#i run a mile every morning for sports and i just

[radiansjort]

can’t believe neil josten has the 1972th fastest mile time in the world

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley doesn't hear from you after the first game, he thinks that's it. But you got his heart pounding and made him smile, and he wants to see you again. The realization that maybe something that perfect should be left as a one night stand hits him hard, but he wants to know if there could be more.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst and smut (18+)

Length: 5600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was laying in bed on Saturday morning with the New York times app open on his phone, scrolling to find your article. When his eyes settled on your name below the title, he tapped on it. The app took him to your full biography and a picture of you in front of Wrigley Field. 

You even looked beautiful in your stock photo image. He was tempted to save it to his photo gallery, but instead he skimmed your bio. You'd lived all over the country and played every sport imaginable as a child. You had graduated first in your class from Syracuse University, and you were undefeated at sports trivia.

The smile on his lips grew as he read the article that you must have submitted before your deadline last night. Your writing style was fun and entertaining, and you had even mentioned the comment he made about the catcher for the Angels. Bradley groaned and tossed his phone aside. He wanted to see you again.

But as he got out of bed and headed for his bathroom, he reminded himself that last night had one night stand written all over it. You were in California for work. You both said that hooking up like that wasn't something you normally did. He was sure you just did it for a bit of fun. Bradley was an idiot for catching feelings after a few hours with you, but it felt like he already knew you. Talking to you in person felt like reading your articles, because your writing matched your personality so well. Witty, intelligent, funny and charming.

"Chill the fuck out," Bradley told himself in the bathroom mirror. "It's done."

Then he spent the day trying to think about anything that wasn't sports related. He even took a ten mile run up along the beach to kill some time. And when Nat asked him if he was going to the Hard Deck, he decided that would help. 

But everyone there was wearing Padres gear and talking about that game one victory. And Bradley swallowed hard when he saw that Shannon was working behind the bar. He hadn't thought about her much recently, and she definitely hadn't crossed his mind at all when he'd been with you. But nevertheless, Bradley smiled when she greeted him.

"Hey, Rooster," she said with that grin that he was so used to. And she poured him a beer before he even asked for one. "You think you'll stick around for last call?" 

He watched her hand as she slid the beer across the bartop. "I'll let you know?" he asked, barely able to meet her eyes. 

"Sounds good. I'll start a tab for you."

He just nodded and turned to find the other aviators. Sleeping with Shannon tonight might help Bradley get you off his mind. But did he want to? He kind of liked the way warm thoughts of your voice and your smile kept bubbling to the surface. He could hear you asking him if he'd write back to a text from you. Honestly, he had been low key hoping you'd contact him today, and then he could have proven that he'd write back immediately, just like he promised. 

But he'd heard nothing. No text. No call. You hadn't done anything with his phone number. 

"What's your problem?" Nat asked, pinching his arm until he snapped out of it. "I asked you three times if you wanted to play pool with me."

"I'm not in the mood," he groaned, rubbing his arm as the TV screen caught his attention. They were playing World Series highlights and talking about tomorrow night's game. 

"Why are you pouting?"

He rolled his eyes. "Nat, I'm not pouting."

"You are. Is this because Bagman is flirting with Shannon?"

Bradley glanced over his shoulder and saw that Nat was correct. Jake was leaning on the bar, trying his hardest to get Shannon to smile. "Nah. I told you, that's just casual. Doesn't mean anything." He sipped his beer.

"Well whatever is bothering you, either tell me about it or get over it, because I want to beat Javy and Reuben at pool for once."

Bradley closed his eyes and told her, "I met someone at the game last night."

"No!" she gasped. "Tell me everything."

After he hesitated for a beat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on your name in the NYT app before handing it to her. He watched Nat as she skimmed the screen and examined your photo.

"Oh! You met her? Oh, shit....you hooked up with her!"

"Yeah," he grunted, glad that his best friend didn't need much help to figure out exactly what was going on with him. She never did. 

"You like her! Why can I so easily picture you happily married to a sports writer? You could have six kids, and each one would play a different sport. One would play softball, one would be a kickass hockey player, one would play soccer, you'd probably have a ballerina-"

"Nat," he said, cutting her off with a laugh. "I'm not going to see her again. I gave her my number, but I haven't heard from her." He turned back to the bar to find that Shannon was alone again. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if he stayed until last call.

"Bradley. She's probably covering game two! You could go back to Petco Park tomorrow."

"Yeah," he grunted. "She's definitely covering game two. She told me she was. Right after I gave her my number which she hasn't used. It was just a hookup, Nat."

"I'll buy you a ticket," she said, fishing out her own phone. "An early Christmas present."

"Don't you dare. The resale price is up to almost a thousand bucks for the nosebleed seats."

She sighed and said, "Fine. But you should still think about going."

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

After you spent most of your weekend in your hotel room doing research and writing, you decided to take a few hours off on Sunday afternoon. And it was during this time, when you went for a walk through Balboa Park, that you let yourself accept the fact that you'd been working like a maniac all weekend to try to keep your mind off of Bradley.  

Your hotel room smelled like his cologne or aftershave or maybe his laundry detergent. It was nice. Kind of comforting. You wanted to lay in bed with him until you smelled like it, too. But on Saturday morning, when you had thrown away the rogue condom wrapper, you decided it was better to throw away his phone number, too. You tried to rip that sheet out of your notebook since you no longer needed those stats, but you couldn't do it. Instead it was tucked away with your other work items, and you hoped you wouldn't cave and contact him.

After you took a shower, you grabbed your bag and your media pass and headed out early so you would have time to get some food when you got there. You liked that the ballparks usually served up local treats, and you'd get there in time to actually enjoy some fish tacos or a poke bowl tonight. You even thought about grabbing a local beer and drinking it on the main concourse before heading up to the box. You decided to go up and set down your computer and then find the beer cart.

But when you approached the narrow stairs that would take you up to the press box, you froze.

"Ace."

He was standing there, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, an earnest look on his handsome face.

"Bradley," you gasped as your heart thudded with excitement. "What are you doing here? Did you win another contest?"

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I bought a ticket."

You knew the tickets were reselling at a premium price, and as he pushed away from the wall and dropped his arms to his sides, you asked, "Really? You're that much of a Padres fan?"

He shrugged and kind of shook his head, but your breath caught in your throat when he said, "You never texted me, Ace. I haven't stopped thinking about you for a single second, but you didn't text or call me."

He was close enough now that you could smell him, and you almost whimpered as your eyes fluttered closed. "You really wanted me to use your number?" you asked, meeting his eyes once again.

"Of course. That's why I wrote it down," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Shit, I shouldn't have come here to see you." He was blushing profusely and looking at the floor. "You wanted that to be a one time thing, didn't you?" he asked, glancing up at your eyes with a slight grimace on his face. 

Well now you weren't so sure. You thought he had just written his number down as a tactic. It wouldn't have been the first time you had a guy see how far he could get you to go while making you feel like you had some sort of safety net. Making you think he was really into you. But maybe Bradley actually was?  

"Bradley, I-"

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "In an effort to not completely ruin the perfection of Friday night in my mind, I'm gonna go."

You watched him turn, and he made it about ten steps before you ran to him, reaching for his bicep. "Bradley, wait." When he stopped, you bumped into him, but he steadied you. You swallowed hard. He was so attractive, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him all weekend. Inviting him back to your hotel room again had been a fun fantasy you'd indulged in since late Friday night. "Do you want to sit with me again? In the box?"

He looked surprised now. "Yeah."

"Okay." You linked your fingers with his and led him back to the stairs. He still looked a little tentative as you added, "Let's go."

When you used your card to open the door, you made it halfway up the stairs before you paused and turned to look at him. He was one step below you, and your height just about matched up with his. He still looked a little surprised, but there was a soft smile on his lips now, and you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around his.

"To be clear, did you buy a one thousand dollar ticket so you could stand at the bottom of these stairs and try to see me again tonight?"

"Yes," he said clearly and without hesitation. You shook your fingers free from his and wrapped both of your hands around the back of his neck before leaning in to kiss him. Your nose brushed along the side of his as you felt the prickle of his mustache against your skin. And then his hands were on your waist as he welcomed you into his arms. He parted his lips for you as you dragged your fingers up into his hair. Then he broke the kiss long enough to rasp, "I like you, Ace."

You kissed his lips once more before running your lips along his mustache. He squeezed your waist a little tighter as the door opened behind him. When you saw that it was Raya, another sports writer, you took Bradley by the hand again and led him all the way into the box.

"Don't get into any trouble today," you whispered, pushing him down into the same stool he had occupied on Friday night. "I got you in with my pass."

"I'll be so good," he promised, looking up at you with eyes far too innocent for the rest of his smirking face. And somehow you doubted it.

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

Bradley couldn't keep his hands off you as you worked. He kept finding ways to trace little circles along your back. The pace of game two seemed to be a lot faster as the Angels got into a better groove against the Padres, and you were frantically keeping your stats as you typed away. 

"You want something else to eat?" he asked you between innings as you scribbled out some notes that he supposed must have made sense to you.

"Yes, please," you said, turning to smile at him. You watched Bradley stand, and he headed to the table lined with food. You seemed surprised that he had been sincere when he said he wanted you to text him. Yeah, he'd been joking around a little bit when he wrote his number down in your notebook, but he was kind of crushed when he hadn't heard from you. 

When Bradley turned to take the food back to that little spot you and he were sharing in the last row, he saw the reporter in front of you turn around and start giving you a hard time.

"You gonna bring your boyfriend to each game, New York?"

Bradley wanted to punch this asshole in the face, because who even made comments like that? But instead he watched you sigh dramatically and say, "At least I can get laid, Quincy. You're such a hater. Now turn around, I'm busy."

But Bradley did shoot Quincy a glare for good measure, and he didn't take his eyes off him until he had turned around. "More food," Bradley told you, setting the plate down where you could reach it without it being in your way. Then he settled onto his stool and draped his arm across the back of yours while you picked at the food. 

You kissed his cheek and whispered, "Thanks," just as the Padres hit a home run. Bradley desperately wanted to cheer, but nobody cheered in the press box, apparently. So he sat quietly while you updated your stat sheet and ate a taco. 

"Which team do you cheer for, Ace?" he asked, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. "You know, when you're not working and allowed to cheer."

Your lips parted in silence before you pressed them together, and then you said, "I never tell anyone my favorite teams."

Bradley examined your face for a beat. "You want to tell me, don't you?"

"Oh my god," you moaned, head tipped back. "Yeah, I actually do."

As Bradley shook from the laughter he was trying to hold in, you leaned in close to him. "You can tell me," he said, grinning. "I'll keep your secret."

You let your palm come to rest on his abs before sliding it along to his waist as you pressed your lips to his ear. "You can't tell anyone. Ever."

The feel of your lips on him, about to divulge something so important to your career had him pulling you closer. You laughed softly as your lips bumped his ear, and Bradley stifled a moan. 

"I won't say a word about it," he promised.

"My favorite team is the Toronto Blue Jays."

That was about to become Bradley's favorite team, too. Maybe he could go to a game with you when you were allowed to cheer. 

"Do you know what their mascot is named?" you asked as you eased yourself back into your seat. When he shook his head, you picked up your pencil and wrote in the margin of your stat sheet.

Ace.

Bradley laughed again. You had him smiling or laughing nonstop right now, and he couldn't believe it was already the eighth inning. It was getting late in the game now, but you were still writing. 

Do you want to come back to my hotel with me again?

And then he realized that this was the first time he'd thought about fucking you all day. 

Bradley leaned in close and kissed your neck a few times before he said, "Only if you save my number in your phone." Because as much as he'd been thinking yesterday about how good it felt to have sex with you, he wanted to hear from you when it wasn't a game day. He wanted to keep talking to you.

During the break at the end of the inning, you pulled your phone out and made a show of flipping to the previous page in your notebook and entering his phone number into your contacts list. Then you turned your phone screen away from him and typed something out, and he just waited to feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he did, he looked at his messages and saw that you had sent him a photo of you with the Toronto Blue Jays mascot. And you captioned it with: Be honest, which Ace do you think is cuter?

He typed out to you, I'm not sure if you knew this, but I'm wildly attracted to blue feathers.

When you looked at your phone again, your laughter was loud enough to have Quincy turning around and earning another glare from Bradley. And just as the ninth inning started, you texted Bradley one more time. I hope you replaced your wallet condom, Boy Scout Bradley. 

Truthfully, he had not. Getting lucky hadn't been his primary thought when he was just wanting to see you again. He muttered, "We're gonna need more than one, Ace."

And as your hand came to rest on his thigh, you tapped your lips with your pencil eraser. "I saw them for sale in the hotel lobby."

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

You couldn't remember feeling this way ever before. At least not with someone you barely knew. Bradley had your bag on his shoulder and he was practically carrying you across the parking lot as you laughed. You liked him a lot. He came back to see you again today. He was so funny and sweet, and you should have texted him on Saturday. 

"You seem very eager," you whispered against his cheek as you kissed him at the crosswalk. You were running your hands all over his shoulders and dipping your hands inside his Padres jersey. 

He picked you up to carry you across the street with the crowd of other pedestrians. "I'm hoping you'll show me your blue feathers tonight," he rasped, making you laugh even more. 

"I knew you liked the other Ace better!"

He kissed your neck, and once he had you inside the hotel lobby, he said, "No, you're my favorite."

"Condoms," you whispered, pointing toward the small convenience shop next to the front desk. Bradley set you down and grabbed up all ten double packs of condoms and dumped them in front of the young guy who was working at the front desk.

"Is that all you needed, sir?"

Bradley pulled out his credit card and handed it to him, looking at you while he said, "Well no, that's not all I need." His gaze was openly needy as he looked at your face, lingering on your lips. You felt warm all over, and when Bradley had all twenty condoms in his hands again, you hooked your fingers though the belt loop of his jeans and pulled him toward the elevators. 

"Let's go, Boy Scout."

Bradley groaned as the elevator door opened and you pulled him inside. He stood before you with your computer bag, so many packs of condoms and an erection that you could plainly see behind his zipper. You giggled and ran your thumbnail up and down his zipper as you said, "You're adorable."

He swallowed hard as you led him out on the top floor and down the corridor toward your room. "Ace? Baby?"

"Yeah?" you asked, unlocking the door as he stood behind you and let you feel him pressed to your lower back.

"Maybe you should finish writing your article first? I don't want you to get too close to your deadline again."

You opened the door and backed into the room, pulling him in with you. "No," you whispered before you kissed him hard. "I want you right now."

You grabbed one of the double packs of condoms from his hands, and he let the rest of them fall to the floor. The smile that you and he shared had your tummy doing somersaults as he gently set down your computer bag. You continued to back up slowly to the bed as he followed you. When you toed off your shoes, you watched him pause to pull his off as well. And then you were holding up the condoms and walking backwards across the bed on your knees until you reached the middle. 

Bradley was frozen, just staring at you with a crooked smile on his face and his hands on his zipper. "I'm waiting," you whispered. And then you weren't waiting anymore at all, because Bradley was on top of you, wrapping his arms around you as his weight pushed you down into the bedding.

You moaned into his kisses as you ran your fingers through his hair. He already felt, smelled and sounded familiar to you. He tugged on your shirt until he was kissing you through your bra.

"You don't taste like beer today," he murmured against your skin, teasing you with his mustache. 

"No, you managed not to spill," you replied, pulling your own shirt off as he unhooked your bra. His mouth was all over your breasts once he tossed your bra on the floor, and you were arching your back up against him. "You feel good."

He groaned into your skin while you felt him grind against your core through way too much fabric. "Ace." His hands were cupping your breasts as he let his lips drift down your belly until he was kissing along the top of your jeans. You unbuttoned and unzipped your pants and let him pull them down your legs. And then he was still fully clothed, giving you head just like two nights ago.

He was good at it, too. But when you started to touch your own breasts, he got distracted, lips grazing your clit as he watched you. When he lazily brought the pad of his thumb up along your slit and started teasing you, the sounds you made were so needy. You thought he could probably get you off like this if you wanted him to. 

But you sat up and made quick work of his jersey buttons while he slipped his index finger inside you. "Bradley," you moaned softly as he kissed your neck and finger fucked you. He just seemed to want to make you feel good, and your hands stalled as you pushed his jersey down off both of his shoulders. Your palms came to rest on his warm biceps, and you could feel his arm muscles working as he fingered you. 

"Tell me what you want, Ace," he grunted, stroking your clit with his thumb. He'd said that on Friday as well. 

"I want you naked and inside me."

He let you undress him then, and you took his cock in both of your hands. You watched him roll onto his back as you teased him with your fingers, running your nails down along his thighs. The veins in his neck were strained, and his cheeks were flushed as his eyes darted from your face down to your hands and back up. He was glorious. Huge everywhere. Tan and muscular and perfect. So hard and eager to please. 

When you straddled his hips and planted your hands on his shoulders, he pulled you to him, kissing your lips until you were laying flat on him. His length was gliding through your soaked pussy, and you moaned at the feel of him rubbing slowly against your clit. You mumbled his name, but he just kissed your lips harder, wrapping those big hands around your hips. 

With each little movement of your hips grinding against him, you were closer to fucking him, so you gasped, "Condom." 

"Mmhmm," he hummed, one big hand at the middle of your back while he reached blindly around the bedding in search of the small package. His lips were still soft and perfect on yours, unhurried as he handed you the condoms. You pressed your forehead to his as you fumbled trying to open one of them, and then you were sitting up between his legs, rolling it down his length, ready to go.

You guided yourself down around his cock, and he felt incredible, just like before. "Oh god," you whined softly, taking every inch of him while he grasped your thighs hard. 

"So pretty," he whispered, watching you fucking him. Soon you were riding him fast and rough, bracing your hands on his abs. You couldn't even talk or formulate words as you whimpered, because he was hitting that sweet spot inside you. With every movement you were getting closer, and Bradley looked like he was struggling to keep it together. 

You took his right hand, and brought it up to your mouth, sucking on his index and middle fingers to get them wet. "Baby, it feels too good," he groaned, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Then you guided his hand down to your clit, and you started cumming almost instantly. You held onto his wrist, rubbing your clit against his fingers with each stroke of your pussy along his cock.

Loud, incoherent noises filled the room as you came, riding him without finesse, head tipped back. And then Bradley was sitting up, right arm wrapped around your waist while he braced himself with his left palm on the bed. He whispered praise against your skin, pausing to kiss you as he thrust his hips up to fuck you as you came down from your high. "You're so hot. So good."

He sucked on your neck before his movements became jerky, and then he was chanting Ace! as he came too. He collapsed back against the bed with you held tightly to his chest, and you ran your fingers along his sweaty neck and up to stroke his jaw.

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

Bradley had nearly fallen asleep with your warm body draped over his and his soft cock still buried inside you. And then your phone alarm went off, and you were instantly scrambling to find your jeans amongst the pile of clothing on the floor.

"Shit," you muttered, glancing at him as you silenced your phone and checked the time. "I need to finish writing and submit my piece."

Bradley nodded and rolled onto his side and reached for a tissue to take care of the used condom. The last thing he wanted to do was go home now, but you had work to do, and he needed to be on base in the morning. He stood as you scooped his jersey up off the floor, but instead of handing it to him, you slipped it on. It fit you like a cute, little dress. 

"My article is almost done," you murmured, retrieving your bag from near the door where he had set it down earlier. He smiled as you stepped around all the other packs of condoms. "I just need to add in my stats and proofread everything."

"Okay," he whispered, unwilling to break the spell that he felt like he was under when he was in your presence. "I can head out." He started to reach for his undershirt and boxer briefs, figuring you could just keep his jersey if you wanted to wear it. 

But Bradley found himself wanting to ask if he could see you again. You saved his phone number this time, and while you were going up to Los Angeles for game three, he was hoping you'd be back in San Diego again. He was almost pissed now that the Padres were up two games to none in the World Series, because the more games that these two teams played, the longer you'd be in California. And LA was a hell of a lot closer to San Diego than New York City was.

As he held his clothes in his hand, you bit your lip and looked at him while your computer booted up. "You can stay. If you want?"

He froze, trying to process what you meant. "Stay?"

"Yeah," you whispered, taking him by the hand. "While I write."

He instantly dropped everything back to the floor as you pulled him to the desk chair. He sat down and then you sat on his naked thigh, entering your impressively long password and pulling up your mostly completed article. You flipped through your notebook to your stats sheet, and Bradley let his hand come to rest on your leg. 

"You wanna help me?" you asked, typing away. "Tell me when Soto was on third."

Bradley skimmed the sheet and found the information. "Bottom of the sixth inning. Right before Grisham hit a double." He leaned in and kissed your neck as you murmured thanks. 

"And when did Hill replace Darvish?"

Bradley read your sloppy notes and smiled. "Halfway through the seventh inning."

