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kvmitchell · 5 months ago

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one more afternoon / jake "hangman" seresin x reader

summary: your brother's best friend pays a visit to his texas hometown, and in spite of your resolution to get over your (slightly embarrassing) childhood unrequited crush, you can't help but admit that you're still down bad for jake seresin.

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, oblivious reader can't take a hint

word count: 14k (you told me not to apologize for long fics, so here it is, i present it without apology!)

author’s note: hello, all! i wanted to have this out by thanksgiving, but i got hit with a stomach flu and then with a regular flu, so it took me this long to finish it. i hope the wait was worth it 🫶 the title is taken from a song by maggie rogers. as promised, the next one will be a short (i mean it this time!) and spicy holiday-themed one for all the tyler owens lovers 💓 thank you so much for voting in the poll that got this baby written.

“Did you hear the big news?” Your dad bustled into the shop with his arms full of greenery, grunting as he set the bundles wrapped in newspaper into a bucket. At the counter, your mom paused her accounting and fixed your dad an eager stare. She loved news. “Jake’s coming home for the wedding!” he announced. He brushed his hands off while yours fumbled over the order forms. A few slipped out of sequence and fluttered down to the floor. You bent to pick them up, hearing your mom’s sigh of delight.

“Oh, that's wonderful news! Dinah will be so pleased, and Amanda, too. She was worried Jake wouldn't manage to get leave. You know how much she adores him.”

“Well, she's not the only one. Mike’s ready to throw a whole goshdarn parade in his honor.” The forms retrieved, you busied yourself with putting them back in order. Your dad laughed. “I haven’t seen the kid that excited since the day Gilly was born.”

“Ow!” You stuck your finger in your mouth, the taste of blood making you wince.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” your mom asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just… paper cut.”

She came to your end of the counter. Taking your finger in her hands, she moved it this way and that, squinting at it through her glasses before she dropped a kiss on your head. “Mm, I think you’ll live.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis.”

“Don’t sass me!” she joked. “I’ll call Mike. Maybe we can all throw Jake a nice big barbecue, spend some time together like the old days.”

“He’ll probably be busy with wedding stuff,” you pointed out, mumbling around your finger.

She shot you a look that said spoilsport. “I know Jake, he’ll make the time. Besides, he’ll be walking with you at the wedding, won’t he?” Mom must have taken the shock of surprise for disappointment, because she smacked a hand against her forehead and said, “Oh, sorry! Me and my big mouth!”

It took you a moment to realize she wasn't talking about Jake.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, making a half-hearted attempt to sort through the forms again. Your parents looked at you skeptically. “I’m fine! Josh and I are practically ancient history.”

Dad, bless him, took your word for it, or at least pretended to. He picked up the bucket of sage bundles and took it into the back, but your mom hovered, stroking your shoulder, cloyingly sympathetic. It was clear she wanted to say something but was afraid of how you’d react. Knowing her, she’d give you that hangdog expression all day until you gave her permission to spill the beans, so you gave a deep sigh and turned to her with a look that said, “Alright, let’s have it.”

“I heard he’s bringing Mia to the wedding,” she blurted out. “Amanda was livid. She said she would disinvite him if you wanted—”

“Mom, I hope you told her that wouldn't be necessary.”

“Of course I did! But she said it was a standing offer.”

Oh, bother… Amanda was a sweetheart, if not a little overeager. As much as you appreciated everyone’s tact, it was also part of the reason why you still felt some awkwardness when you thought about Josh. Any time your friends or family brought up your ex, they looked at you like they were expecting you to fall to pieces, especially after word started going around that he had moved on to someone else. No matter how many times you insisted that they could refer to him normally and not as “him” or “you-know-who,” they thought you were being a brave martyr about it, pretending to take it better than you were for the sake of maturity.

“It’s not like that,” you explained for the thousandth time. “Josh and I are fine. And Mia…” Okay, so part of you did want to bash her over the head with a waffle iron. Still… “Nothing untoward happened. We were already broken up when they got together.”

“Well yeah, but after only a month,” your mom scoffed. “That’s hardly enough time to get over a six-year relationship.”

You shrugged. “Maybe some things are meant to be, and some… aren’t.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged you from behind. You grimaced as she squeezed you tight and made cooing sounds. “You don’t have to be so civil about it. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I know, Mom, thanks.” You patted her hand.

“Anytime.” You thought that would be the end of embarrassing conversations you didn't want to have, until she clapped her hands and said, “Look on the bright side - it’ll be good to see Jake again! For him to meet the baby - and won’t the wedding pictures be just darling? He’s so handsome! I know you’ll look just fabulous together…”

It was as much cliché as it was ancient history. Jake Seresin - tall, tan, broad-shouldered, with a thousand-watt grin and a starring place on the high school football team - had been your crush since the moment you realized boys were more than just smelly, disgusting nuisances. Hell, you'd liked him even before the letterman jacket, around the time of his first growth spurt, when he’d come back from a summer visiting his aunt and uncle in California. From the porch steps, you'd seen him running into the yard to throw ball with your older brother, Mike, and your stomach had flopped and then flipped, and then flopped again. Looking back, Jake - a mere mortal - had an awkward phase just like everyone else, but you didn't see it at the time. To you, he was the dreamiest guy since you wore out your family’s Titanic VHS trying to feed your preteen fantasies of being Rose romanced by DiCaprio (before the ship went down).

Anyway, Jake’s awkward phase didn't last long. By the time he was a sophomore, he was playing on the junior varsity team along with Mike. Your sports-mad, overly enthusiastic dad gave them his blessing to turn the barn into their own personal gym, and while you complained about the unfairness of the world and the preferential treatment given to male athletes, you did find excuses to “run errands” and “pass through” so you could see Jake, shirtless, glistening with sweat. It didn't take long for Mike to notice. As a preteen, you weren’t exactly known for your finesse. While, in your opinion, you were doing nothing more than offering the boys a little lemonade - like Mom asked you to do - Mike would go back to the house for dinner and declare for all and sundry that he’d “appreciate it if you didn't salivate all over Jake like a peeping tom.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do!”

“Mom, I swear it's not true! He’s making it up. You’re making it up, you buttface! You just don't want me hanging around—”

“Why would I want you hanging around? We’re training! You’re a kid, you're a safety risk!”

“Mooooom!” you wailed.

“Honestly, Mike, don't call your sister a safety risk. You're hardly grown yourself.”

“She called me a buttface!”

“That’s true. Sweetie, don't call your brother a buttface at the table, it's not polite.”

“Fine. I’ll call him a buttface later, like he deserves.”

No further comment was made about your crush on Jake on that occasion, but over the years it became your brother’s weapon of choice when he wanted to knock you down a peg, and “I’ll tell Jake you have a big fat crush on him” was a surefire way to get you to do whatever he wanted.

Once, you went down for a glass of water after you were supposed to be in bed and came upon Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.

“—it’s a harmless little crush,” you heard her say. “We all had them at that age.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don't. She’s your daughter and you're finally working out that she's not going to be a little girl forever.” There was a pause. “You don't have to worry, Stan, I’ve given her The Talk.”

Ew, gross, ew! You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you remembered The Talk and you didn't want to have it ever again!

Your face heated as you knelt on the stairs. Hearing about The Talk in relation to you and Jake made you think about the stuff you’d seen at your friend Tessa’s house on the TV one night during a sleepover. You had stared at the screen, titillated and kind of horrified at what the actors were doing, the way their bodies moved and the sounds they made. Once the scene was over, you turned to each other and burst into nervous giggles, knowing your parents would blow a gasket if they knew what you’d seen. Not that you understood it. You knew how babies were made, but you didn’t understand what sex was supposed to be.

And your dad was worried about you having it? With Jake?

“He’s a good kid,” your mom gentled. “He knows she's too young for him - I’m not even sure he's aware that she likes him. Even if he is, he treats her like Mike’s kid sister. She’ll grow out of it.”

“If you say so, hon. But God as my witness—”

“She’s gonna have a boyfriend at some point.”

“When she’s eighteen,” your dad declared, “and not a moment sooner!”

You padded back to your room. It wasn’t news, but hearing that Jake thought of you as a kid dealt a heavy blow to your self-esteem. From then on, you resolved to play your cards closer to the chest - you might not be able to help the way he made you feel like your insides had turned to melted goo, but no one else had to talk about it behind your back like you had some sort of disease.

Unfortunately, playing it cool was one of the hardest things you had to do during high school. As it turned out, Jake and Mike were actually pretty good at the whole football thing. Around the time they made varsity, you zeroed in on the fact that girls found their athletic prowess to be sexually irresistible; they were crazy about them - and crazy about Jake in particular.

You watched as he winked and blew kisses at a train of girlfriends while he was out on the field. He leaned against their lockers, turning the charm up to eleven and brushing strands away from their cheeks, saying things like, “Pick you up at six?”

When he got his first truck - a beat-up old Chevy that he bought off Don Amberley by working shifts at the hardware store - you’d peer around your curtains at the sound of his horn. Sometimes Mike would take a while to leave the house, and Jake would turn his head to kiss the pretty girls in his front seat as a way to pass the time. The shy ones laughed, warding him off with a light push against his chest, while the bold ones closed their nails around his shirt and pulled him even closer, all but straddling his lap. You watched with bated breath as he put his hands on them, green with envy, wondering what it would be like to have his attention, not as his best friend’s little sister but as an actual girl.

Your suffering lasted a whole calendar year, after which Jake went off to college, then joined the Navy, and while time made you realize that you needed to move on with your life and stop making up scenarios about a white picket fence and two-point-five children, you never forgot about Jake, who in your mind - and despite your best efforts - remained the measure to which you compared every other guy.

It wasn't just his ridiculously handsome good looks, though having the body of a Greek god and a smile that made your toes curl didn't hurt. He had helped you when you’d scraped your knee roller-blading, letting you lean on his shoulder and fetching the bandages from the downstairs powder room; he joined your mom in the kitchen to do the washing-up when he stayed over for dinner, saying, “ma’am, I insist,” which earned him funny looks from Mike, but it never swayed him into doing things differently. You liked that he’d earned his first truck, got good grades, was a loyal friend. To you, Jake Seresin was the full package and then some - what more could anyone want? And while you had long accepted that he would make another woman very happy someday, the way in which your family teased you about your “little childhood crush” never failed to put your stomach all in knots. There was nothing little about it. In fact, it had now lasted well into adulthood and you had a feeling it would never fully go away.

Dad was right. Michael insisted on being part of the airport welcome wagon, cringey sign and all. He even stuck Gilly in an adorable pilot’s costume. Your sister-in-law sent you looks the entire way and, like a saint, restrained herself by only once making a comment about “your brother’s true wife.”

You sat in the backseat, trying to will yourself into being less nervous. Maybe it was your guilty conscience; for some reason, you kept thinking about all the times you’d imagined him in bed, or in the place of one of your boyfriends when you were doing couple-things. Be cool, be cool, you kept telling yourself.

By the time you parked at the airport, you thought your poker face was pretty flawless. After helping Julie wrestle the baby things into the stroller, you made your way through the chaotic mass of people coming and going through the Barbara Jordan terminal. The weather was good. Jake had texted your brother to say that he’d landed safely and was waiting to deplane, and Mike, vibrating with excitement, was trying to stake out a place in the Arrivals hall that would show his dorky Welcome Home, Hangman! sign in optimal light. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing to be seen with him. You kept apologizing to the people he elbowed out of the way, as if to say, “Move aside, I was here first, bud!” But it did strengthen your resolve to be chill because at least one of you had to be.

Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the line of passengers spilling into the hall. Like something out of a romcom, Jake Seresin spotted Mike standing in the crowd, dropped his duffle bag, and came bounding into his arms. They talked over each other between laughter and bro-y exchanges, while Julie snorted through her nose and even Gilly sputtered and snuffled. You could take the boy out of Texas, it seemed… but back home he was still sixteen around friends.

Jake turned to you and smiled. “Hey, Cabbage.”

“Please, don’t,” you said, feeling awkward about the old nickname.

“Come here, bring it in.” He held out his arms, grinning, and there was no conceivable reason why you’d say no, so you steadied your nerves and stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around you. He smelled just as good as you remembered him - better, even, because a memory could never be as good as the real thing.

“You’re so stiff!” Jake pointed out, squeezing you tighter.

“No, I’m not.”

“What am I, your creepy uncle?” He looked down at you, then over your shoulder and spotted the baby in Julie’s arms.

His smile lit up his whole face and you felt your heart twist against your ribcage. You let out a breath when he let you go, trying not to fixate on the way his hand brushed against your shoulder as he did so, a slide that seemed to linger.

Fondness - that was all it was, you told yourself. He’d known you all your life and he was fond of you.

He turned his attention now to your little niece.With something like awe, he said, “Michael, you old bastard…” Then, “Sorry, little lady - you must be Gilly! Hi! Hi there, it’s your Uncle Jake! Your not-at-all-creepy Uncle Jake…”

“Nice one,” you threw back.

He grinned wider, saying, “Julie, how are you?”

“About as well as can be expected with a teething baby.”

“Well, you look great.”

“Liar,” Julie replied, but his comment made her stand a little straighter.

He let Gilly grip his finger in an attempt at a handshake. Being a sucker for attention, she wiggled her body in her mother’s grasp and held her arms out to the smiley stranger, wanting to be carried. Jake was thrilled. He bounced her in his arms the entire way to the car, asking about the wedding, his parents, how Amanda was doing, which of their friends he could expect to see on Saturday afternoon. Mike stuck to him like glue, carrying Jake’s bag for him and answering his questions. You were certain he’d send Julie to the back so Jake could ride shotgun, but instead, he loaded Gilly into her baby seat and Jake touched you on the elbow, saying, “I can take the middle seat.”

“You don't want the window?” you asked, your arm tingling. He had slipped on a pair of sunglasses once he left the terminal and he looked like a movie star, all golden skin, slicked-back hair, and a hint of stubble on his jaw. You had no idea how you were supposed to survive a 90-minute car ride when just the sight of him made you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I want to sit next to my goddaughter. You get her all the time,” he pointed out and ducked into the car.

Helpless, you climbed in after him and pulled the door closed. In the back of the SUV, there was no way for your bodies not to touch. By necessity, your arms and thighs pressed together, his body solid and warm. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself by squirming away even though your heart was beating double-time and you were at a loss as to what to do with your hands.

Thankfully, the car started moving, and by the time you made it onto the highway you had almost gotten used to the feeling of his muscled forearms and the smell of his cologne. You were focusing on the passing landscape as he made small talk with Mike and Julie, so it caught you unawares when he turned to you and said, “So - it seems we’re paired up for the wedding. I’m sorry about you and Whatshisface, by the way.”

Here we go… “I know that you name his name, Jake.”

“Do I? Persona non grata. I must have erased him from my memory chip.” He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary, and there was something about the twinkle in his eye that made you glare daggers at your brother, who was looking suspiciously blank-faced sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Oh my God, Mike, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing! I just said you two broke up and that he’s with Mia now.”

“That cow,” Julie put in.

“Okay, time out!” you called, doing the motion with your hands. “As much as I appreciate this show of familial solidarity, it’s really not necessary. Josh and I are cool.”

“Well, we’re not!” Mike said.

