazelbrookcommunity]

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At Hazelbrook, we understand that the path to sobriety is unique for each individual. That's why we offer a range of tailored programs and services designed to meet the diverse needs of our residents. From structured sober living accommodations to personalized counseling and support groups, we are dedicated to providing the tools and resources necessary for lasting transformation.

Our Colorado sober living community is more than just a place to stay – it's a vibrant hub of connection and growth. Residents have the opportunity to forge meaningful relationships with peers who share similar experiences, fostering a sense of belonging and camaraderie that is essential to long-term recovery.

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Ready to take the next step towards a life of sobriety and fulfillment? Contact Hazelbrook Community Center today to learn more about our Colorado sober living programs and start your journey towards lasting recovery. Your brighter tomorrow starts here.

[jaggedhorseteeth]

Better in the Morning // Ch. 12

Masterlist

word count: 1600+

This is very much a filler chapter. I'm not super happy with it but it's going to be important for some stuff later on down the road.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Language; Drinking; talks of alcoholism, drunk driving, car accidents, staying sober

When Finn came to Nashville initially, he and Josh hit it off very well. They had an immediate connection that any outsider might describe as ‘love at first sight,’ as cheesy as it sounded. They were seemingly inseparable, spending most of their spare time together. I wasn’t deeply involved in either of their sex lives, but I’d been told they hooked up on more than one occasion. They never made it official, though, which didn’t surprise me. Between Finn having to go back to Colorado for work and Josh eventually going on tour again with the band, they probably felt like a steady relationship wasn’t viable. Never mind the fact that I had never seen Finn commit to a relationship with anyone.

Jake and I briefly discussed it, and he expressed his concern that Finn was using Josh, leading him on. I was confident that was not the case, and assured him that Finn was more than capable of communicating what he wanted to Josh. He would make things clear, ensuring that the two were on the same page. And Josh never gave anything away that led me to believe otherwise. Jake had a hard time trusting Finn, although at the time I couldn’t figure out why.

The next time Finn came to town, however, Josh was beyond excited to see him again. And his excitement only grew when Finn told us that he’d be staying in Nashville for good, only occasionally having to travel out of state when his job required it. 

I proposed another night out at our favorite local bar, which went off without a hitch. Everyone was in great spirits. You never would have known that anything was wrong.

The following night, Josh invited everyone over for a get-together and movie night at his house. It was the usual crew, along with a few of their friends I had met a couple of times. We watched some cheesy, B-rate horror flick and spent the evening socializing. I was having a pretty good time, but when I tried to strike up a conversation with Josh, it was like we were back to square one where he didn’t trust me. He stuck to one- or two-word responses and avoided looking directly at me until he excused himself to go pay his attention somewhere else. I was confused and irritated at his behavior, but I didn’t want to make a scene in front of his guests, so I opted to address it later.

I had been mingling until I got roped into mediating a debate between Sam and another partygoer over some big-time pop artist I didn’t care about. At some point, I glanced over and noticed Jake and Josh through the sliding glass door on the back patio deck. They looked like they were arguing. I excused myself and started heading their way to see what was going on.

The argument didn’t appear too heated. It looked more like Josh was one who was pissed off, and Jake was trying to calm his twin’s anger. I probably should have kept my distance and let them work it out, but I’m nosy to a fault, and I needed to know if it had anything to do with me. The way Josh looked at me when I joined them outside seemed to answer my question. He rolled his eyes and stormed past me, slamming the door shut behind him.

Jake sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Wanna tell me what that’s about? What’d I do to piss him off this time?”

“Uh… he’s just…” Jake turned to meet my eyes, an almost… disappointed look on his face. “Actually, I’m a little confused, too. Why’d you want to go to the bar last night?”

That was a weird question, and I had no idea what he was aiming at. “Um, you mean the bar that we hang out at all the time?”

“You thought it was a good idea to bring a recovering alcoholic to a bar?”

My mind was reeling with that I thought he was referring to. I thought back to the night he poured all the liquor out. He hadn’t bought anymore to keep in the house but hadn’t quit drinking entirely. We had gone out for drinks with the guys countless times since that night and he never expressed to me that was suddenly calling himself a ‘recovering alcoholic.’

“What? I know you don’t want the hard stuff in the house during… but Jake, if you were struggling that much with it why didn’t you-“

“Huh? No, I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about Finn. Josh didn’t want to take him, but Finn told him it was okay, that he could handle it. And I guess he’s fine, but Josh-“

“Woah, wait. Stop. Jake, what the fuck are you talking about?”

He blinked at me, a thick air of confusion settling between the two of us. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what? Why are we talking about Finn like he has a drinking problem?”

“Uh… because he told Josh he did. Said he has a chip, goes to AA meetings and everything. You seriously didn’t know?”

I racked my brain for any and every conversation I’d ever had with Finn, trying to figure out if he did mention it, if I blocked it out or forgot. I tried to remember a time when I had seen him drunk, tried to connect the dots, but I couldn’t find any. “He never said anything to me. Why would he keep that from me?”