"Perfect," you whispered, and Bradley held you quietly as you scrolled to the top of your article and read it out loud. Your voice was captivating, and you somehow made the game he had seen in person even more interesting. He chuckled at the part where you mentioned how the Angels' coach had tripped coming out of the bullpen, and you smiled at him over your shoulder before you finished reading. 

"Damn, Ace," he muttered as you saved it one last time and logged in to submit the article. "That was brilliant." Bradley was getting hard again. Some sort of combination of what you said and how you said it turned him on. 

You closed your computer and laughed softly, nudging his erection with your knee as you turned in his arms. You glanced down at his cock, standing at attention for you, and Bradley could feel himself blushing. "Oh," you gasped, running your fingernails along his length as you grinned. "Eager again."

Bradley groaned and let his head tip back as you kissed his neck. "I think I'm always going to be eager for you. Talking about sports and wearing my Padres jersey are certainly helping."

Your laughter was his undoing as your lips met his warm cheek, and then Bradley watched your face as your pussy cradled his cock so that he was gently throbbing against your clit. "How many more condoms do we have?" you asked, fingers in his chest hair. 

"Nineteen," he replied, voice deep and raspy with need. 

"I'll be right back," you promised, kissing his lips before you stood and grabbed the unused condom from the bed. His jersey was open, offering him a peek here and there of your tits and belly as you moved. Then you were rolling this condom into place and straddling his hips on the chair.

Bradley pulled the jersey open wider so he could watch you sink around his cock. You felt like perfection, and the way your body looked as you took him was making him dizzy.

"You know," you sighed as he bottomed out inside you, "if the Angels start a different pitcher for game three, it could really throw off the Padres plans."

"Yeah?" he asked, stroking the soft skin of your waist as you rolled your hips. "Tell me more."

"Mmm, well, they've been following the same plan the whole season, right?" you asked, your lips grazing his as you spoke. 

"Yeah, they have," Bradley agreed, already ridiculously close as you fed him this brand of dirty talk.

"I think they should try something new and start Hermans instead," you whined, kissing him hard as you rode him.

"Are you trying to turn me on right now, Ace?"

"Yeah," you gasped as you fucked him harder. "Is it working?"

"You know it is, Baby," he groaned, grinding his hips up to meet yours. "Fuck, you already know how to make me wild."

Then you were gasping out pitching stats, your voice breaking as you rode him so well. Bradley was barely keeping it together, and then your fingers were in his hair, tugging at the roots. He knew what to do now; he licked his fingers and brought them to your tight clit, and your eyes went wide. 

"Yes!" you gasped, seemingly surprised that he had you cumming almost instantly. And the sight of your tits bouncing in his face was the last thing he saw before he sucked on your nipples and came hard.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck as his breathing evened out. He was trying to focus on your words, because they sounded very important. "If the Padres sweep the Angels, then I won't be back in San Diego. But if they go to a game six scenario, maybe we can see each other again?"

Yes, your words were very, very important. He wanted you to come back to San Diego, but he was determined to see you even if you didn't. "I could come up to LA. Get a ticket for game three. If you want."

You pulled away from him, and then Bradley was looking up into your surprised eyes. "Yeah?" you asked softly. 

"Sure, Ace," he mumbled, running his knuckles along the soft valley between your breasts. "I'd love to. But it's up to you."

Your voice was soft. "Okay."

Then Bradley kissed your lips and said what was on his mind. "We should keep doing this. Me and you. Until the World Series ends. Until you have to leave California."

He could feel your pussy squeeze his soft cock as you started kissing him and running your fingers through his hair. And a few minutes later, he had you in your hotel room bed, snuggling up with your back pressed to the front of his body as you both fell asleep. 

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

Bradley is out there dropping a cool grand just to try to verify if that was actually a one night stand or not. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 3

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

[midnightbluebells03]

Abby coming home to you after awhile apart because of a business trip or a long patrol

I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HER

CW - fingering (R receiving), mentions of blood/death

WC - 1.6k

I saw Hozier live and work song is so Abby Anderson coded I just had to

Leave me any Ellie or Abby requests x

Patrol.

A six letter word that made your jaw tighten and your grip white knuckle against your palm. Indents from your nails in your skin when you finally let your fists relax for a second.

It had been months. Scratch that years since you started dating Abby. Top scar killer, built like an ox, a human tank in the eyes of the WLF. An unstoppable solider, who's hands have done unspeakable things.

But to you? That's your baby. A soft girl who let's her blonde her cascade down freckled shoulders as you massage her scalp. Someone who babbles about her coin collection for hours while her fingers trace each engraving. The girl who kisses your forehead in the morning and sneaks you back trinkets from her patrol.

Patrol.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in the quiant space you and Abby shared you can't help how your leg is bouncing. Fingers fidgeting as you try to steady your breathing. Her group was supposed to be back hours ago. Nothing more than a standard search, an easy day in Abby's own words when she had rushed out this morning. Yet here you are, lip caught between unforgiving teeth as your mind runs a mile a minute.

What if she was hurt?

What if she was dead?

You shoot anxious glances towards the door every so often like you could manifest her presence. And sure enough after what felt like forevwr the handle turns. In walking a roughed up Abby sporting a new bandage wrapped around her bicep as she rubs the back of her next with a deep sigh. Your feet work before she can even mutter an apology, rushing to wrap your arms around her waist like you could crawl into her ribs. Her fingers run through your hair as her chin rests on your head.

"Sorry baby" you can hear the exhaustion in her voice. The slight rasp from a day of yelling that makes you frown. "Scars"

You hum in response, face buried in her chest as you rub circles into the small of her back through the fabric of her muscle tee. Abby knows the routine, knows how badly you just need her to be with you. So taking careful steps forwards she leads you towards the bed, picking you up while bwing careful of her arm before sitting herself down on the sheets. Keeping you settled firmly on her lap with your face in her neck. You pepper kisses along the skin you can reach like you could ease the pain her body carries, and she swears you can.

"What'd you do today?" She whispers softly hands playing with the hem of your shirt, that's really her shirt. Incasing you in faded black fabric. Underneath you only have on your panties, your sleep shorts sitting in the washing basket since you were too distracted by Abby's absence to do laundry. "Dogs all good?". There wasn't a single time in your whole relationship where Abby hadn't asked how your day was, and on the days you beat her too it she would insist you go first.

"Mhmm" you forcefully pull yourself from her neck to look into the steel blue eyes you want to drown in. Placing a peck onto Abby's nose. "Alice misses you"

She gives you a soft smile before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "Sure she does baby" brushing a few stray hairs out your face before her palm settles on your cheek. Thumb stroking over the skin gently. "I'll come see you two tomorrow before I go out okay?"

You give her a soft smile before your eyes wander down to her arm. Looking at the tight bandage around her bicep and swallowing hard before whispering. "How...how was patrol?"

She knows you wouldn't judge her. That you understand she isn't some kind of monster, that the world around you didn't allow for much morals. For much innocence. But sometimes you catch her in the bathroom. Staring at her blood soaked hands like she's disgusted with herself.

"Don't wanna talk about it" her other hand slowly creeps under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing across the skin on the small of your back. "Just want you" Abby leans in and her lips brush against your jaw before she starts to trail kisses down your neck. Pressure increasing as she reaches the spot just above the collar of your shirt.

You bite your lip, tilting your head back slightly but whispering softly. "Abs you gotta sleep". You don't really want her to stop, the way your hand moves to the nape of her necks show her. Your fingers practically itching to wrap around her braid. But you try to be the reasonable one here. Try.

"Please?" Her voice is warm against your skin. A gentle nip of her teeth making you jump slightly. "Always sleep better after"

"Abs" You know you should tell her to sleep, tell her that taking care of herself should come first. But when she pulls the collar of your shirt down to suck a hickey into your collarbone you cant help but moan. "F-fuck" with a wet pop Abby releases the skin, rubbing over the purple mark with her fingers before looking at you with pleading eyes. Eyes you've never been able to turn down before. "Okay but-". You don't get the chance to finish before Abby has moved you. Making you lie on your back as she positions herself between your legs. "Abby!"

"But I need to promise that I'll go to sleep right after and take care of myself tomorrow" she gives you a cocky grin as she pushes the shirt up until your chest is exposed. "I know the drill baby don't worry". With a wink that makes you roll your eyes Abby leans down, kissing across the plush of your breasts until her mouth lands on your nipple. Swirling her tounge around the hard bud as your back arches into her. She takes her time moving herself between each breast until you're biting your lip so hard trying to suppress your whimpers that you can taste blood. When Abby releases your nipple she frowns slightly at the sight of your puffy lip. Brushing her thumb across it. "I know you gotta be quiet baby but don't hurt yourself"

"Easy for you to say" you pout softly before Abby takes the hem of your shirt and hovers it above your mouth. Letting you take the fabric inbetween your teeth to try and muffle yourself. She smiles as you comply and gives you a kiss on the forehead.

"Good girl" Abby trails her hand down your stomach slowly until she reaches your panties. Pulling them down when you lift your hips and placing them to the side. Her fingers run through your wet folds and she moans softly. "God" her spare hand rests on your inner thigh, keeping you spread for her as she toys with your clit slowly. "Always so needy for me huh baby?"

You try to respond but it's barely audible through the fabric so you just nod. Eyes rolling back slightly as she applies more pressure to your clit. Making your hips jerk up in response. Abby hums as her mouth finds its way back to your chest, peppering a soft trail of kisses all over your body. She was always so gentle with you, like she was afraid you'd break.

The room is still apart from the faint moans coming from your lips and the slight creaking of the worn out bed under you. And for a minute it feels like the world isn't so bad.

Because Abby's got you.

You grip onto her wrist as you feel yourself nearing the edge, squeezing hard and earing a groan in response. Abby leans into your ear so she can whisper sweetly. "Missed you" her hand leaves your clit and you drop the tshirt from your teeth. Before you can complain her fingers are circling your dripping hole. "Missed you so fucking much" she mumbles softly. Pushing in slowly as you eyes flutter shut at the stretch. "Never gonna get sick of coming home to you yknow that right?" Before you can answer she starts pumping in and out. Only making soft moans spill from your lips instead of conherant sentences. "Don't care if it's infected, scars or even other WLFs, nothing-" she moves her fingers harder. Like she's trying to drive the point home as her fingers curl against that spot that makes your eyes water. "Nothing is going to stop me from coming back okay?"

You can't do anything but nod as your fingers find their way into the base of her braid. Tugging gently as you struggle to keep your eyes open. "A-Abby-"

"Sshhh" she kisses your forehead grntly as her fingers keep their pace, coxing you to your climax as she whispers "I've got you baby, give it to me"

You clentch around her thick fingers as you hit your edge hard. Eyes rolling back and your hand still gripping her hair hard while the other clutches the sheets. You whimper as she helps you ride it out, only pulls her fingers away once your breaths even out and yours eyes open slowly. She plops herself down beside you, watching as you regain your head and turn your face towards her.

"I missed you too" your voice is shaky, airy. Filled with more love than you could put into words

Abby smiles before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. She raises her eyebrow at you as her fingers trail back to your clit. You swat at her none injured arm playfully and reach for the lamp on the nightstand.

"Deals a deal Abs you gotta sleep"

She groans and reluctantly stips from her patrol clothes. Not bothering with pyjamas as she crawls under covers. Pulling you into her chest and kissing your head. Its quiet for a few seconds before she whispers. "Round 2 in the morning?"

"Abigail" you say sternly but with a clear smile in your voice.

"Okay, okay...goodnight baby"

Tag list : @lonelylocallesbian @st4rluvrr @boobdrug @thegreatandlvable @icedsimpsayo @madds19zxl @jupiter-502

[coolprettyleo]

we can't be friends (wait for your love) - luke hughes

luke hughes x reader

wc: 1.5k

tw: angst. fluff. arguing. breakup. no happy ending. not really proofread, got tired lol

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

your life had been going good, a little too good. you should have knew all too well that the daydream you had been in weren't going to last much longer.

luke hughes. the man who had stolen your heart and gave you the best memories a boyfriend could give a girl like you. for someone who's thought themselves to be the biggest hopeless romantic, meeting luke had been the light in your life.

you had met the younger hughes brother at a frat party. he had been running off a high after a good game and his normally reserved nature had cracked due to the adrenaline from the win, it gave him the confidence to flirt with you.

initially, you had thought he was going to be a casual hookup. you were taught the hookup culture early into your freshman year, when you thought the frat guy you slept with at your first ever party the night before was going to give you the time of day, once the cloths came on.

news flash you learnt something that day. men are sluts.

so when the star hockey player started flirting with you, you had thought it to be just another guy who wanted a hookup. you ultimately decided to live out your fourteen year old selves Wattpad dream and entertain the cute curly haired boy.

you were surprised when you opened instagram the morning after to find he had requested you and from there on out, the rest was history.

it didn't take long for you guys to become the golden couple of the university. you attended his games wearing his jersey, met each others friends and families, and most importantly fell in love with one another's nature.

everything was going perfect for the two of you, until the real world decided it wanted to slap you both across the face. hard.

luke's passion was and will always be hockey. you knew that when you met him and ultimately decided to jump into a relationship with him. you loved every part about him, including hockey; it's what made him, him.

the sport didn't come between the two of you until he moved over six hundred miles away to play it.

you knew it was coming, you've both talked about it but unfortunately talking about it and actually saying goodbye is two very different things.

you loved the curly haired boy but you were beginning to wonder if it was all even worth it anymore. it was clear long distance was not working in your favor.

it had been almost a year since he started with the devils. a year since it all went to shit. a year since this 'rough patch' as luke liked to call it started. surely a rough patch couldn't last this long?

long distance usually makes a couple or it breaks them. it seemed to be breaking the two of you.

you rarely got to see your boyfriend due to the fact he's glued to the team during the season, so it was up to you, to fly out and see him.

you hated flying. so almost every time, your stress levels shot through the roof causing the worst headache known to man kind to come across you. automatically putting you in a sour mood when landing.

flashback

"i don't understand why you're being like this, this whole thing is planned around the fact that the team wants to meet you!" luke said exaspertly as he helped her load her bags in his jeep. he talked about you so much that when jack opened his mouth about you coming to visit, the wags were quick to plan a get-together, and you had just said you weren't up for it.

"i'm sorry luke but I feel like crap. i dont want to put up a character and meet new people right now"

"then don't put up a character, be yourself. that's who I fell in lov-" he said as you rolled your eyes, wincing; seeing as it didn't help the slamming feeling in your head.

"I don't want to Luke!" you cut him off. luke took a deep breath and texted jack to let them know you guy's wouldn't be making it.

looking back at it now; it wasn't that serious. but that headache couldn't make you think straight. that had been the first fight between the two of you. you're pretty sure thats when all his friend deemed you to be the villain and told him he deserved better.

you began to believe that and you knew luke did too. you just wanted this story to die, you knew you'd be alright.

luke on the other hand was clinging to every inch of you he could get; while you clinged to your papers and pens; writing about your misery.

you loved to write so of course you were going to pour your emotions into these stories. hoping the book would understand better then Luke ever could.

you two were laying in his bed, cloths sprawled out across his bedroom floor.

you had landed in jersey last night, ready to pretend and be the picture luke painted of you.

the two of you had the best night, it had been a while since you last seen him and an even longer while since you last seen him and everything felt... right.

you should of known a storm was brewing.

you were leaning your head onto his bare chest, legs tangled between each other as you played with his curls, looking up at him. he was growing into being the most handsome man.

"im so happy your here" he said tracing down your arms.

"me too. I missed your face" you said as you leaned up and kissed his jaw as he blushed. moments like these made you want throw away all the doubts you had about the relationship.

"me too. i can't wait to wake up next to you everyday" he said as your blood ran cold. you were tired of tiptoeing and hiding around the fight you knew was to come.

he'd been wanting you to move to jersey since he moved, the only problem being, is that you didn't want to.

"what's wrong" he said as you moved away his heart falling too his stomach.

"remember how I told you I wanted to graduate first?" you said nervously. he knew you were going to graduate early and the excuse of school was soon going to expire.

"yeah, thats pretty soon. we need to start looking for a place, by the way-"

"luke-" you started, wanting to stop it before it got any further.

"I think it'll do good for jack and I to get space" he said jokingly as he kept rambling,

"I know you've always wanted to live in manhattan, we can get a place there, i can commute-"

"im not coming here after graduation" you said with watery eyes.

you were the villain, at least in this story.

you wanted to experience life. you were only twenty one and the idea of that part of your life ending before you even got to begin it made you want to spiral.

"im sorry?" he said looking at you like you just killed his childhood dog. he would wait for your love a million years, if thats what it took.

"luke- im sorry, but I want to experience things. i want to live this life and know every corner of it-"

"i don't understand. why can't we those things together?"

"im sorry" you said standing up, not really sure what to do anymore.

"are we breaking up" he said with a straight face. you knew he was holding back tears.

"for now, yes" she told him as he put his head down.

you weren't heartless, so you took a seat next to him as you wrapped an arm around him.

"hey, look at me luke. this isn't the end, I'll still always care about you, I want to see you succeed hughsey" you told him as he remebered the night he met you and you called him that.

___

future

luke had been doing amazing; breaking records in the NHL and living life like anyone his age should be. his life was going good.

he obviously missed you but he soon learned he was going to be alright, even though a part of him waiting for your love. your love to like him again.

the smarter part of him knew better, the story was over.

he got home from a game that had went amazing for him and set his stuff down as he opened instagram.

the very first picture being, one of you and your new boyfriend. he knew you moved on and moved to nyc. he's actually ran into you before, both of you acting like you didnt break each others heart into a million peices. acting like old friends.

the reason the picture made his heart drop was due to the fact you were holding up a ring as you looked into the eyes of another. another who wasn't Luke Hughes.

he couldn't do it. he tried, he really did. he wanted to see you succeed and live like you wanted, he just couldn't bare to see it without him in it.

he clicked on her profile as he hovered over the unfollow button. he oh so desperately wanted to pretend to be this daydream but he was reminded of the fact their story had ended. he hit the button and knew he'd be alright.

we can't be friends (wait for your love)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

this was inspired by an edit I saw on tiktok, and obviously the song too lol. I can't find the edit but like yeah!

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Home For Christmas - Jake Seresin x OC

A/N: This is my entry for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Writing Challenge, with the trope childhood friends. I was watching a lot of romcoms last night and felt inspired, it's definitely heavily influenced by 13 Going on 30, Just Friends + Sweet Home Alabama. (I realize only one of those is set in the winter, but I digress). I'm debating a part two/epilogue as well, if anyone is interested! Also super proud of this one, because it's the longest fic I've ever written.

pairing: Jake Seresin x OC

warnings/content: none, lots of fluff and pining. Jake's been promoted to Captain. Probably a lot of inaccuracies.

word count: 7.7k (literally my longest one yet, I'm sorry)

tagging anyone who might be interested: @littleenglishfangirl, @floydsmuse, @sailor-aviator, @mamachasesmayhem 🤍

December, 1999

“Jake! Jake, wait up!” 

“Run faster then, I gotta get home before the street lights come on or my mama’s gonna be so mad she won’t let you come over tomorrow!” 

“Jake, your mama’s not gonna say no to me comin’ over and you know it.”

“Jenna, how you ever gonna keep up with me when I join the navy and start having to run a few miles every day?”

Jake turned around to face you for a moment, running backwards with a grin plastered on his face, his baby-faced cheeks red from the cold, his green eyes full of mischief as he watched you try and keep up with him. His sandy blonde hair stuck out slightly from underneath his Dallas Cowboys baseball cap, a handmedown from his older brother that he rarely left home without since Matt had given it to him. He stopped running, placing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, the cold air stinging his throat as he panted. You finally managed to close the distance between the two of you, raising an eyebrow as you panted, your own cheeks ruddy from the combination of cold winter air and physical activity. 

You and Jake had been best friends as long as you could remember. In eleven years, you couldn’t name a single time where the two of you had as much as had a disagreement, or went more than a few hours without talking to one another. Your mothers had been best friends in high school, and you two were destined to be best friends since birth - born four days apart in the same hospital, living on the same street and having your first play date at 10 and 7 days old. Jake was four days older than you, and he never let you forget it when it came to matters where age or maturity played a role. However, where Jake had four days more experience in the world, you had multitudes more experience in dealing with hardship than any eleven-year-old child should have. 

Where Jake had the picture-perfect family - a mom, a dad, an older sister, an older brother and him, all living in perfect harmonious happiness, never as much as a doubt as to whether or not there was love in his household, you had the opposite. An absent father, an only child, and a mother who worked two jobs to try and make life better for the two of you, you spent almost every waking minute with Jake and his family, not only as an escape to experience the happy, blissfully carefree life he lived, but also, as a favour to your mother, with Mrs. Seresin often volunteering to care for you when your mother had to work late or work on weekends. 