“Then be cool, Mike! And you!” You wagged your finger in front of Jake. He stared at it like it was the most amusing thing in the world. “You just got here. Do you really want to spend the rest of the week picking fights that have nothing to do with you?”

Evidently, the answer was yes, but he raised his hands in a facetious show of surrender. “Hey, I never liked the guy.”

“Dude, neither did I!” Mike crowed.

“What? You never said anything!”

“I’ve always said that - haven’t I, babe?”

“Mike, you say a lot of things,” Julie drawled.

“…including the fact that I never liked the guy! Him and his beady little eyes—”

“He gets hay fever!” you defended. “That’s not his fault!”

“—and the fact that he stayed in the apartment—”

“I wanted to move out! Julie, a little help here?”

“Hey, I don't like the guy either.”

“What?” You were flabbergasted. You thought that everyone liking Josh was the whole reason why they felt communally betrayed by the breakup. Now they were acting like the spearheads of an anti-Josh conspiracy? “Are you seriously telling me this six years after the fact? You went to games with him!”

“Wait, you went to games with Josh Spritzer?” Jake balked, his voice going up an octave while Mike went red in the face.

“I was in a dark place, man. Julie was pregnant and you weren't around… It was a case of the pre-baby blues!”

“I feel like you just admitted to cheating on me. Josh Spritzer?”

“Hey!” you warned.

“I mean, I guess it’s all a matter of taste, sweetheart…”

“Seresin, what the hell!”

“…although God knows I never knew what you saw in him—”

“Oh, didn't you?”

“Hey, I love you all sooo much,” Julie piped up from the passenger seat, “Jake, I’m happy you’re here, but will you all shut up so Gilly can sleep?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Though Jake sobered up, the provoking glint remained in his eyes. Once more you were aware of his closeness and the heat of his skin.

“Unbelievable…” you said underneath your breath, crossing your arms, your reward being another one of Jake’s dazzling smiles.

When you arrived, the reunion was as rowdy as you expected. About two dozen Seresins and their closest friends and family had convened at Jake’s childhood home. Amanda cried when she saw her favorite cousin coming towards her, and she excitedly introduced him to her husband-to-be, a bookish engineer named Christian who came from a small family and seemed as flattered as he was overwhelmed by all the attention.

Dinner was served outdoors, buffet style. The backyard was strung up with twinkling lights and music played from a pair of speakers stationed at the back porch. The air was festive and full of hope; it was easy to get caught up in the pre-wedding bliss when you were well-fed, your glass never empty, the company some of your most loved people in the world.

Josh - thank God - was not in attendance. He was supposed to walk down the aisle with you. Your save-the-date and wedding invitation had arrived labeled with his name along with yours, the assumption being that of course your long-term, live-in boyfriend would be your date. After you’d broken up, Amanda had to reshuffle her arrangements to keep you as one of her bridesmaids, the only upside being that Jake’s uncertain attendance made him your perfect partner.

Well, perfect for Amanda, if not for you.

At some point in the night, after speeches had been made and dessert served, Jake took the seat next to you to chat with his great-aunt Sandy and her boyfriend, Clyde. The apple pie came courtesy of Mrs. Seresin, who had the best recipe in the county and probably the entire state of Texas, in your limited and yet eager opinion. You demolished it with aplomb and once you finished, Jake pushed his plate towards you, the crust untouched. “Have at it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I know it’s your favorite part.”

The fact that he remembered made you feel sixteen again, watching him come home from university, crushed at knowing that he had a whole life you didn't know about, people he knew who were probably far more interesting, sophisticated and self-assured. He joined the Navy, and then moved out west while you stayed behind in your hometown, stationary while he took to the skies.

He had always been nice to you, for all that he enjoyed teasing you and even making fun of you on occasion. But that didn't mean you would ever be anything more to him than his best friend’s sister, someone he indulged in the same way as Amanda.

You excused yourself from the table, picking up plates as a pretense to head inside and get a few moments to yourself. This was exactly the reason why you hadn't wanted Jake to come home. Selfishly, in your heart of hearts, you had prized your own comfort above Amanda’s happiness, which made you feel like a Grade-A jerk, but you weren't ready to confront the way he made you feel after all this time. How could you explain to yourself, let alone anyone else, that you were holding out for a fantasy you’d had since you were young?

Suddenly, the presence of everyone you’d known and loved all your life felt oppressive rather than a source of delight. You poured yourself a glass of wine from one of the open bottles on the counter and went out to the Seresins’ front porch. From there, the sounds of the party seemed far away and you let out a sigh of relief. You sat on the ledge with your back to one of the vertical beams, watching the night breeze move the branches on the trees and the clouds which obscured the waning moon. Gradually, your mind slowed its pace and you were able to enjoy the song of the night critters mingled with the distant music of someone - probably Clyde - strumming his guitar.

Your repose was broken by the screen door opening and then clattering shut behind you, making you turn your head to see Jake coming outside, just a touch sheepish but for the most part his usual Jake-self, out of his jacket and carrying a bottle of beer.

He lowered himself beside you, and after a moment’s silence, said, “So, how’ve you been? Aside from Whatshisface.”

You shot him a warning look. If he was bringing up Josh, it was only to tease you like he’d done in the car and you weren’t in the mood right now to be the butt of a joke - not when you felt so vulnerable about what he was to you. (Dammit… and of course this has to be a wedding.)

“What,” he said, gently cajoling, “I can’t ask?”

“About my personal life? You never used to care.”

“In high school, I don’t think I was supposed to care. And afterwards—”

“Afterwards, Hangman got a little too full of himself,” you quipped.

“Hey… that's… actually pretty accurate, I’m not gonna lie.” He took a swig of beer, laughing as he said it. The porch light threw his features into sharp relief and you gave yourself permission to look at him - really look at him - for the first time since he returned.

Setting aside that he was gorgeous as ever, he seemed less carefree than you remembered, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He appeared, well, like a grown-up, for lack of a better word. You wondered whether you were being unfair in making assumptions when you had both changed so much in the last decade, as people tended to do. He wasn’t just the dream guy in your head; he was so many things in his own right, and he was here with you, wanting to talk - and maybe trying to get to know you on an even field.

If only that wasn't another reason to love him.

“You seem different,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t giving you away.

He looked at you for a few breaths, the corner of his mouth tipped up but the rest of his face serious. Then he shrugged in mock humility with a “What can I say, greatness suits me.”

“Idiot…” You shook your head and let out a snort, though on the inside you felt full of champagne - fizzy and bright because he was with you.

“How's the shop going?” he asked after a beat.

“Pretty well. We’re doing the flowers for Amanda’s wedding.”

“And you're bridesmaiding?”

“It’s hardly flying F-18s.”

“I think Amanda would disagree.”

“Well, it is her wedding,” you pointed out, “she’s—”

“Out of her mind,” Jake enounced.

“She’s excited,” you corrected even as a montage ran through your head of all the times Amanda had texted the wedding party’s WhatsApp group to say that “a catastrophe” had occurred or that today was the worst day of her life because “the linen photos do NOT reflect the true shade. I wanted SAGE green - doesn’t this look laurel to you?”

“She’s my cousin,” Jake went on. “In fact, she’s my favorite cousin - which is how I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s the biggest bridezilla this side of the Mississippi. To being wedding buddies,” he said and held his beer out towards you, “’cause God knows we’re gonna need it.”

“Wedding buddies,” you said, and clinked your glass. You waited until he had a mouthful of beer to say, “So, how’s your love life these days?”

“O-ho!” He nearly choked. “We are not doing that.”

“That hardly seems fair!”

“Age before beauty, Cabbage: I still get to make a few of the rules.” Watching your face work into a grimace, he laughed. “You really do hate when I call you that, don't you? Look at you! It's like a full-body cringe!”

“Stop it!” you complained.

The unfortunate nickname started back when you were a kid and had a penchant for a particular Cabbage Patch doll, which, in hindsight, seemed like an emotional support object, thank you very much. You carried it around until you were forcibly parted during Kindergarten - hence, Cabbage Patch, which in time shortened itself to “Cabbage.” It was cute when your mom said it, but Jake?

“You don't seem to mind when Mike calls you that,” he replied.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ve seen Mike in all sorts of undignified situations. It evens the playing field.”

“I’d say we've known each other almost as long.”

“It is not the same.”

“How come?”

“It’s just… not.”

“I’m getting nothing else out of you by way of an explanation, aren't I? Fine…” he dramatically sighed. “I guess I’ll stop calling you Cabbage.”

“You don't have to…”

“Nope, it's done, it's retired!”

“Thank you,” you said, a little embarrassed.

From the backyard came a round of applause as Clyde finished his song. Jake smiled at you, then leaned close with a devilish glint in his eye. “Are you sure you're okay with the whole Josh thing? We can always make it our mission to make him insanely jealous.”

You scoffed. “Please, he would never buy that. You and me? He’d see right through it.”

“I want you to know that your lack of faith in my abilities is deeply, deeply hurtful. I’m just saying! You haven't seen me in action!”

“Oh, I’ve seen you in action, alright…”

“There she is!” he cackled.

You hoped the laughter meant he’d missed the note of jealousy in your voice. “Besides, I don't care about making him jealous,” you said with a shrug. “He and Mia are good together.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah… Okay, look,” you sighed, “the only reason I’m telling you this is because you're not them, so I’d better not hear a word from Mike about anything I’m about to tell you. Deal?”

He nodded, and mimed zipping his lips closed for dramatic effect.

“There’s just… no sob story about it,” you began. “By the time it was over, it was almost a relief. And honestly? If it hadn't been for our families, we would've broken up ages ago.”

“What was wrong with him?”

By the look on his face, it was like he expected you to say he had a funny snore or that he chewed too loudly or had an extra head. If only the truth were that tangible. He wasn't mean to you, didn't cheat. But he wasn't Jake. He didn't make you excited to wake up in the morningz

“By the end, we were more like roommates than boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained. “I mean, when it happened, did I want to claw Mia’s face off, knowing she’d been angling for an opening for years? Of course I did. But that was more about my pride than anything. I wasn't heartbroken. I’m not,” you insisted. “But telling them that would feel like ruining Christmas. They're having fun slinging mud on my behalf.”

“And maybe just a tiny part of you enjoys it?” Jake asked.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed. “Do you really think I’m above a bit of harmless spite? Hell, I practically wrote the playbook. But what you said - about your pride being hurt? That goes for him too, you know. He doesn't have to buy the whole thing, he just has to see you moving on. Trust me, it’ll hurt.”

“Maybe I don't care enough to hurt him.”

Jake studied you, his eyes shining in the warm glow. “You really have grown up,” he said at last. “I, on the other hand—”

“Oh, come on. Jake, you’re all talk, always have been.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The summer before your junior year,” you pointed out, “you spent nearly all of it replacing Will Delonge’s wooden fence and you told no one about it. The only reason I know is because Mom found out—”

“Your mom finds out about everything,” Jake lamented.

That she did. “You helped Arn McCallister with his math grade,” you added. “You asked Gina to dance at the Winter Ball when her friends made that bet—”

“Some friends,” he interjected. “I swear, Fiona Brussaurd still scares the shit out of me. What, were you keeping tabs on me all through high school?”

“Everyone was keeping tabs on you all through high school,” you confessed. “You were Jake Seresin, Hometown Hero. You still are. You could probably get away with murder.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. If you weren't mistaken, there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks, but it might have been the beer he finished, or a play of the light. “Actually, I can’t. Semper Fortis, remember? You can't fly planes in prison. Besides, I am way too pretty for that uniform.”

“And you always do that,” you replied. “Try to throw people off the scent of you being an actually decent guy. But I know the truth,” you pointed out. “You have a tell.”

“Really, what's that?”

Over the course of the conversation Jake had angled towards you without your notice; now, your knees were touching and his upturned mouth was close enough to kiss. Your heart was racing in your chest, and yet his gaze was like a challenge - don’t back down, he seemed to say, and that was all Jake. He was exhilarating, just by being himself.

You dared to draw even closer, as if whispering a secret. “Mothers love you.”

“Maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”

“Take the hit, Seresin. No one is that good.”

Smiling, he nudged your knee and leaned back on his hands, sitting with you until the first early-nighters began to leave.

Amanda Seresin was two years older than Jake. Her dad, Jake’s uncle, passed away when Amanda was fourteen, and ever since, Jake and his parents had taken her and Dinah under their wings. Jake was the closest thing she had to a brother, and though he was younger, you knew Jake was incredibly protective of her and his aunt, so you were determined not to ruin his wedding experience by being a lovestruck weirdo.

After your time together on the porch, that might prove difficult for you. But this was about Amanda. She assigned you to be his date, and you were going to be a professional about it.

Literally. You were handling the flowers, after all.

“These are a little tall, aren’t they?” your mom asked, fretting over the tulips at the center of one of the guest tables. “I asked for measurements, but now that they’re here…”

You glanced at your watch. “We have time to fix them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, mom, all of them. Let’s take them into the kitchen, then we can rush up and change before the cocktails start.” You knew she wouldn’t have a speck of peace if she didn’t get them trimmed. She would fret and fuss, and probably commit floral kidnapping crimes when it all got too much. She liked everything to be perfect, especially for the people she loved, so you ignored the time crunch and your watch yelling at you that it was 4:35, twenty-five minutes before guests were due to arrive for drinks and canapés, and, signaling for your dad to help gather up the centerpieces, you rushed into the venue’s kitchen and started trimming down with the nearest pair of garden shears.

Your mom breathed a sigh of relief when the task was done and a few of the earliest guests offered to help carry the vases back to the tables, giving you enough time to head upstairs and put on the blue dress you’d brought in a garment bag.

So you were fussing about your looks… That didn’t mean you were not chill, it just meant you wanted to look nice… for Amanda. For the photos. It had nothing to do with Jake Seresin at all.

By the time you made it down - finally, and a little late since you spent more on it than usual perfecting your makeup - there were about sixty people on the lawn, nibbling on pulled pork sliders and mac-and-cheese bites, mini tacos and bacon-wrapped dates. You spotted your dad grabbing one of everything and your mom pulling on his sleeve, probably to hiss, “Pace yourself, hon.” She had a glass of champagne in one hand, more as a prop, since half of her attention was spent surveying her work as if anticipating one of the centerpieces to go up in flames.

Knowing her, she might have packed a tiny fire extinguisher in that glittery, silver clutch.

You stifled a laugh, grabbing a plate and a few of the canapés from a passing waiter. The rehearsal dinner was a much bigger affair than the barbecue Jake’s parents had thrown for close friends and family the night before. You knew Josh would be in attendance (probably with Mia) and so would a lot of your high school crowd. Letting out a sigh, you threw your shoulders back and tried to look relaxed, exchanging greetings as you mingled with the growing number of guests. It was a beautiful night. God must love Amanda, as He should, because the weather was balmy in a pleasant way, warm enough that the ladies could throw off their wraps and show off their dresses, the men leave their jackets draped over chairs.