Jake sighed. “I guess we both assumed you knew. I’ll talk to Josh.”

“Yeah, do that.” I know my words came off snippy, but I didn’t care.

“I’m sorry.” He reached out for me, but I pulled away, unable to hide the hurt.

“You really thought I’d be so ignorant about something that serious? He’s my best friend, Jake. I never would have…” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Just… go keep Josh busy. I need to have a conversation with Finn.”

He bit his lip and stared at me apologetically, but didn’t retort, and went to find his brother.

I found Finn alone, fiddling with the record player. “Hey, can we talk?”

He smiled, not appearing to be put off by my presence. “Sure.” He started a Fleetwood Mac record and turned all his attention to me. “Hey, are you alright?”

I led him to an unoccupied spot on the pool deck and didn’t speak again until we were alone. “How long have you been sober?”

The question caught him off guard, but his expression quickly softened. “Three years,” he said quietly. He reached into his pocket, pulling something out and holding it out for me to see. I eyeballed the bronze coin, glinting in the lights illuminating the deck. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He slipped the coin back into the safety of his pocket. “I didn’t want to keep it from you, I just didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.” He bit his lip nervously.

We both took seats in empty chairs. “What happened,” I asked. I figured there had to be a story there somewhere.

He picked at his cuticles while he searched for the words. His voice was low when he finally spoke. “Car crash in Sioux Falls. I was drunk, shouldn’t have been driving. The car I hit… it was a mother and two young kids. Everybody was okay, just minor injuries, but the mom had to be transported because she was so panicked she couldn’t catch her breath. When I saw how upset those kids were… they were terrified. And it was my fault they had to go through with it in the first place. They got lucky, like someone was looking out for them that night. But I could have killed them, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I had.” There was a glaze over his eyes, like tears dwelled right below the surface, waiting to show themselves. “I only spent a few weeks in jail. First offense and all. The state made me pay a fine and mandated some AA meetings before I could have my license back. It didn’t feel like it was enough. I deserved worse.”

“Finn,” I whispered, reaching out to grasp his hand. “You made a mistake. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, where you’re at now.”

“Thanks.” He squeezed my hand once before letting go. “I’m sorry if Josh got shitty with you about it. I tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault, but he gets tunnel vision and it’s hard to change his mind.”

“That’s called being a stubborn ass,” I retorted.

Finn chuckled. “I like his stubbornness. It’s endearing.” He let out a contented sigh. “I think I’m falling in love with him, Kya.”

“Is that why you chose to stay in Nashville?”

“Maybe it was one of the reasons.” He looked at me like a guilty kid who just got caught in a fib. “I think I really want to give it a shot, see where things go?”

“Have you guys talked about it, making it official?”

“A little. I know it probably won’t be easy. They’re leaving for tour soon, and we all know I don’t have the slightest idea what I’m doing when it comes to relationships.” He let out a nervous laugh. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll fuck it all up before we ever get started.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “You’re not gonna fuck it up. If you love him, it’ll be worth giving it a chance. Besides, we can keep each other company while they’re gone.”

“Or keep each other out of trouble.”

“Same thing.”

He laughed, nodding in agreement. “You got a deal.”

///

TAGLIST Let me know if you want to be added!

@hollyco @fleetingjake @musicislove3389

[accidentalsoravoice]

Since the whole "Dream Blunt Rotation" thing is going around, I thought I'd share mine

For some background, I've never smoked (weed, tobacco, or otherwise) and don't really plan to (except maybe weed once or twice because I mean I live in Colorado whaddya expect) but if I did these are the people I'd pass the blunt to. I'm also including the location the smoking is gonna happen, the snacks we've got on deck, and the background music we're gonna have on a nice, calmingly low volume.

The Smokers:

Link (The Legend of Zelda)

He's normally a silent guy, and I feel like that wouldn't change if he was smoking the Mary Jane. If anything it'd be a calming experience for him, which he definitely needs after saving Hyrule in multiple lives. Only downside is if it's BotW/TotK Link he'd get a killer case of munchies.

2. Nick (Left 4 Dead 2)

I can definitely see him as the type to smoke tobacco cigarettes on occasion, but not exactly be a weed guy. He's an asshole when he's sober, sure, but when he's high I feel like he'd mellow out a bit. Wouldn't get the munchies as much as someone like Link would. He'd probably just sit there and be high, maybe eat a thing or two.

3. Quinlan Vos (Star Wars)

A more obscure character, even in Star Wars (most casual fans, like those who haven't seen the Clone Wars series, probably don't know him). But he's 1) my favorite Jedi character aside from Ahsoka, and 2) probably the type to get EXTREMELY philosophical when he's high. I can see him smoking weed in his free time already, and free time is something he has a lot of considering he's not exactly your average Jedi.

4. Callie (Splatoon)

Callie is the BEST girl in Splatoon (yes, better than Marina, fight me). She'd probably get super sweet (even more than she already is) when she's baked, super cuddly, and killer munchies. Would probably gush at Quinlan Vos getting all philosophical on her. She'd probably also suddenly be super clingy and touchy with everyone (which I personally wouldn't mind).