You were at the Seresin home almost every night, with Jake’s mother fussing over her best friend’s daughter, helping her lifelong friend however she could in guiding her little girl, you acting as the surrogate daughter that part of her had always wanted. Jake’s father trying to fill in the blanks where your father had lacked - offering to coach sports teams and including you in games of catch with Jake and his brother, taking you and the boys to get new baseball gloves or soccer cleats when needed, taking the three of you for ice cream after a big achievement in life. Jake’s 16 year old sister, Bethany, would take time to do your hair in the mornings before school whenever she had a chance, offering to do it in all the fun styles she and her friends wore, the kind you were often envious of, passing you old tubes of lip gloss she had lingering around in her backpack on your way to school, encouraging you to use them to your hearts content.  Even Matt, who at 14, thought his brother and his brother’s friends were the most irritating beings in existence, had offered you old sports jerseys of his that no longer fit, teasing you the same way he’d tease Jake, treating you like the little sister he never had. 

Until this past summer, you found yourself wishing most days that Jake’s family would just adopt you, let your mother move in with them and the two of you could just officially be a part of their fun, bustling family that served as your cheerful escape from life. However, when elementary school ended in June with middle school looming around the corner, Bethany had pulled you aside to talk to you about the transition between schools. 

“You know, middle school is…different. It’s not bad. It’s just…things change sometimes. You and Jake might start going on dates with people from school, and it might change your relationship. It happens,” She’d said matter of factly, not mincing words as she shrugged her shoulders, fixing her frosted eyeshadow in the mirror before turning to face you again.

“You might even develop feelings for each other.”

At the time, her words didn’t hold meaning for you. You and Jake had been best friends since Jake was four days old. Your moms were best friends. You practically lived in their home. There was no way things could change between you. You could never have a crush on Jake. He was Jake, the boy who would hide under his mama’s kitchen table with you and a flashlight, swapping baseball cards with one another, the boy who, when you were six-years-old, you’d witnessed eat an entire package of Oreos, then laughed at as he proceeded to throw up an hour later from the sheer volume of chocolate-vanilla sandwich cookies he’d consumed that day. Jake could never be someone you’d have a crush on. He was your best friend. That would never change.

It was two weeks later when Jake had been on the baseball diamond, pitching an inning of Little League with you in the stands watching on. His baseball cap had been flipped backwards to mimic one of his favourite major league players, his green eyes narrowing in concentration with every pitch he threw out. His golden blonde hair poked out the front of his baseball cap, much like it was doing today, on this cold January evening. His focus was on nothing but baseball, while yours was on everything but when it came to him. When he happened to look your way during the game, you felt a weird feeling in your stomach - a bubbling sensation, like nerves that couldn’t be settled. Your cheeks flushed, turning a pale pink as they became warm to the touch, reddening slightly as you felt Bethany’s gaze fall on you, a grin forming on her face as you proved her right about how your feelings were evolving for Jake. 

Since that day, you’d found yourself continuing to crush on him, each day your feelings grew deeper and more intense than the day before. At this point, you almost swore you could see yourself marrying him one day. You had to admit, you knew everything there was to know about him, you always had fun with him, and he was always happy to see you - you were convinced you two could be as happy and as in love as his parents were someday when you and Jake got older. You’d never tell Jake, you just hoped and prayed that he’d realize one day that he felt the same way about you as you felt about him. You knew there was always the chance that it might not happen, but you didn’t want to think about that.  In fact, as far as you were concerned, you hoped that there was never a day where Jake didn’t love you as wholeheartedly as your little eleven year old self loved him.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ 

Present Day

“Jake, please, come back. I miss you,”

“I miss you too, Jenna, I’m coming home to you. It’s always been you.”

The ear-piercing screech of your phone’s alarm blared from your nightstand, interrupting your dream as it screamed at you. You rolled over in bed, groaning as you clumsily stuck your hand out, feeling around on the wooden side table for your phone to silence it and allow yourself a few more moments of peace and quiet before you had to start your day. The last think you wanted right now was to let this dream slip away on you - it was the closest you’d ever find yourself to Jake professing his love for you after all these years, and you clung to it whenever it cropped up in your mind as you slept. 

Jake had always been the one-who-got-away for you. You spent your entire middle school years trying to hide your feelings for him, refusing to break until he said how he felt first. You were 13 when he got his first girlfriend, Tiffany Donaldson, a girl in your class. Tiffany was pretty and popular, something that you couldn’t claim for yourself in either case - growing up with Jake, you were seen as more of a teammate or a sister-figure than anything else, despite his sister’s best efforts to help you shake that connection somewhat. After Tiffany, you two had begun high school, and Jake made the football team, and the baseball team. As the school’s star runningback and starting pitcher for the varsity team, Jake was popular beyond words. No one could hold a candle to him, and as his popularity soared because of his athletic prowess in school, you faded further and further back into obscurity, the limelight falling from you and onto someone new each time Jake began dating another girl. Eventually, by the time graduation rolled around, you and Jake had all but fallen out of touch with each other outside of family get-togethers shared between your mothers. 

You had just worked up the courage to tell him your feelings at the graduation party Jake’s parents had thrown for you both, convincing yourself that it was perfect timing - Jake had accepted an offer at the University of Texas at Austin, keeping close to home as he planned to study finance, his secret talent having always been math. You’d accepted an offer to study communications at the same school, and with both of you remaining local, it would be the perfect time to tell him how you felt and attempt a relationship with him, or so you thought.

Before the words could even leave your mouth, Jake was excitedly pulling you aside at the party, stopping outside of his childhood bedroom, the place where the two of you had often played as kids. His green eyes were full of excitement as he looked at you, causing your heart to race as butterflies fluttered in your stomach, making it hard to concentrate on his words. You almost didn’t hear him when he spoke, you were so transfixed on him. If the news had been anything else, you probably wouldn’t have even registered what he’d said the first time. You could still hear the excitement in his voice as he told you his news, and still feel the ache in the pit of your stomach as his words fell on your ears.

“I got accepted! I’m going to the Naval Academy, Jenna, can you believe it? I’m going to serve in the Navy, just like I always wanted. I’m going to be the best aviator they’ve ever seen. Just you watch.” 

Jake’s voice was practically buzzing with excitement as he’d told you his news, and it took everything you had in you to not fall apart as he spoke. While you knew he’d always dreamed of being a naval aviator, as long as you could remember, the news hit you like a ton of bricks, unexpected and hard as it rendered you speechless, leaving you nodding your head and smiling like an idiot while inside you wanted nothing more than to scream out how you felt. You knew this could never work out between you now. Your chance was gone, moving away to Maryland and joining the Navy before you’d even had a second to realize what was happening when he spoke. 

That was 17 years ago, and the moment still haunted you from time to time, more than you’d like to admit to anyone. At first, you’d kept in touch with Jake and his family, seeing Jake when he came home for holidays and such at first, but then, as you and Jake began entering your first romantic relationships as adults, you found yourselves including each other less and less in your lives. With each boyfriend you had, you realized more and more that you could never love them the way you loved Jake -he’d always be your first love, regardless of how he felt in return. When Jake graduated, he’d been stationed at NAS Lemoore, swapping Maryland for California. You’d still hear the odd update from your mother, who remained in touch with Jake’s parents, but otherwise, you didn’t ask much about Jake’s adult life. You knew he’d never married, that he’d become a Top Gun graduate, and held true to his word about becoming one of the greatest fighter pilots in the United States Navy, but other than that, you knew little about his life now. Last you had heard, last Christmas, he’d been stationed in San Diego. 

You sat up in bed, yawning and stretching your body out before heaving a heavy sigh and shaking your head to rid yourself of thoughts of Jake. You were preparing for a trip back home to Texas for the holidays, spending three weeks back with your mother, part of you wishing and longing for Jake to be visiting his family at the same time, while the other part of you prayed he was staying in California or serving a tour so he wouldn’t be able to be there while you were. It had been close to 15 years since you’d seen him, and the last thing you needed was to be reminded of how you strongly you felt. You didn’t need the help from seeing him. The memories of him were more than enough to keep you clinging on. 

Your phone rang and with bleary eyes, you picked it up, pressing the green button to answer the call.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” Your mother practically sang out in a voice that was far too cheerful for anyone to have at this hour. 

“Hi mama, what’s up? My flight doesn’t land until this evening.” 

“Well, I was talking to Mrs. Seresin about Jake, Matt and Bethany…” Your mother’s voice trailed off as she spoke, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat at the mention of Jake.

“Mhmm?” You responded as you stood up, balancing the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you folded a sweatshirt and set it down neatly on the bed, waiting to be packed.

“It turns out both of us are having our kids home for Christmas! Bethany’s coming down from Dallas with her husband and their little ones, and Matt’s coming from Oklahoma City with his fiancee, and Jake’s flying in on leave from California. He’s made his way up to Captain now, you know, Jenna. He’s made quite the career for himself.”

“Mama, I don’t need a sales pitch on why Jake Seresin is the perfect man for me, ok? He hasn’t seen me in years. He probably wouldn’t even recognize me if he saw me.”

“You never know. But I expect you to dress nicely for their Christmas party. You and I have been invited to join them, and I already said you would gladly be attending.”

“Of course you did. So Jake will be there, then?”

“I think his flight lands just before yours does today, actually. His mama and I were actually discussing if we should just carpool together to pick you both up like back when you two were in school together. Remember that? We used to take turns carting you kids back and forth from home to school.”

“I remember, mama. Don’t worry.”

“Anyway…we were talking and it turns out, Jake happens to be single.”

“Mama, why would I care that Jake’s single?” You replied, trying to sound as level-headed as possible. 

“Please, Jenna. You really think I don’t know about this crush of yours you’ve been harbourin’ for years?” You could hear the laughter in your mother’s tone as she spoke, and it stung, almost as though your feelings had betrayed you.

“Mama! I haven’t had a crush on Jake in years. Not since he left for the Navy.”

“Of course not…just, do me a favour? Wear something nice for that Christmas party, ok?”

“Sure, Mama, whatever you say.”

You finished the conversation with your mother and let out an exasperated sigh as you tossed your phone onto your bed beside you. You had to be at the airport in three hours, leaving you little time to completely reconfigure your wardrobe for the next few weeks at home in Austin. Peering into your closet, scanning the items as they sat on wire hangers in the tiny space, you frowned, realizing that nothing was worthy of a reunion with Jake after all these years. At the back of the closet, you found a black, form-fitting sweater dress that you hadn’t worn in years, but, as you held it up to yourself in the mirror, you figured it could work. Part of you hoped this reunion could be the thing that’d remind Jake of what he was missing out on for the last 17 years. 

As you finished packing your suitcase, you zipped it closed with a sigh, shaking your head as you tried to calm your nerves before getting yourself ready for your flight. There was a chance you could see Jake at the airport, and you knew you had to look your best, just in case. 

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ 

The flight from Chicago to Austin was the most painful three hours of your life. You tried to focus your attention on anything but Jake, but every movie saved on your phone, every book on your tablet, and every thought that crossed your mind was filled with him. You tried reminding yourself that he could be a totally different person from who he was when you were 18. That he could look completely different, act completely different - that he may not even know who you are anymore. The thought of Jake forgetting you was suffocating, closing in on you a little bit more every time it creeped into your mind. You took a deep breath as you departed the plane, your eyes scanning the crowd for your mother as you gripped your carry-on. Your face went white as a sheet as you saw her standing with Mrs. Serensin, both of whom waved frantically with excitement as they saw you.

“Jenna! It’s been so long, darlin’, how have you been? Your mama’s told me lots, but I feel like it’s no substitute for getting to see you in person!” 

“Hi, Mrs. Serensin! I’ve been ok, how have you guys been? Haven’t seen you in about, 15 years? I think I saw y’all the one visit after Jake shipped out, but I haven’t been home much for the holidays, Mama’s usually up in Chicago visiting me.”

“We’ve been good, Bethany has two boys now, Easton and Dylan, and Matt’s met this girl, Alexis, she’s wonderful, a real sweetheart. He’s gettin’ married next summer. “

“Oh, that’s great news!” You replied cheerfully, fighting the instinct to bite your lip as she failed to mention where Jake was at in life. 

“We better get going, Julie, Jake’s plane’s about to land,” Your mother said as she grabbed Mrs. Seresin’s arm excitedly, nodding her head.

“Oh, I thought Jake landed earlier?” 

“He was meant to, but his flight got delayed, he’s landing in a few minutes now, I think.”

You nodded your head slowly, reluctantly following behind as your mom and Mrs. Serensin led the way to Jake’s terminal, biting the inside of your cheek as your eyes followed the signage as you walked past. You tried your best to focus on something, anything, but your nerves but so far, your nerves were winning. You were terrified. What if Jake hated you for not staying in touch? What if he forgot all about you? What if you were the last person he wanted to see? What he if came through those doors with a surprise girlfriend on his arm?

“Ma!” You heard a voice call out. You looked up to see a tall, handsome man with neatly combed blonde hair, piercing green eyes and sunkissed skin. His naval uniform was still perfectly pressed without a crease on it somehow after his flight, and he looked perfect. You knew in an instant that it was him.

“Ms. T?” He chuckled as he shook his head, pulling back from his mother’s embrace as he gave your mother a heartfelt hug, before pausing as he looked at you, a warm smile on his lips as he nodded his head, his blonde eyebrow cocked upwards in surprise. 

“Jenna?”

“The one and only,” You shrugged with a smile as you tried your best to play it cool, forgetting for a moment that at 35 years old, you shouldn’t be getting tongue-tied and start giggling like a schoolgirl over a crush. The mere fact that you still had a crush on Jake was enough to make you feel like a fool.

“It’s nice to see ya, Jenna,” Jake nodded as he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you into his embrace. You breathed in the scent of his cologne, notes of whiskey and cedarwood encircling you as his grip remained tight, yet comfortable around you, as if he was hugging his long lost friend, which, he was in a sense. 

“Nice to see you too, Jake,” You nodded once as he pulled away, a soft smile on your lips as you looked at him, trying to commit this moment to memory before it drifted away on you. 

You swore out of the corner of your eye, you saw your mothers exchange a look with one another, a secret signal to one another, as if a master plan of theirs was underway, and everything was beginning to come together before their eyes.  

As the four of you headed out to the car together, you caught yourself repeatedly stealing glances at Jake. He hadn’t changed hardly at all since you saw him last, apart from gaining some muscle, and his cheekbones and jawline becoming a bit more defined as he’d aged. He looked incredible for 35, if you didn’t know him, you likely would have guessed he was barely 30, and you couldn’t help but feel yourself fall deeper with each stolen look at him. 

“So, you’re Captain Seresin now then?” You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him, hoping to break the silence brewing between the two of you.

“Yeah, this past April! I didn’t expect to get it, to be honest.”

Jake’s cheeks reddened as he smiled at you, trying to appear modest as he spoke of his accomplishments in the Navy since you’d last seen him. He had always used to have an ego so big that it’d rival some of the aircraft around in size, especially as a teenager - he was good and he knew he was good when it came to sports. It was part of what drove the two of you apart, but around you? He was modest like he always had been before, acting embarrassed by the achievements he’d otherwise never shut up about. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think Jake was nervous around you. Jake Seresin, the only service member on active duty with multiple confirmed kills, the US Naval Air Force Captain who’s served for the last 17 years without as much as a scratch on him, the man who graduated top of his class from the Top Gun program, where only the best of the best are selected to participate. Jake Seresin had no need to be nervous about impressing you. He could have impressed you by simply looking your way - but for some reason, he was nervous around you, reduced to a blushing, modest mess.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ 

“Jake’s such a lovely boy,” Your mother said as she sipped her morning coffee, eyes fixated on the news program on her television set. 

“He’s 35, mama, he’s hardly a boy now.”

“Fine, Jake’s a lovely man, he’s still just as sweet as I remember him being when he was young. He comes back to visit whenever he gets a leave and stays for a few days, and he always stops by to say hello - he even asks about you sometimes.”

“He asks about me?”

“He sure does, he asked Julie about you the other day, in fact. He was asking if you’d be home this time at Christmas. Seems you two always come back to visit on opposite schedules and never run into each other. He was saying he’d like to see you again, Jenna.”

Your mother’s words hung in the air for a moment. You took a sip from your coffee mug and furrowed your brow as you thought it over. You dismissed your mother’s words as nothing more than an attempt to set you and Jake up on a date, one that you figured Jake wasn’t going to be a willing participant of. 

“Oh Mama, hush, he probably just said that to be polite because he figured I’d be coming home for the holidays anyway.”

“Jenna, why are you always so stubborn?” Your mother frowned, shaking her head as she let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not stubborn, I’m just…practical. I’m the only one who seems to realize the fact that Jake and I haven’t seen each other in 17 years, Mama. We’re not the same people we were when we were 18. He could be a serial womanizer with a series of broken hearts left behind waiting for him in California for all I know. He could have 17 kids by different women, or be a serial killer, Mama. I literally know nothing about him anymore.”

“Jenna Elizabeth Taylor, you’re just being ridiculous now,” Your mother frowned as she shook her head, sighing, “I think Julie would have mentioned it if Jake was a father, and do you really think he’s the type to go around breaking hearts for fun? Besides, how could he be a serial killer if he’s busy flying around on missions all the time?”

“You’re missing my point, Ma.”

“No, Jenna, I think you’re missing mine,” She sighed, setting her mug down on the table as she pursed her lips, “My point is, I know you’ve been holding out for him for years. He’s asked his mama about you, he’s been asking if you were coming home, he stops in to see me whenever he comes home - do you really think he’d do all that if he didn’t still feel something for you?”

“Mama, I’m not going to make a fool of myself and throw myself at him, contrary to what you think would work.”

You heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, and when you turned on your heel, you stood face to face with Jake, now sporting a fitted pair of acid-washed light denim jeans and a burnt orange Texas Longhorns football jersey and a brown corduroy bomber jacket shrugged on over top. His blonde hair peaked out from behind his beloved baseball cap, you’d swear it was the same one he’d been wearing since he was 15 if you didn’t know any better, this hat looked like it had been through hell and back.

He’d let himself in through the unlocked front door, almost certainly at your mother’s previous insistence or invitation. His cheeks were blushing again, his green eyes darting between the two of you, a blonde eyebrow cocked upwards as his gaze landed on you.

“Throw yourself at who?” He chuckled, flashing a set of perfect white teeth your way as gave you that same grin that he always did when you were kids. It was the kind of smile that always got him out of trouble, and sometimes, into trouble, depending on the situation. 

“No one,” You said quickly, shooting your mother a warning glance as you shook your head, a few strands of light brown hair falling free from your half-assed ponytail that you’d thrown it up into the night before for bed. You realized that Jake was now standing in your mother’s living room while you were sporting an oversized old Texas Longhorns tee and a pair of sweatpants - not ideal attire for seeing a man you were attracted to in, regardless of your protests about your feelings to your mother. 

“Right,” Jake nodded his head, but the tone in his voice told you he didn’t quite believe a word you were saying, “I know this isn’t a great time, but Ma wanted me to check and see if you and Ms. T were still able to make it tonight, she wanted me to ask in person, and she wanted me to see if you needed my help bringing anything over, she said you were bringing your famous taco dip, Ms. T? I can bring the dish over now for you if you’d like, Ma’s cleared out the fridge of anything that isn’t a necessity for the party so there’s tons of room.”

“Sure, Jake, honey, it’s in the fridge, Jenna can show you where, I just have to run upstairs and grab something to send to your mama’s with you,” Your mother said as she stood up, heading off up the stairs quicker than you could say a word, leaving you and Jake alone in an awkward stance, nothing but the sound of the morning news to fill the silent void between you, until Jake cleared his throat again before pointing his index finger towards the kitchen.

“In here? I’m sure I can find it if you need to go upstairs and get changed.” 

“I’m fine, not like you haven’t seen me in pajamas before, Jake.”

“Well, in my defense, last time we were like, 12.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen a woman in an oversized tee and sweatpants before,” You shrugged nonchalantly, pretending to be completely unbothered by the fact you felt like you were dressed like an absolute slob right now. 

“Alright, lead the way then,” Jake nodded as he followed behind you. 

You felt his eyes make their way down your body, and you swore you could hear him muttering something under his breath as he sauntered into the kitchen after you. You couldn’t make out what he had said, but it sounded almost like a “Jesus Christ” before he coughed and averted his gaze as you turned to face him. You opened the fridge and grabbed the dish containing your mom’s taco dip before setting it on the counter for Jake to take home. You raised an eyebrow at Jake as you caught him staring in your direction, a look of bewilderment on his face. 

“You good, Hangman?”

“Hmm?” Jake said as he shook his head, an awkward laugh escaping his lips as he raised an eyebrow at you, “How did you know my callsign?”