The venue was a little bed and breakfast with a sprawling back patio and hedges that grew around the property, gracefully unkempt, with magnolia trees in bloom. You said hello to your old History teacher, a small, soft-spoken woman with a gray bob and tortoiseshell glasses dangling on a chain. In turn, she had taken personal interest in Amanda, Jake, and then you - she was the whole reason Amanda went into teaching, and you heard Jake mention once that he wouldn’t have joined the Navy if not for her. Sometimes, you felt a little self-conscious about not having more to show for your education, but Ms. Beauchene never made you feel like your life choices were a disappointment. She popped into the flower shop on occasion, pleased with her paper-wrapped bouquets, and no matter what, without fail, you’d ring her up and she’d say with full honesty, “These are going to make my week,” before she walked out humming.

You were glad Amanda included her in the rehearsal, especially when you spotted Josh walking in with his arm around Mia’s waist. Excusing yourself, you made for the bar and ordered one of the signature cocktails, Amanda’s favorite blackberry bourbon smash, and downed half of it before turning back and making small talk as if your life depended on it. Strangely enough, it wasn’t the sight of Josh that had you feeling like the inside of your brain was crawling with ants. It was Mia. You hated the thought of her seeing any kind of weakness in you - that she might take in your appearance and think that your hairdo was messy or that your eyes looked a little dark, and assume from it that she’d left you a human wreck after her little victory.

Without a doubt, Mia had attended the Fiona Brussaurd School of Mean Girls, and the last thing you wanted to do was appear like the lesser creature. So when your family began to fuss under the pretense of “casually” making conversation, you swatted them away, feeling grateful when dinner was announced and everyone could retreat to their neutral corners.

You chose to sit at a table with a few old school friends, one of whom was also in the wedding party, and to avoid the meaningful looks Julie had been sending you all evening, you sat with your back to the rest of the guests, enjoying the hour of relative peace and reminiscing, the view of an ornamental fountain set with warm lights, and your plate of pan-seared sea bass and cheesy potatoes. Gradually, the music shifted from sit-down easy listening to dancing tunes, and the people at your table began seeking out partners or joining those already on the lawn who were spinning and jiving in every available space.

Soon, you were alone at the table. You leaned back in your chair, enjoying the breeze against your face. If you closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of music and laughter, you could almost forget all the drama with your ex…

You felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Jake and his movie-star grin. The butterflies started banging around your stomach again. Forget the tulips, you were the one with your nerves all in a tangle tonight.

“Hey, stranger - ’nother drink?” he asked, offering you another of the bourbon cocktails. He had a rocks glass in his other hand, and without waiting for an invitation he took the chair next to you, throwing his arm across the back of yours.

You replied, “Yes, please,” trying not to melt into his touch. Nuzzling against him like a cat would not be chill, you reminded yourself, even if he did look incredible with his open dress shirt collar and the little peek of his chest made you feel like a Victorian with the vapors.

He lounged in that casual way of his, attractive without trying. “These things really go on forever, don't they?”

“And it’s just the rehearsal dinner.”

“What happened to getting married on a Tuesday while everyone’s at work?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you just quote Runaway Bride?”

His face went still. “What, no.”

“Yes, you did!” you exclaimed, setting down your drink and straightening in your seat. Jake looked mildly panicked and was doing his best to look innocent, which you found absolutely hilarious. “Oh my God, are you a closet romcom man?”

“It must've been subconscious.”

“Subconscious, my ass,” you shot back.

“She looks happy.” Jake tipped his head towards Amanda despite the fact that she was behind you both, out of sight, and clearly being used as a way to change the subject. “You know the guy?”

“You met him yesterday,” you said. And I know what you're doing implicit was in your tone.

Jake shrugged, an expert at deflection. “Yeah, but it's hard to tell what a guy’s made of from a single meeting.”

Deciding that the accusation of Romcomitis would go unanswered on this particular occasion, you tested the limits of his cool under pressure, pretending to deliberate before you played along with the conversational shift.

“D’you want to hear the absolute worst thing I can think to say about him?”

Jake went battle-ready, poised to hate the guy. You watched his shoulders and the set of his jaw change, and it made you want to touch the side of his face and kiss the frown away, laughing as you did.

Just messing with you, you would say.

It would be so easy. Maybe the fantasy was clouding your judgment - along with your third cocktail of the night - but you could feel in your body that being with Jake would be as natural as breathing.

You looked over your shoulder, watching Christian lean into Amanda to whisper something into her ear.

He had his hand on her arm and looked a little spooked, probably because one of the Seresins’ honorary aunts, Jackie, who was known for her tell-it-like-it-is comments, no matter how indiscreet, was walking away. Poor guy. Amanda giggled at whatever he said and stroked his hand, whispering back words of reassurance. Their demeanor together was easy, full of shorthand. And Amanda did look happy - so happy that it made you a little jealous, pleased as you were that she had found her person.

Jake followed your gaze, watching them alongside you.

“He's a little dull,” you explained. “But in a good way. He mellows her out.”

“Amanda? That sounds like an impossible task. But I can see it…” He cocked his head. “I think.”

You turned your eyes back to your own table. Jake was fiddling with his glass, watching the amber liquid swirling around the oversized iced cube. He looked pensive, a furrow appearing between his brows that, in another life, you would have stroked away.

He shook his head and raised the glass to his lips. “You don't realize how much you've missed…”

Before you could think about it, you had your hand on his arm. “Hey, no one's keeping score.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Then don't,” you insisted. “You do what you've gotta do - we all know that. Your parents know it, Amanda knows it. She’s just happy you're here.”

You could tell that, as much as he appreciated your words, they weren't enough to sweep away all the moments he hadn't been around to see. It didn't matter that Jake loved flying planes, that he was proud to be one of the best naval aviators in the service, and wouldn't change his career for the world. He was still in a position where he had to ask you what Amanda’s future husband was like. He had missed his goddaughter’s christening, had to rush out of Mike and Julie’s wedding five years ago… He’d made an oath, and for as long as he wore the uniform, his first commitment was to something other than his family. Other than himself.

He spoke his next words quietly, almost to himself, just for you.

“You know, the thing about flying is that when you're up there, nothing else matters. It can’t. All of your focus, all of your faculties, your energy… they're in the air. Meanwhile, all of this real life… the thing we’re meant to be safeguarding for everyone else, it doesn't stop, and when you land right back in the middle of it—”

He stopped.

“Yeah?” You were hanging on for the rest of it, eager for these little pieces of Jake that you stored up even after he was gone.

“I mean, it feels like yesterday since I left for college, signed up. Now Amanda’s getting married, Mike’s having kids, you are having just the worst luck of the year…”

“Hey!” you laughed.

“I’m kidding, kidding!”

“You’re sounding like an old man, Jake. You're thirty-two - pull yourself together. Jeez! Who knew Top Gun would make you so existential? Is that why you're self-medicating with classic romantic comedies?”

“If you ever tell Mike, I swear to God—” He pointed his finger at you, and you pinched it in two of yours, earning a chuckle and a childish attempt at a thumb-war game that was interrupted when the bride herself came up behind you and threw her arms around you both with a “Hey, you two!”

“Mands!” Jake exclaimed, craning his neck to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Having fun?”

“Absolutely. So, so much—”

“You big fibber,” Amanda threw back. “Why are you here? Go dance!”

“Can’t. I’m keeping my date company, and a gentleman never abandons his date. It’s in the rules.”

“Good thing I know you're not a gentleman. You're in my wedding party!” she said. “It’s up to you two to set a good example for the other guests.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall we?” He offered you his hand, throwing Amanda a look that said, See? I’m following orders.

She smiled back, giving you room to rise from your chairs and circle round. With her arms crossed, she watched as you found an open space, making sure you’d followed through before seeking out her next victims.

As bad luck would have it, the song switched from something uptempo to an Ashley Monroe ballad, romantic strings and all. “Has anybody ever told you/ that when you walk into a dark room/ the light of a thousand moons surround you?/ Yeah, there's just something about you./ Has anybody ever told you?”

It was stupid, but the words felt so real with Jake’s hands on you that you were worried he’d be able to read your mind or see on your face that you meant every sentence. You tried looking anywhere else, at the other couples, the catering staff picking up empty glasses, at your mom fluffing a perfectly decent bouquet, anywhere but at Jake.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” you asked, eyes darting nervously at being caught red-handed.

“Tense up like I’ve got the plague,” Jake said. “You’re making this weird.”

“I’m making what weird?”

“We’re dancing!” He pressed one hand against your hip, the other into your lower back. “Just dance!”

“By which I’m sure you mean, ‘just follow my lead’?”

You didn't mean to sound so prickly, you were just panicking and trying to throw Jake off the scent. This does not constitute playing it cool, you scolded yourself. But instead of taking it badly, Jake laughed as he stared down at you.

“If you like. Or I can follow yours if it makes you feel any better. Here, you can put your hand on my waist - but leave room for Jesus.”

“Dork.”

“There we go,” he cajoled, swaying with you in time to the beat. “Letting you insult me seems to really get your engines going. We should analyze that.”

“Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t know, do I?” He cackled out loud at the dark look you sent his way, stroking your back in a way that meant absolutely nothing, but which you felt all the way down to your toes. “You make it too easy,” he added.

Jake’s sense of humor made it hard to stay self-conscious. Eventually, you eased into the dance and you were almost sorry when the song switched to something a little more upbeat that didn't require him to stand so close to you. Still, he twirled you in a circle and brought you back into the solid curve of his body, showing off.

Then, out of nowhere, his face worked into a scowl as he spotted something a few yards to your right. You turned your head to see what it was, so lost in the moment that it took a few seconds for you to register that Josh was dancing with Mia, quite well, actually, to the Texas Tornados.

“Look at that schmuck.”

“Jake…” you warned.

“What? It’s just an observation, I’m not saying it for your benefit.”

“She looks incredible,” you sighed. On anyone else, the dress she had on would make them look like a costume disco ball, but on Mia it looked modern and chic, showing off her body and matching well with a slicked back bun and dangly earrings.

Jake’s shoulder rose and fell beneath your hand. “If you say so. She’s not really my type.”

Are you serious? “Jake, just about every woman is your type.”

“I’m sorry, are you slut-shaming me right now? In this political climate? I could have you canceled for that.”

“Ha-ha,” you said in response. “I mean, look at her, she is objectively a 10 - don’t say you wouldn’t. Hell, I would if I were inclined that way… Don’t!” You pinned Jake with a warning stare, cutting off the joke that was on the tip of his tongue and dying to come out.

“Well, I wouldn’t now,” he said instead.

“Gee, thanks.”

“For the sake of our friendship.”

The word made you tense up again - not on purpose, it was an automatic reaction you wanted to take back as soon as you went stiff all over again. And it didn't escape Jake’s notice.

“What?” he questioned, cupping your shoulders and shaking you a little as a gag. “Oh my God, have you ever thought about taking up yoga? Meditation?”

“Flying lessons?” you shot back.

“Hey, don’t knock it. Compared to you, I am a very chilled-out person.” You rolled your eyes, not wanting to admit that he was right. No matter what was going on inside Jake, he knew how to keep a calm exterior. You’d always admired that about him. With the exception of your dad, your family wasn't known for its cool under pressure. Even Mike could be a bit of a basket case. That’s why he and Julie worked so well together.

You sighed again, wondering if you’d ever find your own version of Christian or Julie, someone who fit with all of your wonky parts and made you feel, regardless of circumstance, that everything would turn out okay.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” You looked at Jake, startled by the remark and the heat rushing into your face. He was dead serious. The levity you saw in his eyes had nothing to do with his tone, which was kind but not pitying. And you knew Jake would never say something like that if he didn’t mean it. “Not that it’s a competition,” he tacked on, “I’m just saying… don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure he’s eating his heart out right now.”

“And how would you know a thing like that?”

“Because he hasn’t stopped looking at us for the last sixty seconds.”

Your gaze drifted off to the side before Jake took your chin in his hand, his touch gentle and yet firm.

“Don’t look!” he chided. “Jesus… That’s recon 101 - I’ve got your six, you keep dancing and pretend we’re not talking about him, you amateur!”

“Sorry! You’re so bossy!” you grumbled, fighting off another blush.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

The word zinged through your body along with the killer Jake Seresin dimpled grin, and to make matters worse, he twirled you again, laughing when he brought you to rest your back against his chest. Josh froze when he saw you, spotting Jake’s hands on your waist. But you couldn’t care less - you were breathless, with Jake’s mouth close enough to kiss, reminding you of his knee nudge on the porch and his arm beneath your hand.

For a moment, you could almost believe that he was flirting with you for real. If you turned your head, would he accept the press of your mouth against his? Would he push you away or pull you in closer, regardless of your families watching and Josh staring, almost open-mouthed, like he couldn’t believe Jake fucking Seresin would give you the time of day?

Before you could make a choice, the song ended and Jake released you from his grip, keeping a hand on your back as he herded you away from the dance floor and to the bar, where he ordered a beer and asked if you wanted something. If you answered, you weren’t aware. You felt not in control, your stomach all in knots and the memory of Jake’s touch seared into your skin. A part of you still wanted desperately to kiss him and the other wanted to rush into the B&B and burst into tears from sheer confusion. Meanwhile, Jake seemed perfectly fine, chatting with the bartender on duty and leaning against the counter as he dropped a few bills into the tip jar.

“What are you doing?” you asked when you felt him touching you on the shoulder.

“Pretending you have lint on your dress.”

“Hey! On the dance floor was one thing, but I am not aiming to make this entire weekend about making my ex jealous. Any high school dude-vendetta you have against Josh should be addressed on your own time, you psycho. Besides, he’s never going to actually buy it.”

“Alright.” Jake threw up his hands, lowering the charm down a few watts. Your drinks were set down on a pair of square cocktail napkins and you took up yours, a fizzy gin thing with lemon that made you wonder whether you shouldn’t have stuck with bourbon to avoid going around with a hangover on Amanda’s wedding day.

Jake went on. “But I’m really not liking all this negative self-talk, you know. Mia might be a 10, but at most he’s, like, a 6…”

“Oh, be quiet!”

“You’re an 8.”

“What?” The alcohol either rushed up to your head or evaporated completely. How the hell did Jake manage to say things that left you completely dumbfounded and without a single intelligent thought in your head? And he did it with a smile! This one was purposefully subdued as he waved around with the beer in his hand as if making a profound point.

“You’re way out of his league. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?”

“Okay, well…”

“You’re blushing!” he remarked. “That’s adorable.”

“You’re not funny, Seresin.”

“Hey, I joke about a lot of things, but I don’t go around handing 8s to just anyone.”

“Oh, look, they’re bringing out coffee.” The needle was tipping firmly towards the need to escape, though it wasn’t that serious - you knew it wasn’t; Jake had a tendency to be a flirt and he usually didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes, it could even be amusing to play along, to get swept up in his wit and the light of his attention. But you didn’t want to play. And you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his company because you weren’t. You loved every precious second you got to spend with him, knowing he’d be off to California soon and that the next time you might see him could be months or even a year from now.

Getting your hopes up would be a mistake, and you were dangerously close to doing it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He touched your elbow gently. You wished he couldn’t read you so well. Or that he could read you better, and see what you had been trying to say to him for years but were too scared to utter.

You did your best to smile. “Nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to hover all night. Go, take a load off, have fun.”