5. Riku (Kingdom Hearts)

Similar to Link, I just wanna give bro a chance to relax a bit. He'd probably be a philosophical stoner like Quinlan Vos, but he'd say the stupid shit like "Duuuude...isn't lasagna just spaghetti cake?" And make everyone laugh even though it sounds so dumb.

6. Palutena (Kid Icarus)

She's a goddess, shawty needs to relax and let Pit take care of things for a bit. Would probably also be a very clingy stoner like Callie, maybe even get a bit clingy WITH Callie and everyone else in the group (again, I would not mind one bit). She'd also get real bad munchies, meaning Link may have to be on cooking duty despite having food on deck and being high. And that could lead to disaster. But that's just part of the thrill.

The Location:

Area Zero (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet)

Aside from the wild Pokemon roaming around, I think Area Zero would be the ideal place for this pot-smoking party to go down. It's so damn ethereal and we can just bask in the Terastal energy while we also bask in the devil's lettuce.

The Snacks:

Wendy's Baconators

Oreos

Cheddar and Sour Cream flavored Pringles

Homemade brownies (not edibles dw)

IBC cream soda and root beer

The Music:

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes (album) - Jimmy Buffett

No particular reason for this one, I just really fuck with Jimmy Buffett music (also this album includes Margaritaville)

[redrockrecoverycenter]

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[zoomzooomfast]

Style things in my SP AU

 so because I am normal about Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski I have a Bunch of headcanons around them mostly in high school and older that I haven't stopped thinking about for 3 weeks 

- Stan and Kyle are Both Bisexual and there TfT and Kyle is a trans man and Stan is Non-binary and uses They/He pronouns 

-In High school Stan Played Football and Lacrosse and Kyle played basketball and Figure Skated 

-Stan had a varsity jacket he just refused to own or wear it himself but he always had his partners waring them with Kyle ending up being the permeant owner once they graduated 

-Kyle dated Wendy for a bit in high school where Stan ended up having an executional crisis where he wondered if they were gay and he dated craig for a few months and then he dated Kenny for a bit after that. Then Stan had a mental breakdown to Wendy and Wendy told him if Kyle is cool with it we can be poly

-Kyle was cool with it and the 3 of them where together till Wendy broke up with both of them because they seemed better being just the two of them. 

-All of the core 4 ended up going to Denver for collage and the 4 shared a 3 bed apartment where even though Cartman and Kenny knew Stan and Kyle were dating they both came up with stupid reasons why they shared a room

-After they graduated collage Gerald offered to get Kyle a house of which he took up fast and Then Kyle and Stan lived together there for a while

-But Stans things that made Them fun in collage became a problem and Kyle was sick of him. Kyle kicked Stan out and told him if he can get himself together then he can come back into Kyles life

-Stan left South Park after that for 6 or 7 years just living in different places around Colorado 

-Kyle during this span of time got Married to a childhood friend Rebecca who no one in his family liked she was to quite for anyone in Kyles family or life to like her. They had there Son  Ezekiel “Zeke” Rebecca hated the nickname. The marriage lasted about a year and half after Zeke was born.

-The marriage ended when Kyle came home from work one day to find a letter from Rebecca saying that she was a lesbian and has been having an affair with a woman and left him to live her best cottagecore lesbian life.

-Kyle had a full mental breakdown with him ending up resining from his job and staying home most of the day high and drunk watching a box set of red racer that Craig gave to Kyle for Zeke 

-Luck for Kyle this around the time Stan felt like he got his life together he was a little shocked when they showed up to Kyles house to see his best friend who he knew as the level headed psychologist both high and drunk in a weird way it remined Stan of there dad.

-Stan instantly developed a connection with 2 year old Zeke. And because of that Stan knew he need to help Kyle get his life together starting with getting Kyle somewhere to go so he wouldn't just drink and smoke

-From Stan just trying to keep Kyle Sober and busy by just running around Kyle learned that he was going to have a second child and that caused a less fun round of  a mental breakdown 

-Kyle ended up working as a secretary for his dad till his daughter Tabitha was born and then Kyle felt the need to get back to having real job. So Kyle applies to be the elementary schools counselor which he got

-Stan very happily took up Kyles offer of watch my kids and you can live here rent free

-Shelia comes over a lot to help Stan with cooking and to just be able to talk to her sons partner because Stan would actually speak. The first time Shelia came over she asked Stan about an engagement ring and what season him and Kyle want to get married in. Stan was there was what where just friends we haven't dated in years. Shelia had to sit down and go back over everything that Stan and Kyle have done in just the past 11-ish months. and if Stan was sure they weren't engaged or hell even married yet given that Stan is in reality just a housewife

-Stans “Proposal” as just Stan sitting in a chair in Kyles living room asking if he could be Kyles “House Husband” and giving him a ring that Shelia gave to stan saying that Kyle would like it. and He did, Kyle also played it as very chill

-After Stan Fell asleep Kyle went to the kitchen and Sobbed over the Phone to Ike

I don't have the between of them Getting married and Zeke being 12/13 years so thats all I got