“Because it’s on the back of your jersey, genius.”

Jake raised an eyebrow as he looked down, as if he’d forgotten what shirt he was wearing today. He nodded his head and laughed as he ran a hand through the back of his hair, scratching the back of his neck as he looked back up at you. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just, uh, jet-lagged, I think.”

“Jet-lagged? Isn’t only two hours behind us in San Diego?”

“You can still feel jet-lag with a two hour difference, Jenna.”

“I’m not stupid, Jake, I know that, but you seem…distracted? Not tired.”

“I’m fine, honest,” He nodded as he shoved his hands into his front pockets, looking around the kitchen as you checked the fridge for the extra shredded cheese and green onions your mother had prepared the night before to top the dip she’d made. 

“Suit yourself, Jake,” You laughed as you set everything out on the counter for him and nodded, “If you give me five minutes to get dressed, I’ll help you bring it over.”

“Five minutes? God, I remember you taking 30 minutes to get ready when we were kids.”

“I was 12, it was 2000, I needed more time to perfect my lip gloss routine. Now I just have to put something warmer and nicer on than a t-shirt and sweatpants.”

“Fair enough, I can wait here. Your mama said she’d back down in a minute with something for Ma anyways.”

“Right, I’ll be back down in five.” 

You turned around and headed back up the stairs, sighing softly to yourself as you entered your childhood bedroom, opening your suitcase as you grabbed out a pair of jeans and a vintage crewneck sweatshirt. You tidied your hair up into a neat ponytail before heading back down the stairs to meet Jake, who was currently talking to your mother in the kitchen, his body leaning against the counter as he spoke. Jake looked up at you, straightening his posture as he saw you. He picked the taco dip up from the counter, along with the reusable shopping bag your mother had packed up of the extra ingredients. Sitting on the counter next to the food was a gift, perfectly wrapped with a gold bow and a tag written out in your mother’s sleek handwriting. Jake’s mother and yours had always exchanged gifts with one another, and it warmed your heart in a sense to see the tradition still carrying on for them. 

“So, you enjoy living in Chicago?” Jake asked, watching you as the two of you headed back from your childhood home, Jake having insisted on walking you back so you could spend some time catching up, even if just for a few minutes. .

“Yeah, it’s a change of scenery. It’s different from Austin for sure. How’s San Diego treating you?”

“It’s pretty good, I like being on the beach. I do miss home sometimes though,” He laughed softly, giving his shoulders a gentle shrug as he looked around at the street you grew up on, just a couple of blocks away from his own childhood home.

“I mean, yeah, I miss my mom sometimes when I’m in Chicago, but, I know it’s easier for me to come home and see her than for you to come home and see your family.”

“Jenna? Can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm?”

“Do you…do you regret leaving for Chicago?”

“No, I wouldn’t be where I’m at now if I hadn’t left. I have a really good career in public relations, and I’m happy with where I’m at professionally. I wouldn’t have gotten that if I stayed in Austin, just like you wouldn’t have gotten as far in the Navy if you hadn’t gone to Annapolis.”

Jake stayed silent for a minute, his eyes looking everywhere but at you, avoiding your gaze. You could sense tension between the two of you. The Jake you knew growing up was never awkward, and never stopped talking - had he really changed that much since he’d left? You couldn’t see the Navy taming him to the point where he became reserved, Jake had always been so outgoing, so full of self-pride that it often came off as cocksure arrogance, but most of the time, it was out of sheer disbelief that he’d made it that far. You looked to him, his hands firmly in his pockets as he let out a huff, his breath turning to vapor in the cool December air. 

“I should really get going,” Jake nodded slowly, checking his watch as he looked back towards the street, “I promised Ma I’d help her set up.”

“Right, right, I’ll see you in a couple hours? Mama and I’ll be there.”

“Perfect, I’ll see you then,” Jake nodded, a warm smile on his features as he turned to start heading back.

You let out a heavy sigh, mentally kicking yourself as you realized you’d just let another opportunity to tell Jake how you felt slip away from you. As you headed up to your bedroom to get ready, moving quickly to dodge any questions from your mother, who was probably desperate to hear how your alone time with Jake had gone. 

You shut the door behind you, sighing again as you sat at your old vanity table, brushing through your hair and sectioning it with a claw clip as you began straightening it, trying your best to calm your nerves and make a decision on how you were going to approach Jake. You wanted to tell him, desperately, how you felt, but, part of you couldn’t help but cling to the fact you might regret it. That you might be disappointed and find out that Jake never felt the same about you, and that he never would. Or that he’d be in a relationship with someone else back in San Diego, someone prettier, younger, smarter, better. 

On the other hand, did you really want to commit yourself to never telling him how you felt? Letting the door shut on the one man you’d loved the longest, the most, and the hardest in your lifetime? Could you really be happy with anyone else? What if something happened to Jake while he was serving and you never got the chance to share how you felt? What if, somehow, there was the off chance he felt the same way about you?

As you finished your makeup, taking a deep breath as you looked yourself over in the mirror, you nodded your head. You had to tell him. There was no way you could let him go back to San Diego without knowing. You couldn’t let this go unsaid any longer, if for no other reason than to give yourself closure. If he rejected you, you could move on - or at least, try to. You could finally let go of your feelings and meet someone, and try your hardest to love them with the same enthusiastic, all-consuming love you felt for Jake. If he felt the same way, you’d apply for a job transfer to Los Angeles as soon as possible, because a three-hour drive was much more manageable of a commute to see him than a flight from Chicago to San Diego. 

This was it, you were going to finally do it. You just needed to get Jake alone.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ 

“Oh, Jenna! It’s been so long, how are you?” 

Bethany’s voice was sweet as honey as she spoke, wrapping her arms around you in a warm embrace, as if she’d been missing you for years and the sight of you reminded her of just how much.

“I’m great thanks, Beth, how are you? Your mama said you have two boys now? Easton and Dylan?” 

“Yeah, they’re 6 and 4, they’re little handfuls like their uncles, but I guess that’s to be expected when you’ve got Jake and Matt as influences for you. My husband’s not much better.” 

Bethany laughed as she gestured towards Jake playing with Easton? Or was it Dylan? Jake’s unmistakeable toothy grin plastered on his face, his green eyes alight with joy as he lifted his young nephew up, tickling him, the young boy’s laughter filling the air as Jake continued to make him laugh. Jake looked up to see you with his sister, smiling as he set the boy down on the floor, ruffling his hair with his fingers before making his way over to you. 

“Jenna! Hey, I’m glad you came.”

“Told you I would, didn’t I?” You laughed, shrugging your shoulders as effortlessly as possible as you tried to play it cool, praying no one saw through the front you were putting up.

“Hey, Jenna, can I…can I talk to you for a sec?” Jake asked sheepishly.

You couldn’t mistake the look on Bethany’s face, biting her lip to hold back a grin. You caught Jake giving her a stare that could make any person stop dead in their tracks, his green eyes practically piercing through his older sister as she tried not to laugh. As you nodded your head, raising your eyebrow at the scene unfolding before you. You followed behind Jake as he led you upstairs to his old childhood bedroom. When he opened the door, you were confronted with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. Old pictures adorned the wall, some including you and Jake as children, with ice cream covered smiles and skinned knees, baseball uniforms and halloween costumes, missing teeth and messy curls. 

“Ma hasn’t changed anything since I left home, I don’t even think she’s bought new bedding for this room.” He chuckled as he looked around the room, his large hands placed firmly on his hips as he stood in the doorway. 

“Still sleeping with those baseball player sheets you had as a kid?” You teased, eyeing the comforter on the bed, neatly made and pulled together, a sign of Jake’s time in the navy.

“You know it, I’m still a big kid, really,” He laughed, nodding his head as he pointed to a picture on the wall before looking over at you, “Remember this one? Your 7th birthday party, I think I snuck an extra little bit of frosting off your birthday cake and my mama almost killed me. She told me I had the table manners of a barn animal.” 

“You did, you used to chew with your mouth full too.”

“I grew out of it at least. I’m a little more civilized now.” Jake replied with a smirk, shrugging his shoulders as he turned to face you, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath before exhaling sharply. You could see Jake chewing at the inside of his cheek, nodding his head as his eyes met yours.

“I have to tell you something, ok?” He finally said, sighing heavily.

“I’m listening, Jake.”

“I should have told you this a long time ago, but…I love you.”

You sputtered for a moment, eyes wide in shock as he spoke. He frowned, clearly expecting a better reaction than what you’d given him. Jake shook his head and took your hand in his, stroking the back of your hand gently with his fingers, which were almost surprisingly soft and smooth to the touch.

“I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t care if you just wanna be friends after hearing this, because even though the truth is, I'm scared to be your friend, I would rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you in my life at all. The last 17 years have been spent missing you and wishing I’d said something before I left. That I’d kissed you or held you, or said something, anything to you.” He frowned, nodding his head as he looked to the ground before continuing to speak, his voice beginning to tremble with emotion.

“I was stupid to just go and leave things there, but I’ve been paying for it ever since. No other woman has ever compared to you.”

Without another word, you gripped the front of Jake’s football jersey, using it to give you leverage to pull him in closer, your lips crashing into his just as he looked up at you to see what you were doing. Any initial hesitation either of you felt melted away into the kiss, your lips moving together passionately, Jake’s hands trailing their way down your sides to rest on your hips, pulling your body in closer to his. When he finally pulled away to catch his breath, he maintained a small distance between the two of you, speaking in a low whisper as he watched you bite your now puffy, kiss-bitten bottom lip.

“Is that your way of telling me you feel the same way? Because if you do, I want to take you on a date. And I don't care if it's in the day, or at night, or whenever, as long as it's a real date. And I wanna sit there and tell you how beautiful I think you are, Inside and out. How you’ve always been the most beautiful girl in the world to me, without a doubt. And I wanna have babies with you, and I wanna marry you, and I wanna tell you every day that I love you and I always have." Jake nodded, his cheeks blushing as he scratched the back of his neck again, waiting for your response to his rambling feelings.

“Jake, I’ve spent the last 17 years of my life waiting to hear you say that.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Jenna. I’m so sorry I made you wait.”

“Promise me something, Jake?”

“Anything you want, pretty girl.”

“Promise me you won’t make me wait that long again? I’m not sure I can wait another 17 years for you to ask me to marry you.” 

“Jenna, I swear to you, I’m not making you wait for anything ever again. I’d marry you tomorrow if I didn’t think my mama would have me committed for running off to get married three days after our reunion.”

“You’d marry me tomorrow?”

“With bells on, babe. With bells on. I’d marry you right here, right now, in my beat up Longhorns jersey, and drive off into the sunset with you in my truck if you wanted.”

“I don’t know about that, Captain Seresin,” You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him as you felt his hands caress your sides, “As tempting as that sounds, we do have 17 years of lost time to make up for.”

“And I intend to make up for every single second of that with you, Jenna. Here, Chicago, San Diego, I don’t care. I just want you. All of you, completely and totally.”

[queenshelby]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MORNING

PAIRING: CILLIAN MURPHY X WIFE READER

WARNING: SMUT, CILLIAN WITH BED HAIR

IN HONOUR OF MY BEAUTIFUL FRIEND ON TUMBLR @forgottenpeakywriter HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE! I HOPE IT IS A GOOD ONE XXX

It was indeed a lovely, quiet morning in the suburban neighborhood - birds singing sweetly outside their window, a gentle breeze whispering through the leaves of the maple tree planted near their house. In such idyllic surroundings, you couldn't help but feel grateful for your life, and you were especially appreciative of your husband, Cillian who came back home early from his press tour just to spend your birthday with you. 

As every year, he woke up early, preparing your favorite breakfast for you – fluffy, golden-brown pancakes with a delicious, sweet syrup poured over them. You could smell them from a mile away and, with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air as well, you stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. 

"Morning," you murmured as you rubbed your eyes, only just to notice your husband standing in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein briefs, flipping the pancakes.

"Happy Birthday Sweetheart," Cillian smiled at you, sporting an unbrushed and rather messy head of hair.

He had just woken up fifteen minutes ago, but his gaze was warm and loving. It seemed that you hadn't aged a bit in his eyes – those deep, penetrating blue pools still sparkled with adoration whenever they rested upon you. 

"Thank you," you replied softly, approaching him and running your fingers through his tousled locks affectionately. "The food smells divine."

Your eyes met over the steaming pancake skillet, sharing a silent moment of tenderness and gratitude for each other.

This is what love felt like, you thought, as you reached out to gently stroke Cillian's cheek. The feeling of being wanted and appreciated by him, so far from all the worldly glamour, made you blush slightly under his gaze.

"Breakfast is ready," he announced cheerfully, lifting the skillet off the stove and placing it on the table.

In the dining room, you sat down facing Cillian, both of you savoring the first bites of your pancakes.

There was something undeniably sensual about sharing food together in silence, with the occasional clink of silverware echoing around the room. Your body relaxed, feeling more comfortable than ever in Cillian's presence. This intimate bond between you both transcended the materialistic world of celebrity affairs and awards ceremonies, connecting you to a deeper, more primal level of connection.

Finishing his last mouthful, Cillian stood up, grabbing the empty plate from the table.

"Why don't you open the birthday gift I got you?" he suggested casually, gesturing towards the wrapped package lying on the living room couch.

"You didn't have to," you replied gratefully, moving towards the present with curiosity.

Carefully unwrapping the colorful paper, you discovered a small, beautifully crafted jewelry box inside. Opening it, you found a gold necklace with a delicate charm hanging from it.

"It's perfect, Cillian. Thank you!" You leaned forward to place a tender kiss on his lips, feeling your heart swell with gratitude.

Cillian smiled, his expression reflecting a mix of satisfaction and love. "I know it's not much, but I wanted to give you something that means something, you know," he said as you read the engraving. It was a handcrafted necklace he had made especially for you and you appreciated the gesture.

"It's absolutely beautiful," you acknowledged before pulling him closer towards you as you slumped back against the sofa.

"But I already have something better," you murmured, brushing your lips against his neck, drawing a low moan from him. "I want you," you admitted in a breathy voice, tracing your finger along his collarbone.

Feeling the heat from your words ignite a fire within him, Cillian moved his hands towards the waistband of your pajamas, slowly working them downwards. As he exposed your bare skin to his touch, you could feel your pulse quicken, and a shiver ran down your spine.

Your hands, too, began to explore his chest, mapping out the muscles beneath his soft skin. Cillian was clearly excited as well, his own breath coming in shallow gasps, his fingers lightly grazing your skin, creating a delightful frisson wherever they touched you.

Slowly, he leaned in to capture your lips with his own, his passion burning hotter than the sun. With his tongue dancing seductively, he pulled you closer, pressing your bodies flush against one another.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the warmth of your embrace, creating an intoxicating mix that heightened your arousal. Your hands caressed his firm shoulders, trailing down his broad chest and onto his hard abs. With every subtle movement, your lips continued to explore his neck, leaving trails of desire behind. His touch became increasingly more possessive, his palms grazing the curves of your body, eliciting soft moans from deep within you.

As the passion between you two intensified, the air in the room felt electrically charged.

Your hands slipped further down, landing on his firm, yet smooth thighs. The feeling of his muscular strength underneath your touch sent waves of desire coursing through your veins. Meanwhile, Cillian was experiencing similar sensations, reveling in the pleasure of having you respond so fervently to his touch.

Gasping for breath, you both released each other for a brief moment, allowing your heavy breaths to slow. Cillian looked into your eyes, seeing the hunger in them mirrored in his own.

Without saying a word, he picked you up effortlessly, carrying you towards the bedroom. The room was filled with soft light filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow on the couple. Your lips met again, hungrily consuming each other in a passionate kiss.

Your hands eagerly explored each other's bodies, finding hidden treasures, and eliciting soft groans from the other. Your clothes fell away in the heat of the moment, leaving both of you naked and vulnerable, yet strangely empowered.

"Fuck, you are so goddamn beautiful Y/N," Cillian murmured, his voice hoarse with desire as he traced his fingers down your arm, sending shivers up your spine.

"I must be the luckiest woman alive, having you as my husband," you replied huskily, your eyes meeting his in a fierce embrace of lust.

Your hands roamed each other's bodies, reveling in the newfound territory, each touch causing your hearts to race faster.

As you moved closer to the edge of the bed, Cillian carefully lowered himself onto his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a raw intensity in his gaze that spoke volumes about his feelings for you.

You watched as he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. The anticipation built up inside you, making your breath catch in your throat. Cillian took his time, gently kissing and nibbling his way down your body, teasing you with his expert touch. Each gentle caress sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your entire being.

As he reached your core, his fingers danced around the sensitive area, driving you wild with desire. His touch was gentle yet firm, leaving you aching for more. You gripped the sheets tightly, trying to hold on to some semblance of control amidst the overwhelming sensations.

"Fuck," you cursedout loud, unable to hold back the expletive as Cillian's tongue eventually began to swirl around your sensitive bud, driving you wild with desire. Your body shuddered involuntarily, and your hips bucked forward, seeking relief from the insatiable ache building within you.

His expert fingers and tongue continued to work their magic, stroking and teasing you until you were nearly on the verge of climax.

In response, you arched your back, allowing yourself to surrender fully to the powerful sensations coursing through your body. 

"Good god Cillian, that's it, I am cumming," you cried out, your body quivering from the intense release. The rush of pleasure washed over you, leaving you weak-kneed and completely sated.

Gazing down at you, Cillian couldn't help but feel pride and admiration for his wife. Your beauty radiated even more during these intimate moments, and he was forever grateful to share such experiences with you.

Bringing you close to him, he whispered tenderly, "I love you, Y/N. We belong together, no matter what life throws our way." Your heart swelled with happiness at hearing those words.

"We do Cill, we sure do," you murmured as your breathing returned to normal while your husband hoovered over you, aligning himself with your wet core.

"I want to make love to you forever," he said as, with one swift thrust, he entered you, causing you to gasp loudly.

"Yes. Fuck, yes," you cursed again.

The combination of pain and pleasure, his dominant and commanding manner, was utterly addictive. Cillian's hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding your movements in tandem with his own. His eyes held a mixture of desire and tenderness that made your heart swell with love.

With each thrust, the room seemed to fill with the sounds of your passion. Your moans echoed off the walls, amplifying the intensity of the experience.

Every thrust was met with a cry of ecstasy, your bodies moving rhythmically as if you and your husband were one entity. Sweat beaded on your brow, mixing with the remnants of the previous encounters. Your breathing became heavier, your body tensing in anticipation of the climax.

Cillian's face was a mask of concentration, his eyes locked with yours, sharing the journey of bliss. With each movement, his muscles rippled, testament to his strength and stamina.

You matched his pace perfectly, your own long limbs moving gracefully with each thrust. Your breath came in short bursts, your cheeks flushed, your hair tousled. He was so close now, his passion evident in his eyes, his body trembling with the effort.

In sync with one another, you both increased the tempo, driving towards your climax. Your heart raced in anticipation, the excitement mounting within you as your orgasm drew near. Your moans grew louder, intertwining with Cillian's.

You could hear the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, your bodies grinding together in a perfect harmony. You gripped him tightly, using it as leverage to pull him deeper into you. The world outside ceased to exist as you two were consumed by the passion surging between you.

As you neared the peak, your eyes locked with Cillian's, and the intensity of the connection between you only served to fuel the fire. In unison, you both pushed harder, your bodies straining with the effort to bring you both to the brink.

Every muscle tensed, the room filling with your combined cries of ecstasy. Together, you finally found the release you had been craving, your bodies shaking with the force of your shared orgasm as Cillian emptied himself inside of you. The room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of your passion, your voices echoing off the walls.

For a few moments, you lay entwined in each other's arms, breathless and sweaty, still holding onto each other. Your chests rose and fell rapidly, your hearts racing.

The room felt warm and inviting, filled with the lingering echoes of your passion.

As you laid there, spent and content, you couldn't help but marvel at the intensity of your connection. Cillian smiled at you lovingly, his eyes full of admiration.

"This is something truly special, Y/N," he whispered, running his fingers through your hair.

You couldn't agree more. The bond you two shared seemed to grow stronger with each passing day, transcending beyond just physical attraction. This was a love that went beyond the superficial, reaching deep into the core of your souls.

After a while, you reluctantly pulled away from the embrace, knowing that it was time to get dressed and continue with your day. 

[kxlitz]

HIII can you please do bill with a ice hockey player s/o it can be smut if you want p.s: I LOVE YOUR WORK😍❤️❤️

That’s sweet! While I am canadian I don’t know too much about Ice Hockey so I’m basing myself off players in my entourage and research. I’m sincerely sorry if I got something inaccurate in there !!

I’m sorry if this was short by the way!!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

❅ Bill Kaulitz & Ice hockey player ❅

Setting the record straight, Bill is not an athletic person. The most you will get from him are walks and the occasional at home workout. He would rather die than run a mile so he finds it so fascinating that you found passion in a sport.