“I am having fun,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

“I was. I am,” you corrected, frustrated with yourself for not taking it better. For not being cool and together and the sort of girl who took charge and damned the outcome. She would’ve kissed Jake when she had the chance. She would have shown up to California. Hell, she would’ve made her move ages ago instead of pining, pathetically, and letting twenty years go by.

That’s what Mia had done. And that’s why she had her dream guy - your former guy - while you were exactly in the same position, too tongue-tied to take a shot.

“Just… can you give me some space?” you blurted out, your frustration bleeding through.

The hurt in Jake’s expression was there and gone in a lightning flash, but you’d seen it and you felt terrible about it. Before you could say anything to make it better, he’d replaced it with a devil-may-care smile.

“Got it,” he said, his voice a little tight around the edges. “Well… I’ll make myself scarce. Holler if you need me.”

With that, he took his beer and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to weave your way through oblivious partygoers to find the nearest ladies’ room, where you locked yourself in a stall and tried not to ruin your makeup with the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Hindsight was a bitch. The next morning you were sure you’d overreacted, made a fool of yourself and created a potentially awkward situation now that the wedding day was upon you and you had to take his arm, in - you glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand - five-and-a-half hours, and walk with him down the aisle wearing a smile for the sake of the photographers.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands and calling yourself every name in the book.

Jake had promised to be your wedding buddy and then sweetly kept his word, and what did you do in response? Completely freak out, you scatterbrained nincompoop.

As penance, you threw yourself into the arrangement of the reception flowers, channeling your mother while you directed the staff this way and that, trying not to think about Jake and the mortifying apology that awaited you. It was the right thing to do - not only to clear the air but because he hadn't deserved being chewed out in a momentary panic, and you knew you wouldn't feel right with yourself if you didn't take the blame and say your mea culpa.

But boy were you dreading it.

“You should head out now, Cabbage,” your mom advised around eleven o'clock. “Dad and I can handle the rest and you should be with Amanda, spend some time with the girls before the big event.”

“Are you sure you don't need help with the aisle arrangements?” A cowardly attempt, but you did it anyway.

“We’ve got it,” Mom repeated, turning you around and all but shepherding you into the parking lot. She waved you off with a “have fun,” and you couldn't help your brain’s internal response of “fat chance.”

All the way to the B&B you kept rehearsing what you might say to Jake when you saw him, but by the time you pulled up and found a free parking space, you were sweating, physically and metaphorically, and thinking that, maybe, if you listened to TED Talks rather than Dateline, you might have an enlightened response to your current dilemma.

You fetched your bagged bridesmaid's dress from the trunk of the car, along with your makeup bag and hair tools. You’d have to use the shower before you started getting ready, but you were looking forward to get-ready champagne and a throwback playlist. Anything to feel more like your normal self and less like a silly teenager who couldn’t talk to boys.

You went up three flights of stairs to reach the bridal suite. From both sides, you could hear music spilling out into the hall, an ABBA classic clashing with Brett Young. Automatically, you placed your hand on the doorknob leading towards bouncy 80s pop only for it to turn and spring open, revealing Jake with an undone bow tie hanging around his neck.

It could be that your mouth sprung open, not expecting to see him that abruptly and without giving yourself your planned thirty-second pep talk.

Your mind went blank. All you could do was stare at him like an idiot as he pointed across the hall and said, “Bridal suite’s that way.”

“Yeah, it was…”

“The Super Trouper? Groom’s choice.”

“Are you sure it wasn't yours?” The joke spilled out of your mouth, landing awkwardly to your own ears. But Jake smiled anyway, glancing down as he let the door close behind him.

He rubbed the side of his freshly shaved cheek. “I’m headed down to the front desk, by the way. I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You deserved that. So instead of cringing down into the floor - which was what you really wanted to do - you took the hit and said, “I didn’t think you were.”

“About last night…”

“I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I’m just… a little stressed,” you cut him off. It was an understatement, and not totally honest, but it was the best you could do without getting into the embarrassing particulars.

From the groomsmen’s side, Britney Spears followed ABBA, singing, “Oops, I did it again,” which seemed perversely apropos and just another reminder that you were a puppet of fate. Presently, you had to be paying for God knows what sin - probably calling Mike a buttface all those years before.

“Hey, I get it. I wasn’t trying to be clingy,” Jake went on.

“You’re not! You’re a good friend… Thank you.”

It pained you to say it, but you figured now was as good a time as any to face facts: you only had a few more days together, and you didn't want to spend them all wasting what you had, wishing it would turn into something else. Friendship with Jake was good enough. He was kind and loyal and honest; hell, anyone would be lucky to have him in their corner.

Maybe what you needed was a little gratitude. It was a wedding day, after all. Your friends and family would all be gathering in a few hours to celebrate Christian and Amanda and they had chosen you to be a special part of their most important day. How cool was that?

“Can we just not talk about Mia and Josh today?” you asked, hefting the garment back up your shoulder. “I want to focus on Amanda and make sure she has a nice time at her wedding - get drunk but not sloppily so, take a few pictures, dance a bit, not feel like everyone’s waiting for the Jerry Springer shoe to drop?”

“We can do that,” Jake replied.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“See you on the other side?”

“You bet.”

He went down the hall, turning right and bounding the carpeted stairs. You watched him go with a sigh, deciding that it was hard to be a grown-up and lovelorn at the same time. The two things were so incompatible - liking someone, loving them even, felt utterly undignified.

Nonetheless, you could breathe a lot easier after clearing the air. With the apology out of the way, you threw yourself into full bridesmaid mode, squeezing into the cramped bathroom with five other women in customized robes who were curling, straightening, powdering, talking, fighting for counter space, gasping at gossip, and being an overall flurry of chaos while the bride reigned over all, putting in comments through the haze of hair- and setting spray.

The air in the room was joyous, with a smattering of nervous energy mostly provided by Amanda.

Once dressed in your different styles of champagne satin, the bridesmaids focused on making sure Amanda was ready for her starring role. You took turns doing up the buttons on the back of her wedding gown, and when Dinah popped in to give her a pair of diamond earrings she wore to her own wedding, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. “Do not let my mascara run!” Amanda urged, prompting Carrie, the maid of honor, to jokingly rush forward with a folded-up Kleenex and dab at her eyes.

The groomsmen left for the wedding venue first, piling into a shuttle after yelling well-wishes through the door. Fifteen minutes later you followed suit, with Ali O’Rourke pouring canned cocktails into plastic cups and filming the journey at the same time as her phone blasted Taylor Swift (“But none of the breakup songs!”). In twenty minutes you were at the botanical garden, arranging the first look through a comical series of shouts and mimes partially obscured by a tall bush and caught on camera by the couple’s videographer. Once Christian had gotten the memo to stand there, at the edge of an ornamental pond but with his back to the azaleas, you pushed Amanda in his direction and waved her on, giving whistles and catcalls when he dipped her into a kiss that was very un-Christian-like and all the more romantic for that reason.

Once the wedding party photos were done, it was time to head inside and wait for the guests to arrive. You found that, like Amanda, you were feeling a little jittery now that patience was all that was required. From the double doors to the altar, it was a fairly long walk and you were worried that your heels would sink into the grass or that you would fall flat on your face. Luckily, you weren’t the only one with that fear. Amanda’s coworker, Lucy, who had never been a bridesmaid before, had a minor freakout, and talking her down helped you allay your own fears, as did the liquid courage courtesy of Ali’s dress having pockets.

(Amanda: “I don’t remember reading that on the website.”

Ali: “That’s because you didn’t. I had it tailored.”)

At last, the wedding coordinator called for everyone to take their places and Jake came towards you, looking smart in his tux. At the rehearsal dinner you’d heard Mike asking, “So, where’s the dress uniform?”, to which Jake replied, “And upstage you?” Well, uniform or not, you were sure he could upstage anyone. To you, he was the handsomest person in the room, and you were in danger of saying so until Jake beat you to the punch.

“Look at you, you clean up well!” he remarked.

“And you look terrible.”

“Now I know that’s a bald-faced lie.”

You laughed. Humble as always. You were glad to see that all the awkwardness between you had gone, in no small part because of the excitement over the ceremony. A sudden hush came over everyone as Harriet signaled for the doors to be opened. Jake held out his arm. “Shall we?” he said, echoing his words when he asked you to dance.

This time you were ready for it. No matter what, in this particular moment, you and Jake were allies - wedding buddies, he said - and instead of overthinking things or making a mountain out of a molehill, you were resolved to enjoy it.

You took his arm and faced forward. The first strains of music began. Showtime, Harriet mouthed, while at the altar Christian turned to meet his bride.

The ceremony was over in the blink of an eye, followed by a drinks reception and a sit-down dinner punctuated by toasts that ranged from the humorous to the downright sentimental. Now that Amanda had clipped up her train, she seemed more relaxed than she had been in the morning, and it made you feel like you could let down your hair, so to speak, and enjoy the party underneath the light-strewn tent.

The guests were eager to dance. Without letup they moved through classic wedding standards and modern dance hits to country reels and the obligatory playing of “Mr. Brightside,” a moment which Sandy and Clyde stole with their enthusiastic head-bops. You couldn't remember the last time you danced, or laughed, half as much, and even the appearance of Josh and Mia couldn’t steal your good mood. As long as they kept to their side of the tent, you could pretend they weren't there and if Mom or Julie sidled up with a comment in defense of your honor, it was easy to point a finger to your ear as if to say, “What? I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud!”

Jake kept close for the most of the night, leaning in close and making funny comments about the hidden goings-on - who was putting the moves on who, who was sneaking mini cupcakes into their purse, who got carted off to the indoor area after over-imbibing and nearly causing a minor dancefloor traffic incident.

Maybe it was all his Navy training, but for a guy’s guy Jake had an uncanny eye for gossip, and you said so, winning a laugh and another request for your oath of secrecy.

“I hate to tap out before Great-Aunt Sandy,” he said halfway through the Jailhouse Rock, “but do you want to take a breather? I feel like I’m getting a stitch in my side.”

“You? Sheesh, Hangman, you're really letting yourself go,” you chaffed. “What'll the higher-ups think when you get back to San Diego?”

“Well, if they really want to replace me, I’ll send them Aunt Sandy’s way.” He led you outside, where you promptly balanced one foot at a time trying to unclasp your heeled sandals while Jake watched, snorting before he took pity on you and let you lean on his arm.

His very muscled arm…

Inwardly, you sighed like one of the Bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast, but hey, you’d behaved yourself all day; you were allowed to have the occasional impure thought.

With a little sound of triumph, you managed to remove your shoes and held them by the straps, walking on the grass in your bare feet. You had a pair of flats in your purse, but that was somewhere inside and, anyway, the ground felt good against your tired arches. You’d been dancing for over two hours and needed the break.

“How do you even stand in those death traps?” Jake eyed your shoes as if they were hand grenades, which amused you to no end seeing as they’d cost you a small fortune precisely because they claimed to be comfortable.

“They’re not so bad,” you replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t need them if you weren’t so tall.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You shrugged, keeping your face deliberately blank. “It’s a free country.”

“Wow…” Jake huffed through a laugh, “you are incapable of just being nice to me.”

“What, I am nice!”

“In a backhanded-compliment sort of way, sure.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Jake, you’re the biggest 10 at the wedding’?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but we’re getting warmer,” he said with a toothy grin, entering a path bordered by low hedges leading to the pond where the first look had taken place.

The lights from the wedding reception lit the way, along with the small solar-powered fixtures planted in the ground, but for the most part the darkness was a respite from the sights and sounds of the packed tent. In a way, it made it easier to talk to Jake, ignoring your history, feeling like a girl who’d been asked on a walk by someone who wanted to spend more time with her.

You laughed, leaning into the role of interested flatterer. You were walking backwards, even daring to place your hand on the front of Jake’s shirt, trusting him to lead the way and keep you from tripping into a bush. “You’re an incredible dancer,” you put in, going full Bimbette. You might have batted your eyelashes, and your voice took on the dreamy girlishness of Marilyn Monroe, which only gave Jake the giggles as he tried to maintain his yes, I am all the things composure. “You look as good in a tux as you do in your Navy uniform.”

“Both true.”

“You’re funny and smart, and soooo interesting.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks to place your hands on his cheeks. Jake was smiling from ear to ear, struggling to keep his lips pressed together. “You’ve got a face like an Old Hollywood dreamboat.”

He nodded solemnly, the slight clearing of his throat the only indicator that he was on the verge of breaking character. “You’re not the first person to say that, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm, does that surprise you? Do you disagree?”

“Of course not, this is the Jake Seresin Appreciation Hour.” You draped your arms around his neck. Maybe it was the cocktails or the distant wedding music making you bold, but Jake didn't pull away and you were only pretending - at least, that was your justification when you felt the weight of his hands on your hips.

“Go on, then.”

“Your eyes are green.”

“Now you’re just stating facts.”

“Fine, but you’re being a very picky subject!”

“I’ll have you know,” he scoffed, “Jake Seresin Hour was not my idea. You don’t get to institute it and then complain when I point out your lazy reporting.”

Lazy reporting? You were ready to duke it out over that and he knew it, his eyes alight with the challenge, head cocked to see what you’d come up with next. Your back hit the trunk of a live oak and you felt the adrenaline in your veins mixing with the alcohol and a sheer attraction that wouldn't be kept at bay. You wondered briefly whether this was what flying was like - a full-bodied, present physicality, all instinct, every move stretched taut and your nerves like live wires.

Jake glanced at your mouth and it left you breathless. Little wonder, then, that the next words out of your mouth were half confession, half part of the game.

“There’s not a single person at this party who isn’t head-over-heels in love with you.”

“Not a single one?” Jake argued. “Not even the groom?”

“Not even the groom.”

“Well, obviously, we’re not including my relatives in that.”

“But everyone else…” you trailed off.

“Everyone else. Including you?”

“Especially me.”

It’s just a game, it’s just a game. The thought kept clashing in your head with the urge to say “kiss me” and he was standing so close, with his body half pressed against yours, solid and warm, realer than any lust-fueled fantasy you could’ve come up with in the dead of night, the party forgotten with him as your only view, and you kept thinking, Maybe he wants me to. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe I should do it - what would be the harm?

The answer to this final point was obvious, and yet he was hard to resist. His fingers brushed against your waist, the touch feather-light enough that it might have been in your imagination except for his forehead pressed down to yours, his heart beating steadily beneath your nervous hand.

Without debating it further you pulled him into a kiss, shutting your eyes against any possible consequences as you memorized the taste of his mouth, the weight of his hands sliding down your back, the heat of his breath. You pulled away, mortified by your lapse in judgment and the obvious proof of feelings which you now couldn't take back.

There was no undoing this, but still you tried.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m… I’m drunk… I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I’m… I’m gonna go.” You slid past him, holding your breath, willing him not to follow after you or try to stop you from fleeing. Your body felt like it was short-circuiting, blazing with need and then doused in icy-cold regret and horror at your own actions.

So he had flirted with you. That didn't mean he wanted to kiss you; it certainly didn't signal any romantic interest that merited you throwing yourself at him and telling him, of all things, that you loved him!

You went back to the party, picking your purse up from behind your chair and forcing a smile when people stopped you to chat, making excuses and saying you had to go to the bathroom. Inside, you moved past the lobby and straight out to the drive, where the hired shuttle service was taking guests in no state to drive to and from a few local hotels.

The driver asked if you were ready to leave and you said yes, feeling mildly guilty for staging an Irish goodbye, but there was no way you could go on pretending for the rest of the night, let alone face Jake. You prayed that everyone would be too busy having fun to notice your absence, and if not you would apologize profusely tomorrow at brunch, claiming a headache or exhaustion or anything else that might obscure your bad decision-making and propensity to lose your shit around Jake.

You were let onto the bus, the sole passenger as the driver turned on the engine and radioed his boss to say he was en route to the B&B. Just as you were relaxing into your seat, Jake came bounding up the steps, giving the driver a cursory nod just before the doors closed behind him and the vehicle began to move.

“Can we talk?” he asked, sliding next to you and dropping his jacket in his lap.

“There are, like, fifty open seats.”

“But you’re sitting in this one,” he said with the ghost of a grin. You would've rolled your eyes if you weren’t busy wishing you could teleport to literally anywhere else.

You faced forward to the other cars on the road, watching their taillights shine as you moved into nighttime traffic. “Can you do me a favor? I know you’ve done a lot of them over the past couple of days, but can you just forget that ever happened?”

“No.”

Aghast, you turned your head to see Jake looking maddeningly smug, not to mention relaxed, while he was invading your personal space and driving you to the brink of mental collapse.

“Why not?” you demanded.

“Why not? Because I don’t want to.”

“And is what I want—”

“Completely irrelevant,” he finished for you. “Besides, you kissed me, remember?”

“I don’t. I’ve wiped it from my memory chip.”

With a smile, Jake leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips that was almost chaste, except for the brush of his tongue against your lip and his fingers cupping your chin in a hold that was teasing and gentle, and undeniably thought-out.

“How about that one?” he asked, pulling away just enough to view your reaction.

“How about what?”

He grinned. “Cabbage.”

“Ew! Why would you call me that right now?” you exclaimed, scooching back into the window.

“Because you’re adorable. Beautiful.”

“Like a leafy green?”

“Yeah, like a whole salad.”

You laughed. “That makes no sense.”

“It really doesn’t.” But it did. Like so many other inside jokes, you knew exactly what he meant to say. It made you feel all warm inside, especially because there was no trace of subterfuge in his handsome face, and you knew he’d never be cruel enough to lead you on. He followed you, he thought you were beautiful, and he was here trying to convince you not to take the kiss back.

To be bold. To follow through.

“If you want to keep being friends…” he began.

“You and Mike are just friends, Jake. I’m the kid sister with a massively pathetic crush on you.”

“Maybe I have a crush on you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little… A lot, actually.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

In front of Pleasant View the driver pulled on the brakes, and Jake laced his fingers through yours as he dismounted and put a twenty in the tip jar, stopping in front of the entrance to face you with a question hanging, unspoken, in the air. If you let this opportunity pass you by, he would let you do it without a word, taking the gentleman’s way out and stopping his pursuit under the assumption that you had no interest in being with him, or in seeing where this new thing between you might go. But if you said yes…

The possibilities flashed through your mind, as frightening as they were wonderful. Everything might change. Everything would, there was no doubt about that. But change wasn’t always a bad thing, and if you had someone holding your hand along the way?

Wasn’t that what love was all about?

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Jake pointed out.

“Is that an issue?”

“Why, is it an issue for you?”

You shook your head, trying to contain the nervous joy in your chest. “Maybe you should take me flying sometime, teach me the ways of classic Hangman chill.”

“Just name the time and place,” he promised. “I’m ready when you are.”

Instead of second guessing, you took him at his word.

You reached up and kissed him fully on the mouth, sighing when he pressed you flush against his chest and carressed the nape of your neck. There was no predicting the future; that part would always be like navigating blind. But Jake was worth the risk. If nothing else, he was the sort of man who made you want to try, who took chances, and made you laugh through the terror of uncertainty.

In that moment, being lifted off the ground, physically swept off your feet by the man you’d loved since you’d first contemplated what love could be, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And the best part? From the look on Jake’s face, you knew the exact thought running through his head:

Babe, the luck is all mine.

Man, you loved weddings.

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kvmitchell · 6 months ago

Note

peter hayes x former amity????? love your writing btw!!

too | peter hayes

you kept your distance because you knew you couldn't have him.

peter hayes. a name that dripped with trouble and cruelty, someone most people either feared or hated, and yet, your heart continued to betray you. you were born in amity, raised to be peaceful, taught to love without complication, and customed to avoid conflict. yet here you were, falling for a boy who represented against everything you were taught to avoid.

it was irrational. stupid, even. you told yourself that every day. this is wrong. he's wrong for you. but there was something about the way he moved, how he spoke so confidently, and maybe the shade of his hair that drew you in. you hated that about yourself. it was like watching a storm from the safety of your home—dangerous and destructive, yet oddly mesmerising. you thought it was ridiculous how some aesthetic attraction you had for a boy could lead you to question everything you were brought up on.

"you're being an idiot, you know," christina had said once, not unkindly, but blunt as always. you were sitting in the cafeteria with her and tris, the two of them chatting about training, gossip, the usual. you, of course, had been caught staring at peter again from across the room. you couldn't help it; even when you tried. your eyes always found him without effort.

tris nudged you lightly, her small smile sympathetic but cautious. "yeah, she's right. you should just... let it go. it's peter. he's not worth it."

and you knew that. logically, they were right. peter wasn't the kind of guy you should want. but you believed that logic never had anything to do with the heart. logic didn't stop your heart from racing every time he glanced your way, or your stomach from fluttering when his lips quirked into that sly grin of his.

regardless, you listened to them—tris and christina. you kept your distance and kept quiet. but while your mind understood that peter hayes was off-limits, it didn't stop your heart from dreaming about all the ways you could have had him.

choosing dauntless had come with its own set of challenges. other than peter hayes. your kindness, your softness, wasn't something people there valued. dauntless celebrated strength, ferocity, and bravery. and sure, you had learned how to fight, how to defend yourself, but your core remained the same. soft. caring.

people noticed, of course. it wasn't hard to ignore the way you'd check up on others after a particualrly rough sparring session, or the way you'd always seem to hold back any time you had to fight anyone competitively.

you rarely fought back during petty arguments, never raised your voice. you didn't fit in the way you were supposed to, but that didn't mean you weren't respected. people admired you quietly, in their own way. you knew it wasn't loud praise or direct acknowledgment, but you caught the way some of the others softened when they spoke to you, or how they didn't mind standing by your side during sessions. many must have thought you were too gentle for dauntless, but that gentleness had earned you a quiet kind of respect.

peter was one of those people. or at least, you thought he was. it was hard to tell with him. he never outright said anything to you—never mocked you like he did with others. but then again, he never talked to you in general. more than anything, he avoided you. it was subtle, the way he slipped out of rooms when you entered or how he always seemed to position himself at the far end of the group. he wasn't cruel to you the way he was to others, but he wasn't kind either.

however, it hurt the most when you overheard al saying that peter was always adamant about changing the subject whenever you were brought up.

you hadn't meant to eavesdrop. it wasn't something you normally did, but you were passing by the dormitory when you heard al's voice, low and serious, drifting from the open door. you paused, half-hidden behind the wall, just out of sight, when you caught your name.

"yeah, i don't get it," al was saying, sounding confused. "every time we talk about her, peter shuts it down. like, he doesn't want to hear it. gets all weird about it, like he doesn't care or something."

your stomach twisted, a sharp ache settling in your chest. you pressed your back against the wall, trying to steady your breath. he didn't care. you had suspected it before, of course, but hearing it confirmed like this—so casual, like it was just a known fact—hurt more than you wanted to admit.

you figured it was because he saw you as a non—threat. someone too soft, too insignificant to bother with. and maybe that was for the best. keeping your distance meant you could admire him from afar without getting hurt.

"he's staring at you again," christina muttered one day, her voice low as she leaned across the table, her eyes flicking over to where peter sat with a group of initiates. you were about to protest, thinking you misheard her and that she meant that you were staring again. but you hadn't been looking his way this time—not intentionally—but the moment she said it. you felt the familiar pull in your chest. a stupid, traitorous part of you wanted to glance back, to see if it was true. that he was looking at you.

but you didn't. you kept your eyes fixed on your plate, stabbing at the food in front of you like it was suddenly very interesting. "he's probably just plotting something," you said, trying to keep your tone light, dismissive.

"yeah, well, if he is, it must be takin' him quite some time," christina laughed. she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a curious glint in her eyes. "he's been doing that a lot lately."

tris, ever observant, raised an eyebrow. "you noticed that too?"

your heart skipped a beat.

"it's probably nothing," you mumbled, a little too quickly. "peter doesn't care about me. he barely even looks at me."

"uh-huh," christina smirked, clearly not buying it. "sure. keep telling yourself that."

you didn't reply. what could you even say? you knew for a fact that peter didn't like you. he couldn't. not with the way he acted, the way he seemed to avoid being near you. if anything, he was probably just irritated by your presence. you were an anomaly to him, someone who didn't fit neatly into the world he created for himself. an annoyance that he couldn't get rid of.

still, a small, foolish part of you couldn't help but wonder what if. what if peter wasn't avoiding you because he disliked you? what if it was something else entirely?

days passed, and you continued to keep your distance. it wasn't hard. peter made sure of that. he rarely spoke to you, and when he did, it was curt, to the point. he never lingered, never allowed for more than necessary. but there was something strange in the way his eyes flicked toward you when he thought you weren't looking, how he stiffened slightly when your shoulders brushed by accident during training, how his eyes would dart between yours and your lips when you spoke.

you told yourself it didn't matter. even if there was something more behind his actions, it wasn't your place to find out. not when you knew how dangerous he could be, not just to others, but to yourself. because the truth was, if you let him in, he had the potential to destroy you in ways you couldn't even fathom.

and then, one night, everything changed.

you were in the training room late, the others having already left for the night. it was quiet, the dim lighting casting shadows across the floor. you liked the solitude, the peace that came from being alone in a place that was usually full of noise and chaos. it reminded you of your old home, of the calmness that amity had offered. dauntless was far from it.

you didn't expect anyone else to be there. least of all peter.

you had just finished practicing a round of punches against the bag when you heard the door creak open. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as you turned. there he was, standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto yours the moment he stepped inside.

your heart thudded painfully in your chest. "peter," you breathed, the sound of his name foreign and shaky on your tongue. you hadn't been alone with him in... you couldn't even remember how long. and now, with no one else around, the tension in the air felt suffocating.

he didn't say anything at first, just stared at you, his expression unreadable, almost debating. then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

"why are you here?"

his tone wasn't accusatory, but it wasn't friendly either. you wiped the sweat from your brow, trying to keep your voice steady. "just... practising. why are you here?"

he shrugged, his gaze flicking away from you for a brief moment before settling back. "same."

there was an awkward silence that followed. you didn't know what to do, didn't know how to handle being alone with him. you had always been so careful, so diligent about avoiding moments like this. but now, with no one else around, you could feel every suppressed feeling bubbling up inside you.

and then, out of nowhere, peter's voice cut through the quiet.

"why do you look at me like that?"

you blinked, caught off guard by the question. "what?"

"don't play dumb," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "you think i don't notice? every time. you look at me like..." he trailed off, his jaw tightening, like he was angry at himself for even bringing it up.

your stomach dropped. you had tried so hard to be subtle, to hide it. but of course, peter had noticed. he noticed everything. "i don't—" you began to deny it, but the words felt hollow, false.

peter took a step closer, his voice low, as if he were sharing a secret meant only for you. "i didn't want to love you, you know." his eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, holding you in place.

"isn't that what this is about?" he asked, his tone sharper now, frustration creeping in. "if you don't like me, you don't have to be all amity about it."

the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet, his words crackling in the air like electricity. your breath caught in your throat, heart pounding as your mind raced to catch up. love? you could barely process anything beyond that.

"w-what?" you stammered, feeling foolish for not hearing anything else he'd said. the butterflies in your stomach fluttered wildly, your pulse quickening as his closeness made everything else fade away. nothing seemed real except for him—standing just inches from you, his words still echoing in your ears.

he ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, like he was fighting some internal battle he couldn't win. his jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might just turn and leave. but instead, he continued, his voice rougher, more raw. "it's not like i wanted to like you," he said, his words stumbling out like he'd been holding them back for too long. "but then you smiled at me. and—holy shit, i blew it."

you blinked, trying to take in what he was saying, but before you could respond, he barreled on, clearly on edge. "and now you look at me like you hate me. i mean, why wouldn't you? everyone else does. i've been a total asshole, but at least they've got the guts to show it. but you—you're too... too nice to show it." his voice softened for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes surprising you. "so, now you're just pretending to be nice, pretending to not hate me by staying away from me. but i need you to know, i didn't want this. i didn't want to like you, but now—"

he broke off, frustration radiating off him, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "now i can't stop thinking about you, and it's driving me crazy." he really didn't want you to hate him.

you stood there, your heart swelling at the sight of him—peter hayes, always so tough and unfeeling—so undone in front of you. he thought you hated him? the idea almost made you laugh, but instead, a warmth spread through you, something gentle and tender.

without thinking, you let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising even you. his eyes snapped to yours, confusion flashing across his face. "what? what's so funny?"

"you," you said softly, stepping closer, your fingers hesitantly reaching up to cup his face, the warmth of his skin against your palms making your heart race. his breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his defensive walls—he was flustered.

his eyes widened, his tough demeanor faltering as he stood frozen under your touch. instinctively, he brought his hands to your hips, shy and uncertain.

you smiled, feeling more at ease now, more sure of yourself. "i love you too, hayes," you whispered, keeping him close, your thumbs brushing lightly across his cheeks and you couldn't help but admire the way his eyes smile before his lips.

for a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, his lips parting slightly as he exhaled a shaky breath.

"you do?" he asked, his voice almost vulnerable, the usual bite gone.

and just like that, the walls he'd built so high around himself crumbled.

you nodded, your voice soft. "i do."

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kvmitchell · 6 months ago

Text

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

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kvmitchell · 9 months ago

Text

Heart Of Texas - J.Seresin

Synopsis: While in Texas for your best friends bachelorette trip, the last thing you expect to find is the green eyed cowboy in the bar. Or to find him again months later.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader.

Warnings: 18+, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of the deed, soft jake(warning in himself really) , uh drunk marriage? not sure what to label that.

Authors Note: hi! i'm alive! I have had this draft for... MONTHS! I have not had much motiviation but upon it being hot glen summer. I'm here with my favorite green eyed boo.

The sun was shining bright through the soft gray curtains, causing you to squint. The silk sheets were soft against your skin. Rolling over in the King sized bed, you groan.

A night of bar hopping in the heart of Austin was probably not the smartest idea but the bride to be got what she wanted for her bachelorette party, her words playing on loop,

“I want to go to Austin and have a good time before I’m a married woman” .

The groan beside you pulls you from your thoughts, looking over beside you, gasping. You pull the sheet to cover your body, pulling yourself away from him and against the wall. “Oh my god” you whisper with a shake of your head.

Moving further against the wall and away from the man as he slowly woke up. Looking him up and down you take him in, he was tall, his feet hung off the bed slightly. His tanned skin and the small freckles adorned his chest, soft blonde hairs residing there. Once he opens his eyes, you note the soft green of his irises.