He sometimes wishes he had the skills to play with you or to simply enjoy sports in general. He likes watching soccer so there’s a chance for him to enjoy other sports for sure!

Is willing to make the effort and learn the rules to understand what goes on better.

He will show up to every match and he means it. If you were to live in a different country he would ask your match schedule and squeeze any important championship into his own busy schedule.

Bill will literally ask you if he can bring the band with him and sing your national anthem.

If he can’t well, he will still stand up and proudly sing your anthem because it’s yours and symbolizes your victory and he loves everything about you.

Will bring his mom to your games too <3

Screams the LOUDEST.

Your number one cheerleader, really.

(2023 Bill would be willing to wear a cheerleader fit even.)

Once the match is over Bill will run down and wait for you besides your coach, with a towel and water bottle at hand.

He will sit around the rink during your practice and make funny faces when you pass by to make you laugh.

It made you bumb against your teammates a couple of times, he’s sorry. But will continue doing it.

Your coach has definitely kicked him out before lmao.

He will always offer you massages if you’re sore after training :)

For some reason he really seems to be someone that gives an amazing back massage.

Oh this man is CRAZY about your muscles.

He melts when he sees your back flexing.

Will come behind you and trail kisses down your spine.

Hand on your thigh. ALL.THE.TIME.

Oh you will definitely catch him staring at your ass.

Likes to be the little spoon so he can be all wrapped up in your strong arms and, especially, your legs :)

₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡ ₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡ ₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡ ₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡ ₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡

••••••••••••••••NSFW AHEAD••••••••••••••••••

It’s a fantasy of his to fuck you in a closet after or during a match.

You just look so cute and flustered. Once your helmet’s off and your hair is all ruffled he can’t help but imagine all the things he’d do to you.

Or that he wants you to do to him.

The second you’re off the rink. Something about how you look all sweaty and tired is such a turn-on.

Would love to fuck you in your gear but it’s kind of unpractical unfortunately :(

The same way that he wants to innocently be wrapped around your arms and legs, he wants you to wrap those thighs around his head as he eats you out. Don’t be afraid to squeeze, he loves it.

He could spend hours on end between your legs, doesn’t care if you’ll be late to practice.

He will be there until you quiver.

Speaking of practice, you bet you’re on for lazy morning sex before practice. Your alarm woke him up at 4:30 in the morning now you have to make it up to him.

Oral fixated Bill is my fav.

PULL. HIS. HAIR.

You will be left with handprints on your hips from how hard he grips you when you ride him.

He is so sensitive.

Runs his hand up your thigh, soft like a feather.

He loves feeling your muscles flex.

I genuinely don’t know how to continue this, his sex habits don’t really change depending on what you do in life. It’s mostly little bonuses that come with your sport <3

[blues824]

May I request a Dorm leaders (+vice dorm leaders) x horse girl! Reader. Basically back in Readers world there’s horse girls that they attend an academy, where they study and train to be the best horse girl there is (Idea from Uma Musume pretty derby a sport anime.) And reader is one of the fastest and called “The Black Assassin” there race outfit resembles gothic lolita. How would the characters react to seeing them on the track and out speeding everyone easily. watch the Uma musume races on yt.

What in the actual fuck is this request?? And what in the actual fuck is this anime??? And why does it look good????

Ortho’s is platonic, obviously, as I included him here even though he’s not a Vice Housewarden.

Riddle Rosehearts watched in surprise as you broke the NRC record and even the RSA record for fastest person running on the track. Sure, it could be because of your horse-like features and training from your previous school, he reasoned. That aside, he enjoys your rather quiet personality, as it gives him a break from the usually obnoxious dormmates he had to deal with every single day.

Trey Clover had seen a video that went viral on Cater’s magicam page of you outrunning every single athletic student in NRC. He was surprised that a shy person like yourself had that in you, but to be fair, it’s always the quiet ones that have some unique skill or quirk that makes them special. He made sure that you ate after so that you could regain your energy, though.

Leona Kingscholar was surprised at how you rose up to the challenge when one of the Second Years in his dorm got a bit too prideful in how fast he was running during Spelldrive practice. What further surprised him was how you proceeded to leave said Second Year in the dust quite literally. It was very impressive to the lion, and it actually made him wake up.

Ruggie Bucchi has already made a bunch of horse-related puns, but none of them were too harmful. There was one time where he had stolen something from one of the richer students and you were shocked at what he had done, and in a moment of panic you grabbed his hand and sprinted the other way. You might as well have been carrying a flag because he was just waving in the wind behind you.

Azul Ashengrotto may or may not have made a bet on the wrong horse when reviewing the stats of the students during the Spelldrive tournament. You were the quickest and most agile player on the field, and he was sitting in the stands just watching in pure surprise as you were scoring goal after goal. Of course, he also noted that it might be because you were a horse beast-person, but maybe it could be of good use to him…

Jade Leech also watched from the stands, and he was the one who made the 5 Thaumark bet  with Azul on you being the one to score the most points. He later informed you of the bet, and you blushed in embarrassment. He found you absolutely adorable, and started calling you ‘seahorse’ to further fluster you, even though nicknames were usually his twin’s thing.

Kalim Al-Asim wasn’t an athletic student, but he saw you a few times in PE class and you were incredible whenever Coach Vargas had everyone running laps. Your stamina was infinite, which was saying a lot when you compared to Kalim. He cheered you on, and it made you embarrassed at how openly supportive he was.

Jamil Viper was surprised when you came up to him one day and asked if you could train with the Basketball Club to retain your running abilities. He asked if you could demonstrate around the court, and you broke the NRC speed record for completing a mile of running. His eyes widened in shock as it seemed like you didn’t break a sweat. Needless to say, you were welcome to train with the Basketball Club whenever you wanted to.

Vil Schoenheit sometimes does morning runs when he has a particularly busy day ahead of him. However, he couldn’t say that he expected to see you running as well. But instead of just doing a jog, you were full-on sprinting. Your form, your breathing technique, and the focus you had could have convinced the actor that you were part of a Track Team before NRC, only to find out that you trained to be the best derby horse at your previous school. Everything made sense now.

Rook Hunt knew that you were a very fast runner, and he knew because he stalked you, and he stalked you because he thought you and your aesthetic were both beautiful and unique. The hunter had such a way with words that left your heart pounding against your chest and your face feeling warm. He knew the effect that he had on you, too.

Idia Shroud had seen you during the Housewarden meetings, and that’s how he grew absolutely smitten with you. Your dress let him know that you both liked similar aesthetics. However, he didn’t expect you to be such a fast runner. He had seen you racing against Ortho, and holy shit you are speedy.

Ortho Shroud has now deemed you his older sister, and is trying to set you up with Idia. That means he invites you over constantly, and he asks if you would hang out with him while also asking his brother if he would hang out with him at the exact same time. He may seem innocent and cute, but we all know that he is truly sneaky and calculating.

Malleus Draconia is mesmerized by how your clothing styles are similar. Very gothic. Anyways, he first saw your quick speed when you both had originally met. He accidentally scared you, as you had not been expecting anyone to come by so late at night, and you ran. He went after you, and it turned into a real Princess Aurora and Prince Phillip moment.

Lilia Vanrouge notices how shy you are and starts pulling small tricks. For example, scaring you every once in a while. When you get romantically involved, he does the same thing but plants a kiss on your cheek in addition to scaring you. He saw how fast you could run during one of his training sessions with Silver. He had invited you to join, and you started by running a few laps. He was surprised at how quickly you finished running, and even complimented you on your skill and form.

[alaskan-wallflower]

south park body headcanons (im imagining late teens/20s here) - agree or disagree?

stan: 5’10”. stocky, not fat but not super muscular, although it would be easy for him to put on muscle if he wanted to. just doesn’t prioritize it over his creative stuff. strong biceps and shoulders but he got that beer gut. love it.

kyle: 6’2”. lean string bean. conventionally thin with a sleeper build, strong arms and visible abs bc he’s more into sports/working out than the others. he goes on 6am runs and does pushups in the morning let’s be real. and i like the thought of him being awkwardly taller then the other 3.

cartman: 5’8”. he is still volumptious! i don’t care what anyone says. that boy will not mature to be a muscle monster alpha. whatevea whateva, he does what he wants! which would be eating lots of kfc and liane’s cooking. and not working it off. terrible team player and has no sportsmanship, he would not be in any sports.

kenny: 5’6”. he’s the shortest because he was malnourished as a child but we love a short king. scrawny but could hold up in a fight, a little muscular from doing random jobs + i think he’d do football or track.

Stan: Agree. He’s got a bit of a tummy but that never hurt anyone. I kinda picture him being built kinda like Pacha from Emperor’s New Groove. Not quite as chubby but you get the picture. He’s solid. If you throw him at a moving truck he’d ricochet off. Randy probably insisted that he ate more ‘rich people food’ which contributed to his broadness, because Randy kept feeding him too much to ‘make him look like a real rich guy’. Hes got the quarterback build. Hes overweight but most of it is because he’s just solid in high school.

Kyle: Agree! Kyle w/sleepers build is now a fav hdc of mine. i feel like he was that one kid as a freshman who was absolutely rail thin because every calorie he ate went to his height instead of his muscles, but then junior year hits and he suddenly starts gaining muscle. He has a very strict workout routine and likes going for morning runs while the sun’s rising. It helps him clear his head. His immediate response to stress is to exercise. He has a ton of random growth spurts and when he’s at the bus stop with the other 3 the summer after 8th grade he just looms over them, lmao-he’s absolutely strong though. Just because he was rail thin as a freshman did not mean he was weak.

Cartman: Absolutely! I hate when people make Cartman suddenly buff, as if he would give up Cheesy Poofs and Butterwich Sabdwixhes He’s still a chubby boy even in his teen years. Hes that one kid who walks the mile in gym because he ‘doesn’t feel like running today’. Whenever his team loses usually because of him he absolutely throws a fit. He hit Kyle in the head with a baseball bat and nearly split his head open in eighth grade because he lost. Hes thrown kickballs in fits of rage and gives no fucks. Whenever he wins you don’t stop hearing it from him for months afterwards. He would never lift a finger to work off all the KFC and Cheesy Poifs he eats. I don’t care what people say. He’s not gonna suddenly have a change of heart and work off all that. It’s not in character for him. Just look at him in “Raising the Bar”.

Kenny: Agree! He probably has scars on his body from doing stupid shit for money. He didn’t have much to go off of, like you said, because he was malnourished as a kid. I do like to think his friends (mainly Butters and Kyle) start noticing Kenny is way thinner than they thought, and start giving him food, so he does eventually have his growth spurt, but he’s definitely not the tallest. His hands and arms are probably really calloused from random jobs he’s picked up. He’s extremely scrappy and could probably kick ass in a fight, even if he’s malnourished. In his teen years his friends start letting him shower at their place. He starts taking better care of his body as well, with the help of his friends. Hes a tiny little thing tho. I don’t see him being gigantic, but he’s not like-elf sized either.

Agree 100% with these!!

[usmsgutterson]

Achilles Heel - Givenson

okay!! I posted an excerpt from this initially more than a week ago now and it's just evolved ever since. I was gunning for angst and landed somewhere in hurt/comfortville instead but I'm happy with that so I'm posting this!

Fic type - the tone of this one is kind of hard to explain--it's like if angst and comfort had a child of neutrality

Warnings - there's a couple things--alcoholism and it's adverse affects are discussed a bit (for context, heart attacks, seizing and liver failure are mentioned, with heart attacks being a focal point in every single chapter of this fic and also just generally) and Tims time in the military is discussed at least a little. There's one offhanded mention of a psychotic break, and cigarettes and smoking are also semi-present in this chapter and will make a few minor reappearances throughout the fic in it's entire. This bad boy is also really long (with a word count of a bit more than 5k for this chapter and a minimum of such in the other chapters as well.

When Tim hears the words: "I never woulda pegged you for a smoker. When'd you start?" it's 7:30 am on a morning in early October. Kentucky is falling into autumn while simultaneously riding out the last coattails of summer, and he's sitting in a coffee shop parking lot with fifteen minutes to go until Rachel wants him in the office on a new case.  

He recognizes the voice instantaneously without meaning to, but—how could he ever forget that voice, really? Even a little more than a decade gone by, that voice is one of the most distinctive voices Tim has ever heard.  

"When the fuck did you get into Lexington?" he asks a Raylan that is eleven years older than he was when he left. His hair is a lot lighter than the medium-dark brown Tim remembers, and the beard he's sporting is a shade of grey that looks almost white, but he looks good. Too fucking good for a guy of 56. He asks the question while he taps out the last of his cigarette, takes the last drag of it before flicking it off into the nearest empty parking spot with a nature so careless it almost seems natural instead of practised.  

The remark makes Raylan laugh. "Last night," he says. "Rachel wanted me in nice and early. I’ve never much made a habit of waking up before even the sun, but—”  

"She's Rachel," Tim nods. He's worked with her since he started with the Marshals. They've been working together for a whopping sixteen years now, and Tim loves her more with every day that passes. She’s like a sister to him at this point, which does come with working with someone for more than two thousand days, but she knows him as well as Art does and she's always just been innately good at her job and easy to work with. Letting her in was easy and he's not lived to regret it yet, doubts that he ever will. “I get it.”  

He remembers, and does not miss, the early mornings that came with being the office newbie, but he’s been a chronic morning person since he first got out of ranger school. The only beef he has with early mornings in correlation to his work is that he doesn’t really have time to go for a run, unless he plans on skipping breakfast or waking up earlier.  

He’s up for six thirty, has been every single day since ranger school, no matter how much or how little sleep he’d gotten the night before, and he usually just goes for his runs in what he sleeps in—a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that’s not usually more than a size or two too big. He runs for five or so miles in the usual half an hour-ish it takes and then runs back from whence he came, showers, gets dressed, has coffee and a decent breakfast in him by the time he’s leaving the house at 8:30 so he can start for close to nine.  

He’s been up since 4:30 on the dot today, though, and the coffee is such a necessity that it hurts somewhere deep in his chest, although coffee has tended to bring out chest pain lately anyway.  

“You doin’ all right?” Raylan asks. “You’re lookin’ a bit faint there. Late night?”  

A smirk crosses Tims face in the last half a second before memories of one of the only gay bars in the area and a guy that looked like Raylan but was so painfully mediocre flash across his minds eye.  

“Somethin’ t’ that effect, sure,” Tim shrugs. It hadn’t been a late night, per se.

He’d gone to the bar after getting off work at nine even though he’s spent the last six weeks sober as a nun. He had a few cokes and a club soda and eventually softened up enough to let a Raylan lookalike by the name of Mitchell flirt his way into getting Tim to agree to going back to his place. A tad more of the flirting and some off-kilter sex that just left Tim wanting later, it was 4:30 and Tim was waking up after having slept only three hours because he can’t--won’t--let himself let anyone else in, and especially not someone who could, rather convincingly, play Raylan in the lifetime movie about his existence.

He slipped out of Mitchells apartment without leaving his number, or his real name—he'd told Mitchell his name was Justin, for anonymities sake, if his stone cold sober memory serves him right—or much of an otherwise trace behind. He went home, changed out of the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn to Mitchells place and into a pair of loose fitting gray sweats and a black long sleeved shirt before making himself his first coffee of the day and going for his run.  

The run that usually lasted an hour both ways ended up lasting him an hour and a half—he loved to run to clear his head and he ran an extra mile and a half before turning around and running the same distance back home. He made it home for six thirty, took his time with his shower and decided to treat himself to his second coffee from the coffee spot he liked that was close to the office both because he needed more caffeine and because their bagels were cheap but still delicious.  

“Never thought you the type,” Raylan says. “I mean—”  

“it’s been over a decade,” Tim nods. “You probably don’t know me as well as you used to anymore.”  

The only person who he will ever let know him as deeply as he can be known is dead. He died when Colton Rhodes pulled the trigger, and the one person who got as close as Mark did was never meant to have gotten that close to begin with.  

Tims words seem to touch a nerve, almost, but Tim decides to be nonchalant. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks at the parking lot through the front of his car.  

“I hate it, but you’re right,” Raylan laughs. “Sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”  

Tim looks at Raylan—really looks at him, studies him like he used to study his targets whenever he had an assignment, and sees what appears to be anguish masked poorly by indifference, covered up with a laugh so false that it almost feels like a bullet to the gut.  

“So am I,” Tim says. “How’ve you been? Hows Miami?”  

“Its Miami,” Raylan shrugs.  

“You and Winona work out?” It’s more of a sore spot than Tim would care to admit on an ordinary day, but Raylan Givens is in Lexington. This day is not ordinary.  

Raylan laughs nervously. “You were a sniper in the rangers,” he says. “Tact should be a talent of yours.”  

“It is,” Tim shrugs easily, grins just a tad. “Just not with you.”  

“Well to answer your question, no,” Raylan says it like it doesn’t hurt him to admit, but Tim knows that it bruises his ego just enough to make him close to humble. “What about you? Any prospects?”  

“Never,” Tim says. “I’m not really one for relationships. They never work out.”

“They do on occasion,” Raylan rebuts.  

“Did becoming a father make you inherently more optimistic or just inherently more stupid?” Tim asks, the sarcasm dripping in his tone in such a way that allows the question to seem like sarcasm was the whole intent of the question, rather than for it to be an insult, which Tim knows it is somewhere deep.  

“Ah,” Raylan sighs easily, smirking that smirk that Tim will never cease to find incredibly difficult to even so much as mildly disdain, let alone hate. “You’re still an asshole? Oh, some things just never change much, do they?”  

Tim flexes his hands to stop himself from reaching for his pack of Marlboros and his lighter.  

He checks his watch, takes another sip of his coffee. “See you at the office, dipshit,” he says. He hears Raylans laugh as he pulls out of his spot and drives away, needing to breathe the air he’s had more than a decade to get used to—air absent of Raylans presence.

He gets to the office a whopping total of two minutes earlier than necessary, heads straight for Rachels office.  

“Let me guess,” he says. “Boyd Crowder has escaped the lovely Harlan County Penitentiary and we’re charged with finding him?”  

“Precisely,” Rachel says, heaving in a sigh. “Only if he comes down this way, though, which he might if he thinks Ava is still here.”  

“Why the fuck would he ever--” Tim starts, pausing to think and just long enough to enter her office fully, shut the door and sit down on the couch across from her desk “It’s Boyd. Even if he’s smarter than to think she’d ever come back ‘round these parts as a goddamned fugitive, he’s at least considered the possibility.”  

Rachel smiles, tight lipped, professional but just a touch sarcastic, like always. “I like it when you use that brain of yours to actually think,” she says. “You’re on the lead, Raylans takin’ second.”  

Tim can’t help his facial expression—he and Rachel have worked together for a decade and a half now, with Tim having joined the service when he was almost thirty and her having been in the service for fourteen years by the time he was joining. He doesn’t try to hide the mild discomfort he feels at the thought of taking lead or working with Raylan again and she, in turn, has the decency not to stifle her sarcastic chuckle or soften the hardened glare that she sports in his direction for the following fifteen seconds.  

“I know you don’t wanna do this,” she says. “I dunno which part you hate more—takin' lead on this case or workin’ with Raylan again, but c’est la vie, Tim.”  

Tim shrugs, defensive air coming to him before he can stop it. “I don’t hate takin’ lead on a case,” he says. “Actually--I love it. If you want to put me on lead for the next several task forces we have to pull out of our asses, be my motherfuckin’ guest, I just don’t understand why you’d make me lead and Raylan second when Raylan is the one who knows Boyd the best out of just about anyone in Kentucky.”  

He and Boyd have had a limited number of interactions, all things considered—the time where Boyd used Tim and Rachel to save his own ass and then shot a gun while his hands were cuffed behind his back, as well as the time Tim played Scrabble against him and was about five minutes out from losing when Raylan walked back in are the first of their interactions to come to mind—and it makes very little sense to have him on lead when Raylan and his “we dug coal together” shtick know Boyd better than Tim ever wants to.  

“I was given a very strong suggestion not to make Raylan lead,” Rachel shrugs. “Manpower in Miami is stretched so thin that losing Raylan to this taskforce is the Miami equivalent of losing 1/3rd of their damn population, apparently. Dan was hesitant to send him down here and doesn’t want him gone longer than a month or two.”  

Tim shrugs. “Boyd is a hell of a lot smarter than to risk his own skin comin’ down here, even if he thinks Ava’s somehow holed up here without gettin’ caught,” he says. “Ava is smarter than to come down here, too. She wouldn’t risk it, I don’t think. Too afraid Boyd’d come lookin’ to bother.”  

“You might actually be right on that front,” she says. “I hope you are. You remember how much of a damn fuss those two kicked up back in the day?”  