“What the hell?” he groans, hand falling to his forehead.

Then he looks over at you. You look like a deer in the headlights looking at him. Under his gaze, you can’t help but to pull the sheet tighter against your chest, less of his body being covered.

“Who are you?!” you whisper-yell. “Uh- My name's Jake” he chuckles, sitting up to push his body against the headboard. “Okay but why are you in my hotel room?” you ask.

He looks around the room, noticing the clothes scattered on the floor. "I think um” he rubs the back of his neck.

“I think we may have slept together Sugar” his drawl was soft, his voice deep and still riddled with sleep.

“I think I can gather that '' you mumble, rubbing your eyes. The coldness of metal against your face pulls your hand away. “Oh-” looking down at your hand, then back at the man in front of you, who you now know is Jake. “what is it?” he asks from the end of the bed, looking back at you over his shoulder.

Holding your left hand up to him, you wiggle the small dainty band on your ring finger.

“Oh shit” his face pales, looking down at his own left hand, a simple band adored his own ring finger. “We’re fucking married” you mumble, pushing the sheet off your body to stand.

Grabbing your panties, you begin to pace the hotel room. “Dude, how the hell did we get married?!” you ask, looking at Jake. He chuckles with a shake of his head, hands on his knees. “FIrst of all, please put your tits away” rolling your eyes, you grab the first shirt in sight, buttoning it to look at him. “Please explain! What do you remember?” with your hands on your hips, he sighs. “Not more than you do,” he admits. “Just fuckin dandy” you mumble, pushing a hand through your hair.

“I must say, I do remember alot of shots, '' he admits, it causes you to chuckle. “I can’t believe this is happening right now” pacing infront of Jake, he sighs. “It’s okay, those marriages are never even legit, not legally” he admits, pulling his boxers on, standing infront of you. Stopping your pacing, he grabs your shoulders. “It’s alright Sugar” he smirks.

Rolling your eyes you push his hand off you. “It’s alright to you..” trailing off, you look at the floor infront of you, “Jake” he hums in response. You pick up the piece of paper infront of you.

“Certficate of Marriage'' you hold it out to him.

“Legally, I am now your wife” he rips the paper out of your hands, looking it over. “Oh shit” he looks back up at you then down to the paper. He goes to speak, knocking on the other side of the door stopping him.

Widening your eyes, looking around the room, you sigh. “Okay big guy” he goes to protest as you shove him into the bathroom quickly shutting the door before he can protest.

As the bathroom door shuts, your hotel room door opens. “Why did I think you should have a key?” you sigh. Your best friends are all making their way into the hotel room.

“Safety, I have all the room keys” Laura, bride to be smirks. She sits down on the bed, looking around the room.

“Are you okay?” she asks, looking at you with a smile. “I’m fine” you are lying through your teeth. “Are you okay?” you look at your best friend Wanda as she has a small smile.

“She texted Bradley at least 200 times last night, they’ve talked twice this morning” Laura says, looking between you and her friend with a deadpan look in her eyes.

“She’s in love” you admit with a grin. “I’m the one getting married!” Laura defends with a laugh. Wanda turns her gaze to you, “How are you standing?” she asks, you raise a brow. “What do you mean?” you ask, “You had a wild night” Allison says from beside you.

“What do you mean?” she chuckles, “you were all over that guy, he was so into you” Jake smirks from behind the door, listening to the conversation between you girls.

"oh really?” you ask as she nods. “I don’t remember his name but you guys hit it off..” she smirks looking around the hotel room. “You slept with him!” Wanda stands, pointing at you. “Okay” holding your hands up in surrender, you look between your group of friends.

“I remember nothing, um” you blush, knowing he had to be listening. “The sex was phenomenal okay?” The room cheers, Jake's smirk grows behind the bathroom door.

“You guys really were all over each other '' Laura nods, grinning. “Here, look'' she's pulling her phone out, showing you the photos. The night coming back to you, one photo at a time.

The music pounded through the speakers of the club. “I can’t believe that in two weeks I’ll be married!” Laura yells beside you, dancing with her own drink in hand. You smirk, sipping from your glass.

“In two weeks time we’ll be looking at Mrs.Machado!” you yell, the rest of the group cheering. “Oh! I love this song! C’mon!” You are pushed out onto the dance floor with your best friends. “Get Low” by lil John played through the speakers, singing loudly as you swayed your hips.

“Ohhhh (Y/N)! He is totally eye-fucking you!” looking over at Wanda, who sends a nod to the tall blonde at the bar. The same blonde who bought the drink you were currently nursing. He winks. Being the only single friend in the group made this a common occurrence.

You smirk, pointing to him as he smirks. Pointing to himself, you nod, motioning him over. Pushing your drink into the hands of poor Allison who was just trying to nurse her own hands.

You take his hand, pulling him away from the group of girls. “You know it’s rude to stare” you smirk, he shrugs, hands on your hips as he pulls you into his chest. Back to his chest, you didn't hesitate to grind your hips against his.

You feel his chest rumble, his chuckle against your ear. “Not that I see you complaining Sugar'' resting your hands on top of his, you continuing to grind against him.

“Neither is he!” you smirk, he couldn’t even be embarrassed as he knew you referring to his hard length that continued to poke your ass.

Laura stopped on the last photo of the two of you, it looked like it was straight from a prono. “Oh” you nod, looking at her with a blush.

“I’m gonna assume that” Allison points at your shirt with a smirk, “is not yours”. The blush now made its way up your cheeks to your ears. “No,” shaking your head, you bite your lip.

“Allison owes me $20” Laura smirks, sitting down on the bed beside your best friends. You gasp, “You placed bets?!” the girls laugh. “I knew you’d go home with him, he couldn’t keep his hands off you” the night was coming back to Jake as he continued to sober up.

“Anyways” Wanda grins, “Get cleaned up and we’ll see you downstairs for brunch in an hour” you nod, smiling. “Okay, I’ll see you guys then” they all send you a wink on their way out of the door, you sigh as the door closes behind them.

“You can come out now” Jake makes his way from the bathroom. “They’re fun,” he smirks. You send him a glare, running a hand through your hair. “Sorry” he smiles. “What are we gonna do?” looking up at him, he can’t help but look you over.

You were gorgeous. The whole reason the night ended the way it did. “Well I have to head back to California in about 4 hours,” he admits, hand on his hips.

“California?” you ask as he nods, looking at you. “We’re from California” he chuckles, a weird coincidence. “Here” he picks his phone up from the floor, holding it out to you.

“Sounds like you will be busy so” he smirks, looking at the deadpand look on your face. “Give me your number and when we both have the time, we can see a lawyer” nodding slowly, you take the phone from his hands. Putting your number in, holding it back out to him.

“I did have a good time, from what I remember” he admits, sending you a quick text so you could save his own phone number. “It was also your idea to get married” gasping, you snap your head up to look at him.

“It was not!” you defend as he shakes his head, pulling his pants on. “It was Sugar” he smirks, hand on his hips.

He stood in just his pants, shirtless in your hotel room. He had a small tattoo on his pec, you just now noticed. “It’s my niece's handwriting,” he admits. You can’t help the smile that makes its way on your lips.

It was the only tattoo Jake Seresin put on his tanned skin.

You are getting yourself dressed, feeling him stare at you. “Can I help you?” he chuckles, “can I have my shirt?” he asks. You blush, unbuttoning the shirt to hold back out to him. “Thanks” you nod, turning back to him as you finish pulling the clothes from the night before back on.

“I’ll give you a call in like, a week or so?” he asks as you nod. “Uh, give me like a month, my best friend get’s married here in a few weeks” he nods, smiling. “No problem, I have a wedding myself” you smile, your own mind drifting to see him in a black tux.

“Okay” he makes his way to the door, “Jake” he stops, looking over his shoulder to you.

“Have a safe flight” he smiles, sending you another wink. “You too”

A week later, you received a text from Jake. You never expected to hear from him until he was ready for a lawyer.

UNKOWN: Hey, You make it back okay?

You had to admit, you originally didn’t want to save his phone number, but you decided then, it was best to save it. You had nicknames for everyone, it was a love language for you, Jake getting his own.

You smirk as you save the nickname “Hungman”, for obvious reasons.

YOU: I made it okay, how about you?

He smiled, he didn’t truly expect a response. He also saved a nickname for you in his phone, “Sugar” because you were just so sweet.

“Does it fit?!” Laura is knocking on the door, pushing it open to see you in the Lavendar dress she chose for you. “Oh, (Y/N) you look stunning!” smiling at her in the mirror, turning to face her. “Are you sure?” she nods, helping you out of the room. “I love it” you smile, spinning on the small platform.

The week was leading to wedding preparations for the soon to be Mrs.Machado.

Including dress fittings to be sure the dresses from two months ago still were perfect. “Why are you so smiley?” Allison asks, smirking. You shrug, looking at yourself in the mirror. “I bet she was texting Mr.Texas” Wanda smirks.

The group had given Jake his own nickname. “Jake just texted to make sure we all made it back okay” she coos, “how sweet,he was concerned about you” you smile. Maybe he was, you werent sure.

You didn’t want to look into it too much. The way you didn’t want to just yet take the delicate gold band off your left ring finger. They had yet to notice it, you found no harm in keeping it on for the next week.

“The man, the myth , the legend!” Coyote shouts, standing from the chair at The Hard Deck. Jake smirks, holding his hands out in pride. “I’ve arrived” he chuckles, hugging his best friend. “Did you have a good trip home?” Fanboy asks beside him as he sits down. He thinks back, the gold band sitting against his chest. He didn’t want to destory it with work, opting to put it with his dog tags.

“Of course I did,” he smirks. “Back just in time for the wedding” Javy sits across from him, handing him the beer. “Did you get laid?” Payback lets curiosity get the best of him. “Of course he did” his best friend answers for him, Jake smirks. “Bradshaw!” Jake looks up at the mention of Bradley, smiling at him and then his girlfriend, Wanda. “Sorry guys, I had to go pick her up” he smiles at the redhead beside him. She waves, sitting down beside Javy.

“Hey guys” her smile is warm. Jake knew that her and Bradley were made for the other. “I’ll go get drinks baby, I’ll be back” he kisses her head, walking to the bar. “How was the trip?” Coyote asks, she smirks. “So good! I will be going back to Texas again” she smiles, “I missed Brad though so” Payback gags from his seat.

“Stop” Fanboy slaps him. The group all have significant others except Hangman. Javy had his fiance Laura, Bradley had Wanda and Mickey had Allison. Payback had a girlfriend but it was far from being serious.

Phoenix and Bob both had already been married before even coming back to Top Gun. The group had yet to meet their spouses. “Here baby” Rooster sits back down, looking at the group.

“Cap” he nods to Jake, a smirk on his face as he sips his beer. Captain Jake “Hangman” Seresin. He smirks behind his own beer. “Rooster” Wanda smiles at Hangman and the rest of the aviators.

She’s leaning over beside Javy, showing him pictures of his soon to be wife and her friends. He feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he can’t help but smile.

Sugar: I found this on my phone, thought you may like it.

Attached was a photo of the two of you, a selfie of cake frosting smeared on both of your faces. He smiles, hearting the photo and saving it to his camera roll.

He didn’t want to admit his “wife” was becoming just that to him.

His wife.

“What’s got you smiling?” Mickey asks, he shrugs. “Is it the girl you slept with?!” Jake sighs, looking at his group of friends. “You slept with somebody?” Rooster asks, as he nods. “I can’t say I’m surprised” he mumbles, Jake sending him a look.

“I did,” he nods, looking at his friends. “And you kept in contact with her?” Javy smirks, looking at his best friend. Well of course I did, we’re married is what he wanted to say, instead he smiles.

“I did,” the group cheers.

“Maybe the hangman is finally getting himself a lady!” he can’t help the blush that makes its way to his ears. The bar began filing in with the rest of the group's spouses, Laura first. “Gentleman” she smiles, sitting down beside Javy. Laura was also a pilot, just now an instructor at Top Gun. Then filed in Allison who sat beside Mickey.

Payback leaving to go pick up his new girlfriend Lily. “I think this is my que to go” Jake sighs, pulling cash from his pocket as he tosses it onto the table. “Oh Hangman” Laura shakes her head, frowning.

“You don’t have to go,” he shakes his head, standing from his seat. “I have some much needed sleep to catch up on” he lies through his teeth. He hated being the odd man out of the group.

He waved goodbye, making his way out of the hard deck, his mind drifting back to you. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he sighs at the text from Javy.

Javy: Don’t let it beat you up man, you will find that someone soon, maybe at the wedding!

The continuous buzzing of your phone causes you to groan.

You knew the minute that group chat was created it was gonna be nothing more than a headache.

Ally: I think (Y/N) should go on a date with Hangman.

Wanz: I agree! The poor guy left because he was the only single one.

Lars: He’s a really down to earth man (Y/N)! Once you get past the cocky exterior.

Y/N: Can you guys not play matchmakers right now? I did really hit it off with Jake, remember?

Ally: He's in Texas ! You never know, your soulmate is right there, in Hangster.

Wanz: Bradley said he really is nice and you guys would be so cute together.

You give up then, muting the notifications and tossing the phone back on the counter beside you. They meant well, knowing you just wanted to get back out there after your break up.

You groan at the buzzing of your phone again, picking it up ready to block whoever's number for the night.

Stopping short at the message, the ellipses follow.

Hungman: Goodnight, Is it weird to text you goodnight?

Another message following

Hungman: Thought that's what married couples do so why not?

You smile. Jake felt his chest tighten, he was thanking whoever above that you had read receipts on.

Sugar: Goodnight Jake, We did drunkenly get married remember? My idea apparently.

A smile on his lips, he replies quickly.

Hungman: I mean, I didn’t have to agree to it. You clearly wanted to marry me though. I mean look at me.

The ellipses follow a few times, going in and out before one final message.

Sugar: I remember now you felt that way about me Mr. ;). Goodnight.

The week was over before you could blink. Wedding prep was extremely stressful, in ways that made you happy to just be a bridesmaid.

“(Y/N)!” you fix the skirt on your body as you walk to the table, smiling at the group. “Bradley Bradshaw '' you smirk, kissing his cheek and making it around the table. Hugging the group as you sit down beside Allison and Mickey.

You loved the group of Aviators. Bradley was originally your friend first, then the group followed. “What is that?” Mickey asks, pointing to your hand. You look to where he was pointing, your heart dropped.

In the weeks you had been home from Texas, you did the very most to hide the wedding band. “(Y/N)” Javy’s voice is stern, looking at you with curious eyes. “What?” you say, pulling your hand off the table quickly. He’s faster, reaching over the table to stop you.

“Oh my god!” Wanda sits up in her seat. “You married Mr.Texas didnt you?!” she points, looking between the group. Slouching back in the seat, you pull your hand away from Javy.

“Mr.Texas?” Mickey asks, chuckling. “She met a guy in Texas, they left. I just assumed they slept together but-” Allison smirks, looking at you. “That's where you snuck off to! You guys got married!” She's laughing. “This is not about me” you speak up, looking at Laura. She smiles, winking at you.

“This is about in less than a week, these two” you point to Laura and Javy “will be married!”.