It’s not often that Tim reminisces—he hates thinking about the past that is riddled so much with Raylan and Mark that it can induce a hangover unlike anything he’s ever experienced, even absent of booze—but he lets himself reminisce a little bit. The Boyd Crowder case had been a long time coming by the time they finally put Boyd away and Raylan didn’t have a means of screwing it up.  

He and Rachel have been getting along like a house on fire since they started working together, back when Art would pair the two of them up before Raylan had even come around, but their bond had strengthened throughout the six years that Raylan and his reign of terror masqueraded about Kentucky. It’s easy to let her see bits and pieces of who he is because she is the closest thing that Tim has to family worth their salt.  

“I do,” he says. “Damn it—the Crowders and associates and the fuckin’ Bennett clan. Part of me yearns for those days on occasion.”  

Rachels lips upturn in a reminiscent smile. “What, you miss when they were shootin’ people left’n right? I don’t.”  

“I miss being busy all the damn time,” he confesses. “Our criminals nowadays ain’t like they were back with the turn of the 2010s.”  

“You’re sayin’ you want a Boyd Crowder wannabe runnin’ around Harlan like he owns it?”  

Tim shrugs. “This Boyd Crowder wannabe had better be more efficient at blowin’ shit up than Boyd was,” he says. “Or at least do it more often. I miss bein’ so busy it was hard to sleep at night, mostly, but bickering with Boyd was entertaining on the rare chance he wasn’t directing all of his verboseness at Raylan.”  

Rachel laughs, dry and easy. “You’re so lucky I love you enough not to transfer you down to Arlington,” she says. “I don’t blame you for it—we had very different versions of Boyd Crowders heyday, but I miss it on occasion too. Mostly late at night, after a few too many.” 

Tim knows the six years they had with Raylan were vastly different—Tim was drinking his liver into a premature death every night, going to see Dave Alvin with dates or guys from his military days who’d turned into such, then later fucking around with Mark and Raylan and knowing full well his heart would probably not make it through the ordeal.  

Rachel was repeatedly hurt—first her ex brother in law turned into a fugitive and had to be arrested while in a pizza joint, then her marriage fell apart and she had to keep it together without losing her entire goddamned mind just so that Art wouldn’t walk back his decision with regards to having her be the chief once he retired, and in between that whole mess, Boyd Crowder and those he kept in his employ or worked with shot at her repeatedly. Even if they missed, being shot at still fuckin’ sucks.  

“Yeah?” Tim laughs. “I thought since you became the chief, you’d be like all chiefs before. Take up a taste for Pappy Van Winkle.”  

“I’ll take my fridge cold Modelo over Pappy, thank you,” she says. “Time check?”  

Tim glances up at the clock, high up on the wall behind Rachel. “Time check says quarter to eight,” he says. “You see Raylan?”  

“Late, as usual,” she laughs. “Missed him, but I didn’t miss that. Assuming we’ve got at least two more minutes til he graces us with his presence, if you don’t tell me you’ve been to the VFW this week, I will use my gun and shoot you my-fuckin'-self, right here in this office.”  

Tim hasn’t been in a few weeks if not a full month, but Rachel, decidedly, does not need to know that. He nods.  

“I’ve gone twice a week since the incident,” he says. “Meet with a therapist every Wednesday and Friday.”  

“Good,” she nods. Tim fights a sigh of relief when he finds she believes him, that she doesn’t see through the lie that several of his buddies from his ranger days would see right through in maybe half a second. “You scared the shit out me, you know that? I don’t want that happening again.”  

Tims lips form a line before he can stop himself. “I’ll do my best.”  

“Have you been drinking?”  

“Not a lick,” Tim says. That, at least, is the truth. “Not since the incident. Too scared to drink after that.”  

“Is the booze still in your fridge?”  

“Yeah,” he doesn’t see the point in dumping it—one day, be it in that week or that month or in the next few months, he won’t be so scared to touch the booze and even if it means going all in right out the gate, it’s an odd little creature comfort that he’s not ready to let go of yet.  

“Tim,” Rachel says, tone authoritative and well meaning. She’s weirdly good at it—finding the balance been friend and boss. Tim finds it admirable. “You gotta do somethin’ with it before it expires—don't you dare drink, though.”  

“I’ll dump it one of these days,” he says. “Just--not yet.”   

“I know you well enough to know you’re not lyin’ to me,” she says. “The minute you start, though? And the minute I sniff it out? You’re going on a leave of absence and you ain’t comin’ back til you’re stone cold sober. I liked you as you were back when Boyd was in the shit with the heroin and the Dixie mafia, but I like you not drunk off your ass or hungover a hell of a lot more than I liked the version of you that drank every fuckin’ night. Don’t make me dislike you, Timothy.”  

Tim smiles, gentle and easy and a little more sarcastic than he really means to be. “Yes Ma’am,” he says. “I promise not to do anythin’ out of line that would affect my ability to work. You have my word on that.”  

“You’re lucky I know your word means somethin’,” she says. “You scared the shit out of me six weeks ago, and while I’ve tried to forget about it, it ain’t happened yet. I don’t let myself do it often—you're a big boy and if you can’t take care’a yourself at forty-five with a decade of military experience under your belt? There is not an ounce of hope left for you—but I’m lettin’ myself do it now because I can afford that. You scared me half to death, Tim, and if I ever find you like that again I’m gonna hold you liable for my psychotic break.”  

“I know,” he says. “Stop worrying. I’m okay now, and I’m going to stay that way.”  

“You’d fuckin’ better, Tim. I don’t take too kindly to being scared like that.”  

Like a curse brought down onto Kentucky, Raylan takes that moment to open Rachels office door.  

“Sorry I’m late,” he greets. “Tell me what’s what.”  

- 

Eleven hours later, it’s seven o’clock on the dot and Rachel, Raylan, and Tim still feel like they’ve gotten nowhere. Apart from the assembly of the task force—which includes the likes of Rachel, Raylan, Tim, Dunlop, and a few newbies that joined the Marshals after a good and long half-decade or so in the Marines—and coordinating a press release that Tim will have to talk in during the following day informing locals about Boyds current escapee status, they have nothing.  

No leads as to his whereabouts, no confirmed information from the CI that used to work closely with a few of Boyds buddies, nothing. They’re at a dead end and Rachel tells them to go home, to come back in no later than half past eight, and Tim is grateful for it as he leaves, his thoughts blurrying somewhere between the ride in the elevator and the short walk between the bottom floor of the courthouse and his truck.  

He sits in his truck for a long couple of minutes, drums his fingers against the steering wheel because he doesn’t want to go home but otherwise doesn’t know what to do with himself.  

He could grab dinner, but grabbing dinner completely alone still feels more pathetic than not. He could go home even though he doesn’t want to and make it worth it by stopping at a grocery store on the way and picking up a pint of Ben and Jerrys, and then eating it in one sitting whilst some western he’s seen a thousand times before plays monotonously in the background.  

He could go to a bar, just like he did the night before. He could order a coke or a water and then let someone flirt their way into seducing him, just like he did the night before, but he’d really rather not.  

He realizes, as his eyes move to his hands and he finds his fingers still drumming against the steering wheel, that he effectively has nothing.  

So he drives for a bit, takes a left turn and then goes straight only to take right and somehow, he finds himself at home anyway.  

He checks the landline that he’s had for fifteen years and will probably never give up, is unsurprised to find a message from the counselor he used to see at the VFW twice a week.  

“Hi, Tim, this Alexander calling again, just to check in,” the voicemail starts. “I just—your number is still listed and you haven’t come around in a month. I’ve been wondering about you, is all. The VFW will always have your back, as will the people in it. I’m not saying you have to come back, per se—you're a lawman, I can’t force you to do shit—but I’m saying that we’ll be here for you, if you let us or want us to be. Call me back whenever you feel like it, okay? If you ever feel like it at all. If you don’t, that’s just fine, too.”  

He doesn’t call back even though some part of him kind of wants to. Instead, he goes to the bathroom, pulls his jeans off of his body and lets the Henley he wears follow suit. He tosses them into the dirty laundry basket that’s been building for a week and bends to get to the dryer so he can pull out a pair of joggers and a Carhartt sweatshirt that’s as old as his time in the Marshals service.  

He grabs a towel and a fresh pair of boxers before finally taking his boxers off and tossing them into the dirty laundry basket just as he'd done with the rest of his day clothes.

He showers, keeps the water so cold that it almost turns the tips of his fingers purple and lingers in the shower a little longer than what’s necessary. He stays under the water until he gets sick of it and only afterwards does he step out, reaching for the towel he’d grabbed and using it to towel dry his hair before he wraps it around his waist.  

He gets dressed faster than he means to, slipping his boxers and sweatpants on at the same time and not even bothering to grab a shirt to wear under his sweatshirt, just slipping it on over his torso and rolling the sleeves up to the elbows.  

He heads back to his living room, checks his voicemail again.  

“Hey, Tim—it's Raylan. Are you okay? Rachel seemed on edge with you today, and she told me about an incident,” Raylans voice comes through the speaker and Tim almost hates him for it. “Refused, vehemently, to give me specifics though. I hate it when she does that, but—anyway. Are you doin’ all right? I think we’re due in to catch up about now, how’s dinner sound?”  

There’s silence for a beat, one breath in and another out before Raylan sighs. “Look--I know you’re not answering this landline is probably because you’re busy but if you aint, meet me at Magdelenes for eight on the dot.”  

For a few seconds, he considers it. He even goes so far as to check his watch, sees that it’s barely half past seven.  

He flops onto the couch that is so old now he’s surprised the legs haven’t sccumb yet to dry rot, stares at his ceiling as he considers.  

The way he sees it, he has two options. He can go and suffer through a dinner with Raylan for an hour, pointedly avoid the questions about the incident and narrowly beat around the bush by giving Raylan enough non answers that he takes it back to Rachel.  

The other option is that he makes the ten minute drive down to the VFW, which is always open til midnight on Fridays. He can see if Alexander has a slot at the time or wait it out until he has one, go to one of the AA meetings across the road in the meantime and then after he’s done at the VFW, he can treat himself to a greasy pizza from Antonios and eat it while he watches a western before he goes to bed a little earlier than normal.  

He gets up into a proper sitting position, sighs and puts his head in his hands. “Damn you, Alexander,” he says. 

He gets up, shuffles his way into his running shoes and grabs his car and apartment keys.  

Between the company of Raylan Givens and a trip to the VFW, for the first time in his life, Tim has chosen the motherfucking VFW. If Art could’ve seen it coming, Tim is sure he’d’ve died on the spot.  

- 

“You still drinkin’?” Alexander Moreno is a guy that’s fifty-three, tops. He’s starting to go grey on the sides of his head and his skin is very clearly weathered by the sun, but he’s only therapist that Tims gotten through the VFW that has actually understood him. “I mean—you look sober, and you’re actin’ it, but—answer the question for politeness sakes.”  

“Negative,” Tim says. “I haven’t touched booze in six weeks, one day and about fourteen or so hours, even though I do think my math might be a little off.”  

Alexander laughs. “Why the fuck’re you countin’ for?” he asks. “Sobriety is usually a choice, but for you, doesn’t seem like it is--no sober person would keep a count that specific. Days, months, weeks, yeah. Hours? never, unless they're at the very beginning. Is it a choice?”  

“No,” Tim confesses. “It’s not. I had—well—my boss and I are calling it The Incident.”  

“What happened?”  

“Oh, you know, normal shit,” Tim shrugs, defaulting back to sarcasm. “Up until six weeks ago, I was bein’ real reckless. I didn’t care about my liver, my kidneys, my heart—none of it, and so I was doin’ as I’ve always done.”  

“Drinking your vital organs into the earliest grave you can manage,” Alexander nods. “You’n the booze, Timothy. You have the worlds most devastatingly one-sided love affair. What did all this drinkin’ lead to?”  

“Rachel and I were going to do a stakeout the next day, and she’d agreed to come’n grab me from my apartment because my truck was in the shop for the week,” he says. “She found me on the tail end of a bender so bad I’d had a heart attack, seized and gone very briefly into acute liver dysfunction. She found me layin’ in the bathtub with vomit all over my mouth mid seizure. Made me promise to stay away from the booze and to go to the VFW for therapy and meetings.”  

“How long had you been drinking when you passed out?”  

“I got off of work late—eleven, if I’m remembering right. I thought I could have a few’n then go to bed, but I had to eat and didn't feel like cooking so I had to stop for half an hour to grab food from the pizza place that just opened up. I’d been drinking at midnight and she’d said she come get me for 6:30. I was still drinking at five that morning because I couldn’t fall asleep.”  

“What do you think triggered the bender?”  

“The--the anniversary of my first kill in the rangers is next week,” he laughs tiredly. “Six weeks ago it was the anniversary of when I first took the ASVAB. Any of those dates trip me right the fuck up, make my PTSD do something awful.”  

“Have you been on leave ever since?”  

“No,” Tim laughs. “Took a few days’n I was back in the office, but it was really difficult to convince Rachel to let me. I don’t do well with time off and I never have, and recovering from the closest to death I think I’ve ever gotten outside of an active zone of combat is apparently no goddamned exception.”  

“Figures,” Alexander says. “Are you okay, since?”  

“My liver is workin’ normally again even though drinkin’ coffee makes my chest hurt now,” Tim sighs. “Can’t drink the booze in my fridge but every time I think about it I think about just chugging all of it and then leaving the rest to nature because dumping it feels like a waste of money, and I just—shit, Alexander. Where have I been going wrong?”  

“Before I speak my mind, do  you want me to sugar coat this or be blunt?”  

“Blunt,” Tim says. “Hate it when people sugarcoat shit.”  

“Okay,” Alexander nods. “You’re screwed by nature a little, I think—your father died when you were what, eighteen? Because he got so drunk that he’d gone through every single half full bottle of booze in his collection, and then he went and did a goddamn wheely into a ditch. Your mother is currently in a nursing home dealing with dementia and she left the house to you because your brother is just as bad as your father was, and your sister is a criminal defense attorney livin’n working in Miami who hasn’t seen or talked to you or your mother in well over a decade. Alcoholism runs in your family by nature, and yeah, you had a heart attack, sure, but at least dyin’ of a heart attack is less embarrassing than doin’ wheelies on a busy street’n getting your car into the bottom of a ditch, Tim.”  

He makes an annoyingly fair point and Tim hates it.  

“There are worse ways to die,” Tim says.  

“And better ways, too,” Alexander nods. “Yeah. The good thing is that just like death, there are better ways to live than using alcohol as a crutch and I’m thinkin’ it’s time you realized that.”  

Tim glares at him, though the gesture is so half hearted it’s obviously so, and it makes Alexander laugh a little.  

“Glare at me all you wish,” he says. “You know that I’m right about this. You know you need to keep comin’ to these sessions because you ain’t been in the military for seventeen fuckin’ years now but you walk around with all that trauma fresh as a daisy in your head.”  

“It ain’t trauma, Alexander.”  

“Fuck me if it ain’t trauma,” Alexander laughs dryly, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “You worked infantry from the age of 18 to 21, correct? Then you were a ranger til ya hit 26, then you went through the sniper school and were a sniper til you left at 28. That there is a decade of seein’ combat. You don’t do what we did and come out untraumatized, Tim. That ain’t how it works. You kill as many people as you did, no fuckin’ way to leave without at least a little bit of scarring.” 

Tim heaves in a sigh, lets his shoulders slump. “You, Alexander Moreno, are no fun,” he declares.  

Alexander laughs. “I had a drinkin’ problem too,” he says. “After I drank, I transitioned from booze to ciggies, which, judgin’ by the pack I can see pokin’ out the pocket of your joggers, so have you. After I got over cigarettes I left that shit behind entirely. You ever take up reefer, though, I ain’t gonna judge you. Lots of the guys here have prescriptions that they get filled because of chronic pain or other issues.”  

“That’s comforting,” Tim says. “I just—fuck, you know?”  

Tim checks his watch. He sees that it’s quarter to nine and realizes that he’s somehow been sitting across Alexander for a full hour when it barely feels like it’s been fifteen minutes.  

“When you were comin’ down here at first, you came down twice weekly,” he says. “I’m gonna do the nice thing and assume this ain’t a one-time visit.”  

Tim heaves a breath in. “I’d very much like to stop lyin’ to my boss, so it’s not,” he says.  

“All right,” Alexander nods. “Instead of Wednesdays and Fridays like we used to, we’re gonna do Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Forty five minutes Monday because Mondays are inherently disgusting and an hour and fifteen Wednesday and Friday, though I’m gonna put you in my last two hour time slots so that if you need more time, we have it. You finally comittin’ yourself to mental wellness?”  

He has a general hatred for that kind of language—therapy language feels superficial, at best, and is agitating at worst, but he nods. He lets Alexander use that language because some part of him believes maybe it does play a role in getting better somehow. 

Alexander stands and naturally, Tim follows suit. He extends a hand and Tim takes it assuming he’s just going to shake hands, but Alexander pulls him into a bro-hug instead.  

Tim has never really been much for physical contact but he decides that it’s fine because the idea that he wants to get better is sticking for the first time in his life. He’s not just saying it for the sake of saying it but instead is saying it with the intent to keep to his word.  

“I’ll see you Monday,” Alexander says. “Eight on the dot, right?”  

“Eight should work best with my schedule,” Tim nods. “Thanks.”  

Alexander smiles as Tim makes his way to the door, fully intending to go home and knock out until four so he can run for longer than he usually does and get to work on time.  

“Yeah,” Alexander says. “You take care of yourself in the meantime, all right?”

“Either get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’,” Tim rebuts, some part of him hating the way that the words sound when they come out of his mouth. “I’ve committed and I really don’t need to piss my boss off again, so I don’t have much choice.”  

Alexander barks a laugh and Tim hears it as he leaves, the sound echoing in his mind even after he's left.

[dispatchvampire]

Accidentally In Love (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 2200-ish.

Summary: 

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 1

Five miles at a time. Everything in the early morning hours was measured five miles at a time for Echo Nerys and her trusty mountain bike. From 6:30 to 8AM give or take, she was a glittery purple streak on a circuit through Central Park from end to end that she’d measured precisely both for distance and scenic value. The moment she left her job at NYPD Central Dispatch at 6AM, she was changed and on the bike, ready to go. She even had an appropriately timed playlist on Spotify. 

She’d started as early in the spring as the weather allowed for, in her long compression pants and jacket, getting her face chapped as she and her body remembered what it felt like to be on two wheels and free. A figure in all black in the early hours of the morning fast enough to pedal past the majority of the criminal element and yet still taking hits off her asthma bong when she paused to get drinks from her backpack. 

Now, though, with the summer slowly stretching out down the coast, she’d tied up her puff pigtails and ditched her all black for the wildly purple tie-dyed bike shorts, sports bra, and tank top, all matching, because why not and her favorite pair of sunglasses that made her look like a trained killer. Even her earbuds were purple. There were some who said she didn’t really have the body for the tightly clinging gear, but fuck those people, she was going to be comfortable and safe while she worked out and they didn’t have to look if it offended them. Her body, not-toned stomach, thick thighs and semi-floppy arms, was her own and had been through many of its own wars, and she could wear what made her happy. 

She’d picked up riding the previous summer and had taken it inside for the duration of the winter, riding in the basement gym of 1PP, but she didn’t have a whole lot to show for it physically other than shaplier calves and slightly thinner thighs. She wasn’t in it for the way she looked, but how good it felt to finally move after being sick and stuck with her joint pain for so long. Now that her meds were mostly managed, she was hell on two wheels, six days a week if she could manage, five if she wanted to go easy on it, and it felt amazing.  

On her pace, she saw herself coming up on a group of joggers just cresting the hill, the tallest among them, a hottie from the Homicide Squad, Donnie Flack. All black-haired, blue-eyed Irish, he was every dispatcher’s crush and untouchable as a museum piece because of his wife in the Coroner’s Office. No one wanted to test a forensic scientist’s ability to exact revenge. It was just poor planning. And he was such a sweetheart, it was impossible not to be his friend. 

“On ya left!” she hollered out as she approached the group, powering up the hill despite the way her knees screamed and her thighs burned. It was the principle of the thing, really, as she stood on her pedals and waved as she sailed past them with a jaunty grin. Now that she’d caught up to them, she saw it was a couple other guys from Homicide and one of the guys from down in Trace Evidence. 

“Lookin’ good, E!” Danny Messer, Flack’s whip-thin, mouthy bestie from Crime Scene Investigations, hollered back with a huge grin and a wave as Donnie stuck his fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistled. Messer was good people, and his wife was a doll. Echo lived in their building a couple floors down and had babysat their kids more than a couple times. 

Once she was out of sight, she concentrated on her speed according to the handlebar speedometer and focused on her Beastie Boys as she took the path around the edge of the Jackie O Reservoir. It was so beautiful, with duck families out in force, moms with their collections of babies trailing behind. The water made the air feel a bit cooler as the wind rushed over her skin as she progressed toward the Butterfly Garden. 