The conversation now shifted to the wedding. You felt your blood pressure finally even out. You knew you should’ve taken the ring off.

In the last two weeks you shared lots of photos and texts with your husband, well Jake. He shared his own photos, asking you about your day. It was all things you were not used to.

Dating in a place so full of Naval Pilots was hard, it was not your type as it was your friends.

Having enough Navy friends, you were shunned off piolts. The group continued mumbling between themselves as you sipped your wine. Your phone then rang, furrowing your brows as you pulled it out.

Why was he calling you? Standing, Bradley notices first. He takes the hand closest to him as you pass. “Where you goin?” he asks, a gentle smile on his face.

“Uh, Jake is calling me, I just want to make sure he’s okay” his brain calculated what you said, before he put together Mr.Texas was Jake. “Okay” he smiles, giving your hand a squeeze.

“I’ll be back” you smile, walking outside quickly. “Hello?” he sighs, “thank god”. You frown, “Jake are you alright?” he smiles.

“Yeah, I just wanted to hear your voice” he admits, you can’t help the smile that grows on your lips.

“You know I am having dinner with my friends tonight” he chuckles. “I know I got the photos you sent, I just- I don’t know I wanted to say hi” he smiles.

He didn’t want to admit that he was starting to feel things for you. “Jake” you chuckle, looking in the window at your friends, none the wiser.

“I just wanted to talk to my wife” your heart starts beating harder in your chest. “You wanted to talk to your wife huh?” he smirks, it sounded even better when it came from your lips. “Yeah, I just want to say” he clears his throat.

“Have a fun evening, please text me once you make it home” you chuckle. “That's very Husband-y of you” he smirks. “I am a husband, your husband” you blush.

“Okay Mr.Seresin, I will text you when I get home” he smirks, “I also sent you some money if you need, Mrs.Seresin” it felt odd, but in a good way as legally, you were Mrs.Seresin.

“Jake,” he scoffs. “Nope, as a husband I am taking care of my wife, now go have fun” he blows a kiss over the speaker, hanging up before you can protest. You sigh with a smile. Typing out a quick text.

Sugar: Thank you, Husband. I appreciate you <3.

He can’t help the grin on his lips, looking over the text. He wouldn’t hate the idea of actually being a husband. The lawyer was the last thing on his mind. Making your way back inside, smiling at the text.

Hungman: No problem, Wife. Have a fun evening, talk later <3.

Wedding day had finally arrived, looking around the room, you sigh. “Where the hell is Laura?” you ask, standing in the suite with Allison and Wanda.

“I have no idea” you sigh, shaking your head. You knew she was not getting cold feet. “I’ll be right back” shutting the door behind you, you walk down the hallway with the bottom of your dress in hand.

Turning the corner you stop. Javy and Laura, both standing on the patio together. You clear your throat, both looking like deer in the headlights.

“This is not tradition” you say, arms crossed and brow raised. “I’m sorry” Laura smiles, hand locking with her now soon to be husband.

“Get back in the room, you have to get ready” she nods, kissing Javy one last time before she’s pushing past you.

Following her down the hallway as she got steps ahead of you. “Can’t believe you pulled me away from my husband” she gruffs, jokingly of course as you smile behind her. “I’m sorry miss, “I want a traditional wedding’” you throw the air quotes out to her.

She shakes her head, pushing into the room accompanied by the rest of your friend group and parents.

“I’ll be right back” you send her a reassuring smile, walking away from the room. It was hitting you a lot harder today that you were again only a bridesmaid and never a bride.

You tried hard not to mess up the makeup the lovely artist did trying to avoid the tears rolling down your cheeks. In the process, you don't notice the person in front of you, running into a hard chest. Soft hands catching you from falling, “woah there”.

Your whole body tenses, you knew that voice.

You look up to meet the same green eyes you had been thinking about for weeks. “Jake?” his hands remain on your shoulders. “(Y/N)?” his voice going up an octave in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as he looks you over, the lavender dress looks beautiful on you, “why are you crying?”.

You sniffle, shaking your head, “no answer my question first” he chuckles at your stubbornness. "My best friend is getting married today to his fiance, Laura” you gasp.

“Oh my god” you move from his arms, chuckling. “You are Hangman!” you point as his smirk grows wider.

“Javy’s best friend from top gun, oh my god” he nods sucking his teeth as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. “You are Laura’s best friend” you nod, looking at him.

“What the fuck” you whisper, more to yourself than him. “I did not put this together” he nods, walking closer to you.

“Wanda and Allison tried setting me up with you” the words flow faster than you can process you are saying them as he laughs, a full belly laugh.

“Did you tell them that I am already your husband?” he asks as he then notices the ring on your left hand as it's brushing your cheeks. “No, I didn’t because I had no idea you were the same person” you chuckle, shaking your head again.

“I’m happy to see you,” he admits, looking at you. Looking back at him, you finally take him in, the black suit against the lavender shirt he wore under, bowtie tied neatly.

He looked as good as he did the last time you saw him in person. He smiles under your gaze, “I’m happy to see you too” . It's soft but in the large corridor it wasn’t hard to miss.

“Hey (Y/N)-” Bradley stops short at the end of the hallway, looking between you and Hangman. “Hangman, what did you do?” he starts making his way down the hall to get closer to you. Moving to stand in front of Jake, you stop Bradley.

“Bradley” he stops, looking between the two of you.

“Hangman is Jake” Bradley nods, looking between the two of you, “yes his name is Jake, what does that have to do with what is going on?” you shake your head, chuckling.

“Mr.Texas?” you ask, Bradley stops for a few seconds before he is chuckling. Jake slips a hand to rest on your hip, looking between you and his now friend. “She was the girl you slept with in Texas?!” He points to you, looking at Hangman.

Jake nods, looking at him with a sheepish smile, “Yes”.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe out of all the people in Austin Texas you married Hangman!” he laughs with a shake of his head. “Can I just say something?” you ask, between both aviators.

“One, I had no idea he was in the Navy until about five minutes ago. Second, he was just Jake in Texas, a southern gentleman” you look at Jake over your shoulder, he smiles down at you.

“Did he get me in his bed and marry him? I mean yes but I am also a grown woman, I had no idea he was the Hangman that you all talk about” Bradley nods slowly.

“I’m still in shock,” you admit, looking between them. “You have to tell the girls,” Bradley smirks, looking at you. “I vouched for you and everything Hangman!” he laughs at his friend, who furrows his brows.

“The text said, and I quote “Bradley says he really is nice and you guys would be so cute together” so I mean he did” you say, nodding between the two of them. “Had I known you already went out and put a ring on it” Bradley mumbles with a grin.

“How did I not recognize the girls' voices when they were in the hotel room?” he asks as you shrug. “We were hungover and barely remembered how we ended up there,” he nodded with a laugh.

“Okay point taken” you smile, looking between your two friends. “Well anyways, Hangman we are being summoned by the groom” Bradley smiles, “I’ll see you two later” he smirks, laughing as he makes his way back down the hall.

You turn to face Jake with a smile. “Mr.Texas?” he asks, hands resting on your waist. You laugh, nodding, “The girls all nicknamed you Mr.Texas, I reminded them time and time again you were Jake”.

He smiles, looking at you. “Go” you whisper, resting your hand on his arm. “I will see you later okay?” he nods, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“I’ll see you later, Mrs.Seresin” he winks, walking back down the hallway the same way Bradley did.

He doesn’t miss the blush on your cheek. With a deep breath, you make your way back to the bride's suite.

“There you are!” Laura is grinning, holding a hand out to you. “Sorry, I’m here” you make your way to her, taking her hand.

“I want to tell you something” she’s whispering, looking at you.

“What is it?” you ask, squeezing her hand. “I never thought I would be here, marrying such an amazing man” she’s holding back tears as she continues, “I never thought I’d have such amazing friends like I do you and the group, I want you to know first” she’s grinning.

You nod, reaching out to wipe a tear from her face, “I’m having a baby”.

You grin, tears making their way to your eyes. “And I want you to be their god mother, Javy has already decided to ask Hangman to be godfather” you grin, both at the mention of Hangman and of the baby. “I’m honored” you smile, pulling her into a tight hug.

The wedding kicked off smoothly. You stood beside your best friend, watching as she married the love of her life. Doing your best to avoid crying, failing as they shared vows. You look up from the bouquet in your hand, Jake winks at you from his spot beside Javy. You blush, looking back at the couple.

“I now pronounce you, Mr and Mrs Machado!” the priest cheers as everyone follows suit. Jake waited so he could walk the aisle with you.

Following his best friend as he held an arm out to you. You move beside him and you link your arm through his, following the train of Laura’s dress.

Bradley smirks from his spot at the altar watching the scene in front of him as he was the only one to know.

He’s then looking at his own girlfriend as if she held the world. Following them outside, standing beside the rest of your best friends as you are throwing flower petals at the couple with cheers.

“See you all at the reception!” Javy grins, helping his now wife into the car, following after her.

“Wanna ride with us?” Mickey asks from beside you, smiling. Jake’s hands make their way back to your waist, shaking his head. “I got her” you smile at the look on Mickey's face, looking between the two of you.

“I’ll ride with Jake” you take his hand off your waist, lacing your fingers together. “Okay” He trails off, following Allison as she paid none the wiser of what was happening behind her.

“I now welcome you, Mr. and Mrs. Javy Machado!” you grin, cheering beside your friends as Laura and Javy make their way into the reception.

Laura looked gorgeous in the dress she chose. Jake beside you as he grins at his best friend. He was happy for them, even more happy having you beside him. You look up at the feeling of a hand on your arm, smiling at Wanda. “We need to talk” you frown, looking at her.

“Are you okay?” you ask, now turning to your best friend. She nods, smiling. “Hi Hangman” he nods, sending her a smile.

“Wanda” he nods and makes his way from the two of you to join his group of friends. You watch as he congratulates his friends, not missing the smile he shared with Laura.

“It’s Hangman?!” she’s whisper-yelling. “Huh?” you look back at Wanda, Allison on her way to join you. “Mr. Texas was Jake Seresin?!” she whispers a grin on her face. You blush, looking at your friends.

“What?!” Allison asks from beside Wanda, looking at you. “Yes, Jake is Mr.Texas aka Hangman” you look at them with a blush. “I can not believe this” Allison is laughing, watching you. “I can’t believe we tried setting you up and he already put a ring on it!” you laugh.

“Don’t be mad, Bradley told me” Wanda says, hand on your arm. Shaking your head, you smile. “I planned on telling you, I just haven’t told Laura because well it’s her day” you say, cutting short at the mention of your friend.

“What haven’t you told me?” she asks, glass in her hand.

“(Y/N) married Hangman!” you gasp, looking at Wanda.

“What?!” Laura is looking between you and back over at Jake, who stood with her husband. “Mr.Texas?!” she asks as you nod. “It all makes sense now, I mean sure Jake is a common name but in Austin Texas” she grins. “How did we not recognize him?” Laura asks the group, they shrug, “We were drunk and it was dark” Wanda says, they all laugh.

Making it through the crowd, you approach the group of Aviators. “Gentleman” you smile, looking between them, looking at Javy. “Javy, Congratulations” you smile as he pulls you into a tight hug.

You had grown close to Javy as he was like your big brother. “Thank you (Y/N/N)” you smile, moving back to stand beside Jake who doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you.

“Am I missing something?” Javy asks, looking between the two of you. “They’re married!” Bradley yells from behind him with a smirk.

“What?!” he looks at his best friend, who grins. “I am indeed Mr.Texas” Jake laughs at the nickname, looking at his friend. “And I am the mystery texas girl” you are also laughing.

"Oh my god!" Javy is laughing, hand on his stomach as he looks between the two of you. "And all this time Laura has been trying to set the two of you up!" he points out as his wife joins his side with a grin. "I mean I did if you think about it" the two Machado's grin.

“Are you gonna stay married?” the question was loaded, in the weeks since you returned to San Diego neither you or jake thought about divorce.

“I don’t know” you say, looking up at the man beside you. “We'll see” you wink, moving from his grip and making your way back over to your friends. “I can not believe you two are married and I-” Javy furrows his brows.

“I never saw your ring! None of us did” Jake grins, holding his left hand up, “I wore it on my tags, didn’t want to ruin it, but I whipped it out for today” he shrugs as he sips the beer in his hand.

The reception continued on with drinks, laughs and speeches. The group all found out slowly you were indeed married to the captain of the squad.

Standing on the balcony of the venue, you close your eyes and take in the breeze.

“You know the party is not out here” you smile, the southern drawl making itself known now that he was a few drinks in. “I know” standing from the railing, you turn to face him.

He smiles, his suit jacket now discarded, now just the lavender button up. “I needed a few minutes,” you admit, looking at him.

He nods, moving to stand beside you. “Can I ask you something?” he asks, looking over at you.

Nodding, he continues. “Do you want to get divorced?” biting your lip, you shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit.

“I don’t” he admits sipping from the beer in his hands.

“What?” you look over at him, looking over his face. “I think I'd like to see where we can go,” he admits. You blush, looking away from him, “Oh” your voice is soft.

“I don’t know, something feels right, it has for the last few weeks” he’s spilling now, he realizes.

“In the nights that we talked, the texting, the photos” he shrugs, looking down at you. “I can’t help but think maybe we could make this marriage work,” he smiles. You bite your lip, nodding slowly.

You had the same feelings, but in the group of your friends you knew the reputation Hangman held.

“Are you ready to be tied down to someone, let alone me?” you ask, he chuckles.

“I haven’t looked another woman's way since you” he admits, looking at you.

“Really?” you ask as he nods. “I realize now what you’ve heard about me, how I sleep around and all but” he shrugs, moving closer to you.

“I am a simple man. I want a wife and a life with someone I love” you look up at him as he continues. “Now, did our marriage start traditionally? Of course not. I want to build it” he smiles, hand reaching out to cup your cheeks. “I want to take you on dates and woo you, be the husband you deserve” leaning into his hand, you kiss his palm.

“I won't lie I didn’t expect you to lay it on so thick” you grin. He chuckles, looking at you.

“What do you say Sugar?” he asks, his voice now deeper and accent thicker.

You nod, leaning up to connect your lips to his. Taking him by surprise as he doesn't kiss back at first but within seconds, kissing you again.

He’s pulling you against his body, hand on the back of your head to pull you and your lips closer. As you kissed him, you realized two things.

Laura was so smart for picking Austin for her bachelorette party. And when you left Texas, you left half your heart there.

The smooth talking green eyed pilot taking a piece of your heart and holding it with him. Traveling back to California with him, and holding it close as he himself was close.

“Can I take you out officially?” he asks softly, "soberly, of course" he nudges your nose. “I think that can be arranged,” he smirks, kissing you again.

God did you love Texas.

Authors Note part II: I must admit I don't think this is my best work but I think the story is good and kind of hallmark-y? But lawd! did anyone see this fic going where it did? let me know your thoughts! of course, likes, reblogs and comments are always welcomed!

and of course, if you liked this fic you can find more of my work in the library here

⇾ The Library

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kvmitchell · 9 months ago

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Hi welcome to my masterlist! I write only Top Gun: Maverick and Rooster x you. I hope y’all enjoy my page and keep checking to see if I’ve updated, this is just for fun! Happy Reading!