Next up on her list of gorgeous sights was the two guys in front of her that she’d dubbed Hotness 1 and Hotness 2. She passed them a few times on her rides, most mornings. Hotness 1 was tall like Donnie, but broader, with muscles upon muscles. He looked like an escapee from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, if Galatea had been 6’3” and blonde with cornflower blue eyes and an ass that would have reduced Michaelangelo to abject weeping. 

Hotness 2 wasn’t any easier on the libido, with his blue-grey peepers and long dark hair he kept in a bun at his neck to go with his panty-melting smile and muscles. His bangs broke free of their confinement framing his face as they drifted over his model-perfect cheekbones and brushed against his sharp jawline. Not that she’d been ogling. Much. 

Alone, they were the kind of flawless that caused traffic jams. Both of them together was an obscenity charge waiting to happen in their running shorts and sinfully well-fitting t-shirts, and more than one jogger—both male and female—had pulled up lame, run into a tree, or tripped over their own feet watching them go by.  

“On ya left!” she called as she approached them, smiling as they waved when she flew by. If she happened to be standing on the pedals and sticking her ass out a bit more than was strictly necessary, well, could anyone blame her? Really? Besides, their smiles and waves of acknowledgement were totally worth it.  

Just past The Loch was the Glen Span Arch, which always felt like a fairy garden to Echo. A stone bridge over the asphalt path with the stream running next to it and abundant trees, it was easy to imagine falling into a rabbit hole like Alice diving into Wonderland and never coming back. With the sun dappling through the leaves, it was here she felt like she was the only person in the world and life was perfect. 

At least it was, until a grizzly bear in a blue shirt and black shorts descended into her path from down the hill. Echo hit the brakes so hard the back tire came up off the path and ditched out on the bike to keep from hitting him. She went one way and flung the bike the other, doing her best to guard her face and head from what would likely be a hard hit.

“Fuckshit!” 

It was over in a second, she was in the creek, soaked to the bone on some very hard and unforgiving rocks that were currently poking into her ribs and hip, with no idea where her bike was. Or her sunglasses. Or phone. Taking inventory from toes upward, she was happy to report that for the most part, she’d likely sustained bruises but otherwise, she’d live. At least, until she tried to push herself up and her hand slipped on the wet rocks, sending her face first into the flowing water. 

“Ah Christ! Hold on!” a deep, unfamiliar male voice hissed as he hooked his hands under her arms and bodily lifted her from the stream. Literally picked her up like a discarded toy, and like she weighed just as little, cradling her to his surprisingly firm and muscular chest. “I got you, sweetheart.” If she wasn’t so busy reeling from the hit and sputtering from the water coming out of her sinuses, his warm, rumbling voice as he brushed his lips over her temple would have definitely done the job. “I gotchu, darlin’. Are you okay?”

“I think so?” Echo took a second to compose herself after he set her on her feet with his arm protectively around her waist, scrubbing a hand down her face to deal with the water and unfortunately blood coming from sore spots on the bridge of her nose and her chin. When she looked up from her bloody hand, she wondered exactly how hard she’d been hit in the head, because in front of her was the concerned face of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, looking her over like she was the most delicate bone china and he’d just yeeted it off the dining room table. He cupped her jaw in his hand, thumb gently brushing over her cheekbone, it was familiar and more than a little terrifying. Who the hell was this guy and why the hell was he touching her? 

At her tiny, horrified squeak, his blue eyes widened, looking over his shoulder at his friend, Hotness 2, who had a cell phone pressed to his ear. “This is your fault, ya jerk. You plannin’ on helpin’ or what?” 

The grey-eyed Adonis with the long dark hair held up a strangely metal-looking finger and spoke tersely into the phone before hanging up and coming over to them with a disgruntled look on his face for his friend. “Medics inbound. Settle down, Stevie.” The moment those steel-blue eyes turned on her, though, it could have been the sole cause of global warming because damn, if she didn’t melt a little on the spot from their tenderness. “I am so sorry, dollface. I didn’t see you. Are you okay?” 

When he reached for her face to examine her bloody chin, she recoiled out of reflex, not fear, but unfortunately that was the moment that everything went to shit for the second time in ten minutes. 

“NYPD! Step away from her!” Flack had his gun out and his badge around his neck, with Danny doing the same as he cautiously approached her with the rest of the heavily armed, sweaty contingent. Apparently Tall, Dark, and Yummy wasn’t moving fast enough because then Donnie barked, “Now, asshole! Move away from her or I’ll shoot.” 

Both hands up and out to the side, 2 stepped back, eyes never leaving the gun trained on him. “You don’t wanna do this, pal.” He seemed amusingly calm, which made about as much sense to her as any of the rest of this, which was none at all. Blondie slowly straightened up further but kept an arm around her waist to hold her up.

The very fact that the man spoke seemed to incense her friend further. “You think I give a fuck about your opinion?” 

“Hey, that’s not necessary…” The man standing with her gave her a reassuring squeeze before stepping over to stand with his friend. 

With them occupied, Danny crept up next to her and moved her off to the side, surrounded by the rest of the guys from Homicide and Evidence. “She’s secure, Flack.” 

“Good.” The detective nodded before turning his attention back to his quarry. “Now what the fuck were you doing feeling up an injured woman? You get off on that?”

Hotness 1 was all calmly defiant righteousness, standing shoulder to shoulder with his buddy. “We called a medic for her, they should be here in a couple minutes. We weren’t looking and didn’t see her on the path until it was too late.” 

“This true, Echo?” Danny asked softly as he gently seated her on a nearby boulder and seemed to be checking her over for more injuries than just her face and her pride.

She went to nod but that rattled her head too much. “Yeah, Messer. I guess. It was just a regular crash. My fault as much as theirs, really. No real harm done.” 

Frowning ferociously, Flack clearly was not content with her answer. “IDs, I want ‘em. Now.” 

Blondie nodded slowly, alarmingly unperturbed about having a .40 caliber pistol pointed at his face. “Front right pocket. You wanna get it or should I?”

“Don’t get us shot, Stevie,” the longhaired man admonished his friend. From his long-suffering expression, this was apparently not the first time this type of thing had happened to either of them. 

Rolling his eyes, Flack held out his hand. “Alright, smartass, wallets now.”

While the Homicide Hottie (as they called him in Dispatch) held court with her two new acquaintances, the ambulance rolled up and the medics  began cleaning her wounds and checking her over as her worried neighbor stood guard over her. The last thing she wanted or needed was stitches and additional facial scars, but it looked like she might not get a choice in the matter. 

“Messer! Get over here!” The note of concern in the detective’s voice had her looking over immediately, only to find all the guns put away and all their postures seemed substantially less aggressive, though no less agitated. 

“Ma’am, could you hold still please?” The female medic with the gentle hands turned her face so she could clean the wounds better. 

She didn’t know if it was the movement or what, but all of a sudden, she was going down, hard. The last thing she remembered was the ground rushing up to meet her. Again.

[kays-dream]

𝟎𝟒/𝟎𝟗/𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Sooo I'm currently on spring break and I feel like this is finally a good opportunity to break into a bunch of new good habits! Today I plan on setting some goals for myself and maybe telling you a bit about my day and stuff :)

I'll break this down into a couple sections...

𝙰𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕𝚜

During quarters 1-3 of the school year I was kind of out of it, I didn't really study or do much. I wasn't up to my own standards and I think that's because I didn't really set clear standards for myself. I feel if I start planning more and setting more goals I can have improved motivation and productivity that I've yet to experience. During this last quarter of the school year I want to actually be active in school and mentally, here's some goals I've set...

bring all my average grades up to at least A's (bio is killing me ;-;)

make quizlets for each class to prepare for finals !!

to start actively participating in class taking notes and finally raising my hand

to actually spend at least one day a week studying (a small start— but an impactful one :3)

𝙰𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕𝚜

I've never really been an athletic person until now. My whole life I was never forced into sports or anything, I always wanted my mom to do something like that, but she never did, and with that I just grew up kind of lazy. At the age of 11 I picked up gymnastics but then stopped due to the pandemic, I didn't really train or anything so I didn't improve till I started taking classes again, I've been taking classes for around 2 years straight now but only recently I actually started taking gymnastics seriously, I've realized that I could be just as good as the girls I long to be like if I'd only put in the work and effort.

I didn't really realize how much I liked sports up until a couple weeks ago when I impulsively joined my schools track team out of boredom, I'm lowkey one of the worst on the team, but from the bottom you can only move upwards! Now I really want to take my sports seriously, I'm on my gymnastics pre-competitive team and I'm thinking about committing to their bronze team this fall, but I need to actually put in effort now, and I really need to improve at track. Here's my current goals that I'm aiming for...

to start stretching everyday

to run a mile everyday till I can reach a 5 minute mile easily

to get a 15 second 100m dash (guys I'm slow ik...)

to vault 6ft on pole vault

to regain my lost skills on bars (after my last gymnastics comp I keep getting overly anxious before doing legit the easiest skills on bars)

to train my core more

𝙷𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚜

My mental states been pretty messy recently, but I've been contemplating what's factoring into it and I'm come to the conclusion that my habits need to improve, they've been negatively effecting me for too long, now it's time I implement good habits. I always procrastinate, I think but never do, my rooms a mess which ='s my brain being a mess. I need to get myself together by cleaning and starting new good habits, some of these habits include...

working out and stretching everyday (as mentioned before!)

making sure to do my skincare every morning and every night (recently I've finally invested in some new skincare products and this is really a helpful habit both physically and mentally for me)

cleaning my room and keeping it clean

having me time (whether it be reading a book or playing a lil video game by myself, I feel like as an extrovert I literally force myself to be around or on call with people 24/7 and I think I need to start having time to reflect and be just Kay for a minute)

𝚁𝚎𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚢

(my version)

I feel like my whole life I've been terrified of rejection, I've let it get a hold of me. Sometimes I miss out on really good things, since I'm too anxious of the possibility of an unhappy outcome. I think what really made me wanna start rejection therapy is that a week or so ago I applied for this really cool looking job at a creative workshop and got rejected due to my word choice and not diving deep enough into my experiences within the application, it really upset me. I finally put myself out there and I got rejected. Rejection is really scary, I've confessed to like 3 people and gotten rejected 2/3 times... I feel as though I need to prove to myself that rejection isn't that bad, if it's meant to be it'll be, and if it doesn't that is perfectly fine. To combat this fear and disappointment rejection gives me I'm going to put myself out there more. Who knows, maybe good will come out of this too :) I'm gonna start... (these aren't really 100% rejection but I think they'll help me be less scared of the possibility of rejection yk?)

applying for more jobs

signing up for more possible opportunities

entering more contests

trying to talk to more new people (I'm always terrified that they'll tell me to go away or that I'm annoying or something)

Anyways sorry for the yap fest!! I'll be updating on my goals every once in a while sooo stay tuned ig :)

[helix-enterprises117]

Red VS Blue Reloaded: First Day

Grif stood awkwardly before the weather-beaten, rust-streaked sign of the Red Team barracks, his newly issued orange armor glistening like a particularly conspicuous target under the unforgiving sun. It was his first day, and the blend of excitement and absolute terror churned in his stomach like cheap diner coffee. Military life, Grif had reasoned, would offer a clean break from his past—his very colorful, circus-filled past where his mom was the star attraction as the bearded lady. It wasn't that he didn't love the circus or his family, but Grif was gunning for a life where the word "normal" might at least semi-apply.

As he hesitated, debating whether to bolt or brave it, the barracks door flew open with a dramatic clang. Out strode a man whose armor was so intensely scarlet it could start a fight on its own. This had to be Sergeant Major Buck Daggerknife—better known as Sarge—a man whose reputation for both enthusiasm and a slight detachment from reality preceded him.

"Private Grif! Welcome to your new home, son! You’re just in time for the morning debrief. Hustle up now! We don’t mosey in Red Team, we move with purpose!" Sarge bellowed, a wide grin splitting his chiseled, square-jawed face.

"Yes, sir!" Grif replied, mustering every ounce of military gusto he didn’t feel. He lumbered in behind Sarge, his boots thudding ominously against the metal floor.Inside, the common room was a stark contrast to the bright outside—cool and shadowy, with a few haphazardly placed LED lights flickering like the last survivors at a bad disco. Clustered near an old, scarred table were a few team members, including one particularly flamboyant figure in cherry pink armor. This, Grif recalled, was Corporal Donut, whose reputation for both fierceness and fabulousness was legendary.

Sarge clapped his hands, drawing all eyes to him. "Listen up, team! We've got fresh meat—Private Grif here has joined our circus. Figuratively speaking, that is. Let’s make sure he knows what real teamwork looks like."

"Don’t worry, I left the real circus back home," Grif quipped, his attempt at humor falling flat as he scanned the room, catching a few smirks.

Donut stepped forward, his demeanor all business despite the playful sparkle in his eye. "Private Grif, we operate as a unit here. And as the best looking and most strategically minded member of Red Team, I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Simmons, sporting violet-red armor and a serious expression that contrasted with her youthful, freckled face, piped up from the corner. "Don’t mind Donut. Welcome to the team, Grif. Just remember, rule number one: always follow protocol. And rule number two: don’t annoy Sarge."

"Thanks, Simmons. Noted," Grif responded, his voice dry. He was quickly realizing that each member of Red Team was a character study in how to be uniquely bizarre.Sarge, seemingly pleased with the introductions, launched into a rundown of their upcoming training exercises. "We'll start with a light five-mile run in full gear, then move on to weapons training. If you survive that, lunch is at 1300 hours—where the real challenge begins. Donut's cooking."

The mention of lunch made Grif's stomach both growl and churn in dread. He wasn't sure which was more terrifying: the prospect of physical exertion or surviving whatever concoction Donut might whip up.

As the briefing wound down, Grif felt the initial nerves begin to settle. Sure, this place was different from the circus, but maybe that wasn’t so bad. After all, where else could you get shot at, potentially poisoned, and still find camaraderie? Only in the military, Grif supposed.

...

In the semi-darkness of their shared bunk room, Grif sprawled out like a starfish across his bed, while Simmons, perched on her own, was engaged in her nightly ritual of boot polishing. The meticulous care she gave her boots made Grif wonder if there was some kind of boot-shining badge of honor he wasn't aware of.

"Hey, Grif," Simmons began, setting her brush down with a precise thunk, her tone casual but clearly curious. "Everyone's got a story about how they ended up here. Spill it—what's yours?"

Grif propped himself up on his elbows, giving Simmons a grin. "Ah, you know, the usual tale of woe and regret—just kidding. I actually ran away from the circus. Yes, literally. My mom’s the bearded lady, famous across several star systems. Growing up, it was all high-wire acts and clown cars for me."

Simmons' eyes widened slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching. "A circus, really? Did you juggle fire or something equally reckless?"

Grif laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, I was the Gravball champ of our traveling troupe. Played in the mud and dust of whatever planet we were on. But eventually, I washed out, lost my mojo, and decided running off to the military was the next logical step."

"From circus star to army private. That's quite a transition," Simmons remarked, her tone mixing amusement with a hint of respect.

"Yep, figured I'd trade in the big top for the big guns. Wanted something a bit more... grounded, I guess," Grif said, stretching his arms behind his head.

"And how's that working out for you?" Simmons asked, a sly grin spreading across her face.

"It's definitely less... flamboyant," Grif conceded with a mock solemn nod. "Your turn, Simmons. What's the dramatic backstory that led you to the glamorous life of military discipline?"

Simmons resumed her boot polishing, the brush strokes rhythmic and soothing. "Oh, it's the textbook military brat story. Both parents served, grandparents too. I was practically born with a regulation handbook in my crib. For me, the army isn’t just about following orders—it’s about knowing exactly where you stand. Order, structure, predictability—all the things a circus isn't."

"Sounds like you were born for this," Grif mused, genuinely intrigued. "Ever wish for something... less predictable?"

"Sometimes," she admitted, pausing her brushing. "But then I remember I hate surprises. Here, I know what to expect. There’s comfort in that, even if it’s a comfort lined with live-fire drills."

"Fair enough," Grif said, nodding thoughtfully. "I suppose we're both running from something. Me, from chaos. You, from the fear of it."

Simmons chuckled, her earlier formality melting into a more relaxed demeanor. "Well, having a former circus performer as a bunkmate is certainly not in the handbook. Just promise me no clowning around during ops, okay?"

Grif gave a dramatic gasp. "Me? Clown around? Perish the thought! But if you ever need someone to juggle smoke grenades, I’m your guy."

"Deal. Just keep the juggling to non-explosives, at least while you’re in the bunk," Simmons replied, her voice light with laughter.

"Deal," Grif echoed, a warm sense of camaraderie weaving through their light-hearted banter, grounding him more firmly than he’d expected. In this unlikely place, perhaps he could find a new kind of family—one less adorned with sequins and sawdust, but no less vibrant.

[megidonitram]

Everyone's Running From Something

(ch. 5)

A Baldur's Gate 3 University Professor AU

Rating: M

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

💖Main Pairing : BloodWeave,(Astarion/Gale) 💕Side Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, Tav/Tav 💔Past Pairings: Gale/Mystra, Astarion/Sebastian, Astarion/Tav

<=Previous Chapter | Master List | Ao3 | Next Chapter =>

**Please see Master List Entry for Full Content Warnings**

⏰Chapter Warning⏰

Mentions of Child Abuse | Discussion of a Past Suicide Attempt | Implied Eating Disorder

The first day of class was overcast. Astarion woke up at 5:30 am and ran through his usual morning routine: make the bed, hot shower, work out- Mondays were endurance days: planks, crunches, lunges, and a 2-mile run-, cold shower, get dressed, morning coffee- one sugar, one stevia, no cream.

The mornings were when Astarion missed Lydia the most- not necessarily the banal domestic conversation, but the commotion of her in his house. Her inscrutable taste in music and the sound of her knocking around in the kitchen filled the void of silence in a far more alive way than the soft whisper-drone of NPR. It was also harder to fall back into old habits when someone else was there watching him.

His phone buzzed as he was finishing his coffee.

Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.

L: Hey, probably a stupid question.

Her name was still in his phone the way she’d saved it when they first met, as ‘Lydia 🖤😈’ and Astarion thought, as he did every time she reached out for something, that he should probably change that before the wrong person saw it.

L: Is there a purple and white cabochon earring lying around your bedroom somewhere? L: The last time I can remember wearing them I ended up at yours.

Astarion picked up his phone and typed a reply.

A: I know I have one of your earrings in my car cupholder.

A: I keep meaning to get it back to you. I’ll send it along with Wyll if you’d like.

She replied a few minutes later.

L: Absolutely do not do that. L: I’ll just run by your office L: God. L: You’re going to make the kids think I’m having an affair.

 Astarion read the text and put his phone down, intending to end the conversation, but then something clicked in his mind.

A: Hey. A: You worked at a DSS to put yourself through medical school, didn’t you?

L: ooOOOoo

L: You must REALLY need something if you’re willing to admit that sports medicine is real medicine😏😏😏

A: Answer the question, Silverwarden. L: I did. L: But I was an admin not a coordinator, so my knowledge is limited L: You might be better off talking to Isobel

L: She’s very nice! I can introduce you if you’ve never met! A: I’m an English professor, I’ve met the ADA coordinator. A: I need your discretion. A: Can you tell me why a student’s mental health deferment might get rejected? L: Is this about Xenia? L: It’ll be easier to explain if you call me.

Astarion checked his watch before he clicked on her contact information to call her. The phone rang a few times before she picked up. He heard a squawking toddler and the last snatch of her previous conversation: ‘…It’s just a student thing… Alright, see you tonight. I love you.’

“Hello, Mr. Goodman! Are you going to Vemo me a dollar, or shall I?” Lydia had an unhurried lilting voice, with a touch of a southern accent that made her swallow her ‘o’s and ‘t’s.

“What?”

“It’s a- never mind!” she huffed. “Have you consumed a single piece of media produced in this century? You fucking crypt keeper.”

 “Sometimes I have to review Jenevelle’s assigned reading choices for appropriateness.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He could tell she was nodding the way she did when he missed her point. “‘And so I Anal Douche While Kesha’s ‘Praying’ Plays From My iPhone on Repeat,’ I remember. She scandalized half the football team with that one.”

“The American Football team could stand to get scandalized more,” Astarion replied. “How are your little brats doing?”

As if on cue, there was another toddler squeal in the background. “Ruby took her first steps last fall, and Clem’s learning how to crawl exceptionally early, but I suspect you don’t actually care.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. “Why would the DSS reject Xenia’s deferment?”

“So that’s the thing: They wouldn’t. The DSS covers ADA accommodations for students with documented disabilities; a sudden injury would not be under their purview,” Lydia explained, putting on her lecture voice. “The decision to defer a student’s financial aid awards would go to the university’s finance board—I think? It may go to the board of directors.”

“That’s not what Raphael told me.” Astarion pressed his tongue against his canine until it started to sting.

“I know you're not going to like to hear this, but Raphael may genuinely not know,” and she was quite right; Astraion was going to be pissed if he found out he'd been bluffed into his current predicament. “Disability services is an incredibly complex field- both necessarily and unnecessarily so. It’s still pretty unusual for a student’s medical deferment to get rejected… Can I ask what your interest in this is?”

“I’ve found a channel to contest the decision, but I want to make sure it’s at least a somewhat viable option before I drag Xenia into more bureaucracy.”

“hmm… I knew you two would get along.” Lydia replied, quite satisfied with herself. “You have a very similar energy.”

Astarion sighed. He knew someone had referred Xenia to his sophomore survey class last semester; he'd just never figured out who. “I suppose we both have that ‘father used to beat me’ twinkle in our eyes.”

“Don’t put those words in my mouth!” Lydia exclaimed. “I meant you both have a similar…” She groped for the right words, “…surviverly quality about yourselves.”

“Will to survive?” Astarion corrected her.

“Whatever!” She snapped.

“Do you know why Xenia might have been rejected?”

“Speculatively?” Lydia asked.

“No, I’m asking you to read someone’s mind.” Astarion quipped.

“I answered your call in front of my husband for this, you know?”

Astarion sighed again. “If he’s not comfortable with you talking to your exes, he probably should not have married someone who fucked their coworker.”

“Do you want my help, or did you call me just to snipe?”

“Fine��� please speculate. Why would someone’s medical deferment be rejected?”

“Well, if I had to guess… Xenia was sort of a high-profile get for the university. And given her history, I think it’s pretty safe to say that incident-” she paused as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say the next part. “-I think that incident last fall was probably a suicide attempt.”

There was a beat of grim silence. When the news came down, everyone had made that assumption, but no one was brave enough to put words to the thought.

Astarion hummed in acknowledgment. “So, you think the school rejected her medical deferment over bad publicity?”

“I think it would turn into a massive media circus if that got out, yes,” Lydia replied. “They may be trying to push her into dropping out.”

“Do you think it’s worth it to challenge?” Astarion asked.

“I don’t know,” Lydia sighed. “At the very least, it would probably be good to have as a precedent if she ends up having to sue the school… You could always just ask her what she wants to do. Poor kid might be too tired for all of this.” 

“Fair.” Astarion pondered her words for a moment.

“Can I help you with anything else?” She asked.

“That’s all for now,” Astarion replied. “…Thank you, by the way. You don’t have to stick your neck out for me anymore, you know?”

“I know,” Lydia replied. “I did this because I wanted to. You’re still my friend -despite everything, I care about you.”

She hung up. Astarion’s phone screen went black. The house was silent again.

***

Gale got stuck in horrible traffic on his first day and ended up arriving 30 minutes late for his morning office hours. He skipped past dropping his lunch off in the breakroom fridge and rushed straight to the office, absolutely mortified that he was so late for his first proper day of class. He was so frazzled he had to double back to grab his coffee from the car.

It wasn’t like there would be anyone there waiting on him- a grand total of one student who knew who he was-, but it certainly made a bad impression to show up late on the first day of class.

Astarion was both bemused and incredibly entertained as he watched Gale flit around their office like a very flustered tornado, trying to cram one hour of planning into the thirty minutes he had remaining.

“You’re going to be fine.” Astarion had assured him. “It’s syllabus week, no one’s expecting Judith Buttler.”

Gale still left for his class 10 minutes early -just in case his classroom had teleported to a different dimension since he last visited it. It hadn’t. It turned out the room was exactly where he’d left it at the end of a strange little corridor in the library, and in fact, there were already two students waiting for him.

Xenia sat near the back of the classroom, wearing the facial expression of a kitten that was being petted too hard, as a pinch-faced, red-headed young woman combed her fingers through the knots in her hair.

“I can’t believe you’re not embarrassed to go out in public looking like this.” The pinch-faced woman scolded.

“It’s ha-ard to brush my hair with my non-dominant hand…” Xenia’s eyes bulged out of her head as the woman pulled her fingers through a particularly difficult knot.

“Chk. I’ll put it in a braid then, so you aren’t struggling to brush it.”  She started dividing Xenia’s dark hair into sections no more gently than she’d detangled it.

“Hello Xenia, It’s good to see you again. How are you doing?” Gale asked as he set his satchel down behind the podium.

“Oh, I’ve been worse… I’ve also been better- Lae’zel, that hurts!”  She squealed as the pinched-faced woman, Lae’zel apparently, tugged the braid tight.

“Then sit still so it will end faster.” Lae’zel scolded her. “I have younger siblings that squirm less than you, and they’re still in diapers.”

“I guess you’ll have to work on instilling more terror in my heart then,” Xenia replied. She gripped the edges of her desk with white knuckles as Lae’zel wrenched her head back.

Lae’zel hummed as if that was a legitimate suggestion. “Yes, I think we would have a much stronger working relationship if you feared me just a little more…”

Lae’zel finally let go of Xenia, who let out a breath like she’d narrowly avoided being hit by a bus as she pulled a few face-framing pieces from the clutches of her new French braid. Lae'zel turned her sights on Gale- though he desperately hoped it wasn't because she was planning on braiding his hair, too. “You must be the new English adjunct.”

“Yes, I’m Dr. Dekarios!” Gale replied. “You must be Lae’zel? The athletic director speaks very highly of you.”

“As he should.” Lae’zel nodded like he’d just given her the correct answer in an oral exam. “You should know that I designed to take this course this semester because I thought it would be taught by Dr. Ancunín rather than Dr. Shadowheart. I will be quite displeased with you if your teaching methods are as frivolous and unstructured as Shadowheart’s.”

Xenia’s eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a silent ‘Oh’ sound as she looked back and forth between Gale and Lae’zel.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching Dr. Shadowheart teach, so I don't know how our teaching methods compare, but I will not deign to be frivolous or unstructured.” Gale laughed nervously.

“I think she is perfectly competent as a professor of literature, but she does quite poorly with the more structured elements of the genera. Dr. Ancunín does not fare much better, but he is preferable to Shadowheart.” Lae’zel explained as if Gale had genuinely asked her option. “You should know that thus far, you have not made a positive impression on me… you were quite late posting the syllabus.”

“My apologies, Lae’zel,” Gale replied, hand on heart. “I got let into my faculty account one week before the semester began.”

“Hm, yes.” Lae’zel considered his response. “This school does have abysmal technical support, so I shall let it slide this time.”

By that time, a few more students had filed in, and it was about time for class to start- or Gale was desperate not to hear any more unsolicited criticism of his colleagues. Astarion was right. The class went perfectly fine. He explained the structure of the course, and had everyone introduce themselves and state their major (he found out Xenia was there because she was a phycology major), before he explained the purpose of taking an upper level grammar and style.

“The purpose of learning advanced grammar is not to improve your everyday language… If the person you are talking to understands what you are saying, then there is nothing wrong with your grammar… Language should evolve to fit the speaker, the speaker should not evolve to fit the language… However, if you are going into a field like law or communication where you’ll be expected to use very precise language…”

It went by in a flash, and Gale could hardly remember if he got everything that he needed to into the lecture by the time class ended, but if anyone was unclear about anything, they didn’t let him know at the moment. He barely registers Xenia darting out of the room before he finishes saying, “Have a nice rest of your day.” A few people lingered to give him the heads up about things in their personal lives that might interfere with class, and one student wanted to know if he’d receive their letter of accommodation, but before long, there was a small congregation of people forming at the door waiting for Gale to leave so the next class can take over the space.

He walked back to his office with a spring in his step. He didn’t even mind that much when it started to pour rain, and he realized he had forgotten his umbrella in the car.

***

It wasn’t much dryer in the humanities building. Gale dodged around liner-less trash bins set up under bulging ceiling tiles dotting the hallway. In the break room, Karlach was holding a bookcase steady so Shadowheart could climb on top of it.

Gale paused and walked back to the breakroom to make sure he saw that right.

He did.

“Do you… need help with something?” he asked sheepishly.

“Nope, I think we’ve got it!” Karlach replied, ducking out of the way of one of Shadowheart’s heels. “Water pools in AC vents when it rains, so we have to bang on them a couple of times to make sure it doesn’t collapse.”

“O-oh?” Gale looked up and realized one of the panels of the overhead duct was swelling dangerously. “Shouldn’t we put in a work order?”

“Be my guest,” Shadowheart said. She precariously balanced on her knees, and Gale held his breath as the bookshelf wobbled underneath her. “But maintenance won’t get to it before the break room floods.”

She reached up and banged on the ductwork above her head, and the vent in the middle of the room started dribbling yellowish-brown water. Suddenly, there was a strange gurgling noise, then a thunk! as the panel popped back into proper shape.

“Great work, Jen!” Karlach whooped, holding out a hand to help Shadowheart jump down. They high-fived, and Shadowheart went about smoothing out her clothes, grumbling under her breath when she realized there was a massive run in her tights.

“This kind of thing happen often?” Gale asked.

“Only when it rains!” Karlach chirped. She checked her watch and immediately started towards the door. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to get to my day job.” She gave Gale a friendly pat on the shoulder as she passed him. “If the vents start to flood again, it’s your and fancy pants’ turn to fix it!”

“I don’t know if that bookshelf will support either of our weights…” Gale balked.

“Not with that attitude, soldier!” Karlach called as the stairwell door swung closed behind her.

“You can poke it with a handle broom until it corrects; it just takes longer,” Shadowheart assured him. “I’ve got to go switch tights before I get to my next class. I don’t know if you’ve had the displeasure of meeting her yet, but God forbid Lae’zel catches me with a run in my pantyhose.”

“Oh, so she does talk like that to your face then?” Gale replied. “I didn’t know if I should-”

“Talks like what- never mind, don’t tell me!” Shadowheart huffed. “I swear, after everything I’ve done for that girl- I’ll talk to you later!” She turned on her heels and followed Karlach up the stairs.

Gale sighed in relief, ready to hold up in his office for a little while. He reached into the front pocket of his satchel for his keys only to find it empty. Cursing under his breath, he thumbed through the things in the main pocket, hoping he’d accidentally mixed them in with everything else- nothing. Finally, he pulled out his phone only to find a series of texts from Astarion.

A: You left your keys.

Then, a little while later.

A: I’m going to be out of office when you get back. A: Ask Mizora on the second floor for the spare key, good luck.

[mistressweems]

Tattoos & Bruises

Chapter 3

Notes: Brain has been a little tired lately. So, this one is a little shorter than the previous two.

“Please come in.” her dulcet voice had shivers shooting up your spine. Soft and soothing yet authoritarian all at the same time. Your hand pausing on the handle. Has it always sounded that why? Walking in you can’t but pause when looking at the woman before you. Her perfectly pinned up style, her colbat blue eyes watching you carefully as you slowly walked towards her desk. Arms folded on her desk; her beautiful red lips pressed finely together. Her features had always been nothing less than absolutely remarkable. Yet suddenly the Junoesque beauty had you nervous and overly aware of how captivating she is.

Your heart was already racing as you heard the knock on the door. The idea of her coming to see you made you anxious after that last evening. Her stubbornness and unwillingness to see where she was going wrong was beyond frustrating, then to go rushing you out as if the matter at hand was not important. While she was a great addition to the Academy and its sport division, all she had done so far was create your blood pressure to rise, and it only got worse as she walked in. She hadn’t said a single word and your frustrations were growing. Hoping that the young woman is not here to cause any more problems. You cant help but take her figure in. Always in black, her clothes hugged her body as if it was a part of her skin. You have never seen her wearing glasses before... why has something so simple made you feel so weak? You knew it was no way to be thinking about her, not only was she a staff member, but she was so much younger than you. Yet seeing her again had your mind running a hundred miles an hour. You wanted to her your name come from those pretty pink lips, you want those pale inked legs wrapped around you. You wanted to own every inch of her.

“I won’t take up much of your time Principal Weems, I know how busy you are” You place your proposal on her desk, you stay standing, wanting this all be over with as quickly as possible. “I wish to take my students away on a team building trip, all the details are in there, where we would be staying, what we would be doing, how long we would be gone for and all the costs. If you could please look it over and let me know. I would have to go a week ahead of the students to get everything ready for their training and team building. So…I’ll just leave that with you and wait to hear what you think.” Bowing you turning on your heels and head for the door.

“I have not dismissed you Coach Ives, sit down please.” You swallow hard at her command as you turn to do as you are told. Sitting down you watch her face, never looking up at you, her right brow is arched but there is what seems to be a slight smirk on her beautiful red lips. Your bit your bottom lip at the thought. Cursing yourself for letting the images slowly back into your mind once again. The only sound is pages turning as she reads through your proposal. It was if she was doing it all on purpose.

“I will have letters sent out to the parents of your students. I think this is a fabulous plan for your swimming team. You can however order another cabin as I will be joining you, from week 1. We travel together the morning of, just seems like the sensible thing to do” She finally looks at up and glares at you. Your heart pounding, you were pretty sure she could hear it.

The longer she stared the more nervous you got, your mouth went dry, and you found yourself avoiding her eyes and staring down at your lap. You rise slowly, giving another bow “I will make the arrangements Principal Weems.” Giving her a slight bow, you turn on your heels and head out. Once outside her office you let out what seemed to be the first breath since entering. Hanging your head, you head to your room. “Well Satine, you are screwed now.”

Why was she so nervous? She has never been nervous around you before. She even avoided eye contact with you, another thing that has never happened between you and the young Coach. But seeing her nervous and the way she bit her lip, you thought you were going to go insane. You are pretty sure you saw her cheeks turn a light shade of red. A week alone with her is just what is called for, a perfect to time to learn everything about this little creature you have hired. A week to find out what makes her tick but most importantly, to try and figure out why the redhead has had you so captivated and intrigued by her since her first interview.

---------

It was 4am when your alarm went off. It had been two weeks since Principal Weems had approved your trip. A trip she is now joining. You had packed your bags the evening before, you had sent her mail just after midnight:

Dear Principal Weems,

I have decided to get ahead start on the day and will be leaving a little earlier. I apologise for the last minute change, but I would like to make sure everything is in order and still get in my own morning training.

I will meet up with you a little later in the morning once you arrive.

Safe travels.

Regards,

Coach S. Ives

Hesitating at first, she was already not overly impressed with you. Once she sees this mail, you knew you where either going to be on thin ice, or you would be handing yourself the noose that she will hang with you with. Either way you would not be able to sit in the same car as her for 3 hours. Your mind would not be able to take it. Taking a deep breath, you hit the send and shut your laptop. No going back now.

You had your car packed and loaded and you were on your way by 4:30am. How were you going to spend a week alone with her? You rub the one sides of your temples and sigh. Having the abilities that you have could be more of a burden than anything else really. To be an empath was one thing… but you came with a bit of a twist… you also had the ability if precognition. Not only do you get you feel what others are feeling, you can see the possibilities of the future.

Your thoughts get broken by the sound of your phone ringing. Your grimace as you already know who is going to be on the other end of that call, and you know that she is not going to be happy either. You decide to ignore the call, it’s a problem that can be delt with later.

Your rest your elbow on the car door and your head on your knuckles. Watching the road ahead you smile slightly as you see your destination up ahead.

You know what she wanted… you could feel it when you were near her, you had seen it as well. That night she came to your apartment, the visions flooded you, each and every possibility that the future holds. The images flashed before your eyes… your hands bound, her hands running over you… her making you beg. While each precognition was similar, none of them currently showed an end, they showed greatness, but they also showed tears. But not one showed a way of avoiding this. If this was meant to happen, no matter what you tried, then why fight it?

You pull over, your face in your hands. You can’t let this happen. You can’t let her know that her feelings are right. Principal Weems can’t be the dominate that you have always hoped for. This is not a situation that you needed in your life. This is your job; it is your boss. You have been down this road before and look where you ended up, broken and abused. You promised yourself never again, that you will never let someone else in, no one can know your past, no one would love you because of your past. Coming out to Jericho was to get away from it all, from the hurt and from the pain. No matter what happens, you will need to keep your distance from Larissa Weems.

You were up early; bags already packed the night before. But you wanted get a few things done for the staff for the week coming up before you and the coach set off. Checking the time, you settle at your desk with your morning coffee. You had an hour before meeting the Coach at the car at 6am. Scanning to see if there are any important mails you find one that catches your eye. Opening it you can’t help but groan. She had already left. This was proving to be more challenging than even you liked. You have bitten your tongue regarding her students and name changing, you have let her eat on her own. Meetings she attended more of, still not enough but it was a start. But this, is was now pushing you to your limits. While she was most fascinating, the day those combat boots stepped through your doors, you knew she was going to be a different kind of trouble for you. It was time for the dark creature to learn her place in your school.

By 6am you were on the road. The more you thought of the email and the Coach the more your temper grew. You have never had a staff member like this in all your years, you were certainly not going to let it happen now. It would seem that the Coach needs training of her own, and you were very ready to start her lessons.

Chapter 4

PS.... Do I need to start a tag list?

[affinitystoryblog]

🐾 or ✏️ for the oc questions! :) either is fine I just like hearing about oc’s pets and side characters!

🐾 - Pets

so technically three of our main and/or main supporting have pets!

agitha has princess pootie, whom she's had since she was a sophomore in high school.

csilla has her cat rosemary, whom she's had since she was 11 and csilla is suuuper attached to her. thats her best buddy, her lil girl, her other half so to speak. she rly does see her cat as a soul mate

heather has her big ol dog Musa, who is still pretty young, her family adopted him her junior year. but he's a big ol teddy bear. she'll often take him out for her morning jog after breakfast. in the winter time, since heather usually rises by 5 to 6 am every day (definitely a morning person) she and musa will watch the sunrise after their run

and then the last one is a little different than just a pet for her, but urania and miko! she doesnt rly see him as a pet companion, but more of a friend. not to undermine any of the relationships my other girls have with their companions, esepcially csilla and aggie, but urania's bond with miko is one of equal ground. he is just as valuable and integral to everyone in the group as the rest of them.

✏️ - Classmates

so! i dont have a lot of classmates outside of our main cast designed or thought of too much yet, i definitely need a filler chapter after all the back to back plot stuff for 5 chapters. but i havent even finished chapter 5 yet so...(theres a lot of deep story lore stuff i have to work out before i can rly continue with the current plot because so much is gonna have to be interweaved...but im rambling)

so i do have the student council, which i have talked about before. agitha and csilla are also on the student council, but csilla is new

so in the student council, which are agitha's active friend group (excluding dimitri since he is a freshman newly recruited to the student council but he does fit his way in)

Dimitri - daren't genius little brother! he's very arrogant, but tbh he can back it up. big ego by beyonce definitely. and tbh, agitha does not help because she's also pretty arrogant but knows when to humble herself relatively well in certain situations.

Yumi - the baby of the group, she's very intelligent at the top of her class and she is a prodigy pianist. she has scholarships going for her by the mile. sweet girl, yet a little prissy. girls girl kinda vibe, she and james are constantly bickering. lowkey i kinda ship her and alex for no reason in particular...but i want them to have a sort of unspoken exclusiveness with each other...theyre not pursuing each other, but if they were to be with anyone else??? thatd be a betrayal because they are definitely Talking. ill get more into that in alex's bio

Alex - sarcastic and snarky, mouth of a sailor, yet excels in all of her classes and has a the mindset of "if i go out, just know im going out talking shit." her and james are also bickering...basically james is bickering with everyone he's kind of a bitch lol. anyway, she's also got this very "cool" vibe about her, lots of girls in the school like her.

James - he is sassy, prissy, posh, arrogant, and just generally a pain in the ass. but also he is willing to stand up for you if you can't speak for yourself, he likes to tease and gossip with his friends, he is willing to give you the shirt off his back if he sees you have nothing. he may be say a snide feisty comment about how of course you wouldnt have made it if i hadn't come along, but its all out of pride. he is a genius in his own right, good at sports, and comes from a wealthy family.

there were some other side characters i started thinking about for daren and sinie's art club, but i only ended up designing two characters before i kinda left this one by the wayside

SO SIDENOTE: rea's name is actually supposed to be Rae but im fucking illiterate.

Rae - a very good artist for her age, she has a good concept of color theory and anatomy and her concepts are so creative and unique. she is, however, very humble, sweet, and such a positive beam of sunshine. she and sinie get along very well.

Emerald - so, im ngl i dont remember what my inital idea was for her, but based on her posture she was maybe some sort of classy black girl magic kinda girl...if i were to build on this character i would say she is very girly pop, feminist, and specializes in pop art.

oc background relationship asks