Warning: I do write smut and content that is recommended for readers 18 and older, it is not my job to check if you are said age. So read at your own risk. For I am 18 years old.

Also, I like to update every day so check my blog to see if I’ve updated a chapter or just one shot!

Rooster x reader one shots

Home sweet home - Bradley comes home to his little family

Girl of my dreams - Nat feels bad that Bradley is alone so she signs him up for speed dating

Special chapter! - little moments between Bradley and you growing up

God bless America - You and the dagger squad had decided to take a vacation down to the beach. When Bradley sees you in your USA bikini, he almost gets on his knees and recites the pledge of allegiance.

Hungry eyes - Bradley didn’t seem to understand the term “sundress season”, as Jake called it, until he saw his wife, you, in one. Now he gets it.

Newest member - Bradley is getting home from deployment and has no idea what the baby’s gender is. You surprise him and he is overjoyed with the baby.

Birthday boy - Today is Bradley’s 40th birthday and you show him just how much he means to you.

Office fun - The one where you and your boss, Mr. Bradshaw, get after it in his office.

Rooster x reader multiple part stories

Brothers best friend - Moving in with your big brother Jake and his best friend Bradley

Fun with the groomsman - It was your sisters wedding today and you, as a bridesmaid, and your older sister, as her maid of honor, got ready for the wedding. Her soon to be husband has a friend that catches your eye. And you catch his.

Runaway bride - It’s your wedding day and your best friend, Bradley, tries to talk you out of it.

For old times sake- Bradley hasn’t gotten any action with his wife. They didn’t have kids, not because of their jobs, but because she just didn’t want to anymore. Bradley had a very high sex drive, and his maid that his wife hired might just give him a memory refresh of how good sex is.

I’ll be here for you - the one where you and Bradley cross the boundary of being friends.

Ill show you real love - While trying to fix your relationship with your boyfriend, Derek, you suggest a therapist to help you mend what’s left of the two of you. Things take a turn when you catch feelings for your therapist, Mr. Bradshaw.

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kvmitchell · 9 months ago

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The Other Girl

Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace x Female!Reader (x Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw)

Summary: Bradley is walking a tightrope. He’s living two different lives and engaged to two different women, but, like a puppet master, he has everything under control. Or so he thinks.

One night is all it takes for his carefully constructed charade to come crashing down. You meet Natasha. Natasha meets you. It turns out you both know the truth.

Who's the first? Who's the fool? It doesn't matter. Because the two of you will do anything it takes to make Bradley pay for what he's done. And, amid the destruction, you both discover an addiction to something you never knew you’d been missing; each other.

Warnings: 18+ no minors please. Descriptions of controlling, manipulative and mentally abusive relationships, alcohol, swearing, sexual references and mentions of violence. Smut: Fingering, oral sex (female receiving), spanking, spit kink, degradation, over-stimulation, power switching. The middle section of this is straight-up FILTH. Enjoy!

Disclaimers: I’ve tried to avoid any physical descriptions of the reader; I think the only mention of appearance is that Natasha and the reader don’t fit in the same tailored dress. Please excuse any inaccuracies regarding Naval aviation, Top Gun and the US in general (I am British).

Word Count: 11k

“Of course, Bradley, I understand.”

“I knew you would. It’s just a few more days, that’s all. Debriefings and seminars and… well, I won’t bore you with all that. But I’ll be back before you know it. I miss my gorgeous fiancée.”

You giggled and pressed the phone closer to your cheek. “I miss my gorgeous fiancé too. He left me all on my lonesome for a month and now he’s called to say he’s keeping me waiting for another week,” you teased.

“What an asshole. I’ll set him straight if I see him.”

“Hmm, you’d better Bradley.”

“Five more days, Bunny, then I’ll be home. I’ll show you just how much I missed you. So much that you’ll be sick of me.”

“I could never be sick of you, Bradley,” you said, doing your best to stop your voice from faltering.

Bradley’s end of the line became noisy for a moment, a gaggle of voices passing by.

“You out at that Navy bar tonight?” you asked. “What’s it called - the Hardy Den?”

“Nah. I’m having a quiet one this evening, Maverick’s run me ragged. I’m sitting on the porch outside my apartment, watching the world go by. Probably gonna nurse a bottle of beer in front of the tv later then hit the hay and dream about you.”

“Oh Bradley, you’ll make me cry.”

“I’d never want to do that, Bunny - shit - my phone is on one percent. And I left my charger in my locker. I’m so sorry –“

“That’s ok Bradley. I’m glad we got to talk. You enjoy your quiet evening.”

“We’ll be together soon, Bunny. I -“

And then the line went dead. You sighed and slipped your phone back into your purse.

Bradley was a good liar.

Because he wasn’t on the porch of his apartment, watching the world go by. No. Bradley was at the Hard Deck, and, after stepping out to take your call, he waltzed back into the bar with the trademark swagger of a man who thought he was untouchable. He re-joined his fellow pilots at the pool table, took a swig of whiskey, and reclaimed his place as the centre of attention.

Bradley was a good liar. But you were a good liar too.

Because you weren’t holed up in the house you and Bradley shared back in your home state of West Virginia. You were sitting in a taxi in the Hard Deck parking lot (you knew what it was called all along, you just thought playing dumb would be a nice touch), watching as your fiancé kissed another girl.

Bradley was a good liar. But maybe not good enough.

You glanced at the taxi driver. She was still a few feet away from the car and had just lit up her second cigarette. Seemed like she was happy to give you a couple more minutes before taking you to your next destination. And so she should have been, considering you’d offered to pay her double the usual rate. Not that you would have needed to, as soon as you told her your plan for the evening, she had been all in.

“You just remember this, sweetheart, if you start having second thoughts. He had it coming.”

Never had a truer word been spoken.

Bradley and his companion broke apart and he wrapped a casually possessive arm around her waist. She looked so at home by his side, just like you always did. She gazed up at him adoringly, mesmerised by his aura. You knew only too well what it felt like to be spellbound by Bradley’s charm, enraptured, and caught in a lavender haze after every kiss. You could live off the high of his attention for days. Bradley could make anyone feel like a million dollars, even if he only spent a moment with them. Falling in love with him was as easy as…well, falling. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that somebody else had fallen for him too.

Lieutenant Natasha Trace. Her name and history hadn’t been hard to find once you’d pulled enough of the wool from your eyes. She and Bradley had met a decade ago. They were in the same graduating class of Top Gun. You’d seen the pictures; Bradley with his signature grin and a lighter, fluffier moustache sitting three rows down and nine seats along from Natasha, poised and serious in contrast. They might have been friends back then, you supposed, it was certainly a possibility. Maybe she was a one night stand he could never quite shake. Still, she hadn’t signed his yearbook (you’d checked), she wasn’t in any of Bradley’s Facebook photos (you’d checked) and she’d been stationed on a different base with the Black Aces ever since (you’d triple checked), until last year. She and Bradley were called back to Top Gun for a special mission, and a new expert detachment had been created with the aviators that flew it. Turns out a life-changing life-threatening deployment cultivated the perfect conditions to reconnect with an old flame.

God, you’d been so naïve. It pained you to think of all the times Bradley had talked about her in your presence and you’d been none the wiser. “Phoenix said this” or “Phoenix did that.”

Cocky fucking bastard.

She was looking right through you. Staring out the Hard Deck window as she sipped her martini. You had half a mind to smile back, but you knew the bright lights in the bar meant all she’d see in the glass would be her own reflection.

You took your chance to study her properly for the first time, adding in extra details to the few official Navy photos you’d managed to find.

Hazel eyes and dark brown hair, styled in luscious, sweeping waves that kissed the top of her shoulders, a contrast to the prim slicked back look she sported while in uniform. Her face was small and delicately round, save for her sweetly pointed chin, and her features had an elvish, faerie-like quality. She was petite but unmistakeably toned. You bet she was bold. Smart too. She had to be, to make it in such a male dominated field. You bet she never let Bradley see her cry.

You’d wanted to hate her. The darkest, coldest, least feminist part of you wanted to believe that Bradley would have only cheated on you with some desperate tag-chasing promiscuous whore. But you knew deep down that wasn’t true. There was something about Natasha Trace that kept your loathing at bay.

The red dress she wore fit her just right. That sexy silky corset-bodice number had been the start of the end. Bradley’s fatal mistake.

You would never forget the day he proudly presented you with the ribbon-tied box, and how eagerly you unwrapped it to reveal the most gorgeous garment you had ever laid eyes upon. You squealed and danced with excitement and hugged Bradley so tightly, buzzing with joy, until the time came when he insisted you tried it on. It didn’t fit.

When you checked if the receipt was still in the box, you noticed there was a gift note too.

To my sweetest Birdy, love Bradley.

Birdy.

“Hey Bunny, are you ready? I’m dying out here,” Bradley called from the other side of the bedroom door. “I’ve gotta see you wearing it, or I’m gonna burst.”

Like Emma Thompson in Love Actually, you swept away the tears as quickly as they’d begun and put on the performance of your life. You stayed in your lingerie and told him you were too damn horny in that moment to consider doing anything but letting him fuck you until he was spent. He forgot all about the dress, buying you time to call up the shop and investigate when Bradley next went away for work.

“You’ve reached Duchess Boutique’s customer services; how can I help?”

“Hi, I’m calling on behalf of my fiancé. He placed on order with you last month for a dress, but I think there’s been a mix up – we’ve been sent the wrong size.”

“Ah, my apologies. Let me bring up your order and see what’s gone wrong. Could you give me the full name it was made under?”

You obliged and the customer service rep continued.

“Here we go, Bradley Bradshaw. I can see that two purchases of the same dress were made, with a request to tailor them to different measurements. One was sent to the address you just gave, and the second was sent to a Miss Natasha Trace in San Diego, is that correct?”

You almost choked on your own tongue.

Natasha Trace.

One name turned your whole existence upside down.

“Hello? Ma’am? Are you still there?”

“Yes – sorry, yes. Must be a bad line,” you said, regaining your composure. “Those orders are correct, one to give to my sister, and one for my friend Natasha. They’re bridesmaids’ dresses.” The lie came surprisingly easily.

“I’m sorry ma’am, it looks like the addresses were put in the wrong way around when the order was placed. A simple mistake. If you could send your dress back, we’ll ship out a replacement in the correct size right away.”

“Thank you for your help.”

You had a name. And it didn’t take much internet sleuthing to connect the dots. Natasha Trace was the famous Phoenix. Natasha Trace was Bradley’s ‘sweetest Birdy’.

You got your replacement dress in due course. You were wearing it right now. Bradley was going to get the surprise of his life later tonight.

You rolled the window of the taxi down and signalled to your driver.

“I’m ready to go.”

“You were out talking to that mechanic for quite a while.”

Bradley sipped his drink slowly before answering. “Yeah, he just wanted to double-check the specs for the parts I’m ordering for the Bronco.”

Natasha’s lips were in a thin line, and she toyed with the ring on her finger.

“An odd time of night for him to call, isn’t it?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

His tone was salted with irritation, and his eyes seemed to look right through her.

“Is everything ok?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just seem a little distant, like you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

He set his drink down and dragged her close. She had his attention now.

“Birdy, the only thing I’m thinking about at this moment is you. My fucking kick ass fiancé, and that drop dead gorgeous dress you’re wearing.”

Natasha sighed and let her face bloom with a soft smile, spurred on by the last few lingering butterflies that still fluttered in her chest. She wasn’t yet immune to his talent for loving, how he could turn on a dime and make her feel like the only thing on his mind. He still affected her so, after all this time, despite everything she now knew.

“There’s that rare smile,” Bradley praised. “I don't like that you hide it from me so much.”

“It wouldn't be rare if I didn't though, would it?” she replied.

Bradley laughed. “You're too fucking smart for me sometimes, you know.”

He leant down for a kiss and Natasha accepted it gladly. She'd never been able to resist him, not really. Not since that drunken heart to heart, make out and haphazard fool around after a night out during their first stint at Top Gun. One fateful evening had given her ten years of hope. She’d been too serious for him back then, and they’d both been too focused on their career vendettas. Her proving herself capable amongst a group of men that were bigger, stronger, and louder, and him, four years older than the rest, using the power of a grudge to help him fight to the top.

Their paths crossed fleetingly over the years. They weren’t friends per se, but they were something. Natasha’s ears always pricked up at the mention of Bradley’s name. And, though she tried to push the truth away, she knew why her relationships with all the other men and women that tried to pierce through her hardened shell always failed. They weren't Bradley.

So, imagine her surprise when, after being called back to Top Gun for a specialist mission (the pinnacle of her entire career), Bradley Bradshaw strutted into the Hard Deck to steal her heart one more time.

A year and an engagement ring later, she thought she'd stolen his heart, too. What a beautiful little fool she'd been.

She held Bradley's face and kept him close, letting the kiss go on for a little too long, eliciting oohs and whistles from the surrounding crowd. Natasha paid them no mind on this occasion. Her only goal was to memorise Bradley's taste, the exact pressure of his tongue, the rugged graze of his moustache against her lips. Last kisses ought to be remembered.

When they broke apart, Bradley slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed her hip while Javy absorbed him in a conversation. Natasha gazed up at his profile and mapped out his scars, one by one, before her gaze travelled over the strong slope of his nose and followed the curls of his lightly tousled hair.

After tonight, she planned on never seeing or speaking to him again. In a few minutes, once she’d finished her martini, she would make her excuses and head back to Bradley's house without him, collect her things (which she’d surreptitiously already bagged up), and walk right out of his life. Leaving him with only the memory of her in the red dress he bought, tainted by what he'd lost.

A month’s worth of leave lay ahead of her, and after 30 days of clearing her head, she was transferring to a new base, never to look back.

It's not like she hadn't given Bradley his chances to come clean. He just didn't take them. The cheating bastard didn't deserve a grace of a goodbye.

Bradley accepted her feigned complaints of a headache with barely a question. He checked that she was OK to drive home, but she insisted she’d be fine. She’d only had one drink, and she didn't want to spoil his night. He let her go without protest. He’d get a taxi and see her in the morning.

Natasha slid into her sleek, silver Corvette and made the journey back to Bradley's apartment in silence. She took in the lights of San Diego, recalling the memories attached to each familiar place she passed. She would miss the city, the beach, her friends (especially Bob). But she had to do this for herself.

She pulled into the driveway next to Bradley's prized Bronco and stepped up to the red painted door. She nudged the wonky welcome mat back into position with her toe then slipped her key into the lock.

Something wasn’t right. A lamp was on in the living room beyond the hall.

Natasha’s brain immediately locked into survival mode, and she scanned the vicinity for something to defend herself with against an intruder. She settled on the vintage Phillie’s baseball bat that Bradley had displayed on the wall, then stepped towards the light.

You were waiting for her.

A vixen in your crimson dress (completely identical to hers), lounging in Bradley’s favourite brown leather armchair like a queen on a throne.

“I know who you are,” Natasha said calmly, masking any fear that might be evident in her voice. She was trained for this, trained to stay measured and composed in the face of war.

Your blood red lips contorted into a gleeful smirk.

“Ditto,” you revealed. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Birdy. We have so much to catch up about.”

You kicked up your legs and rested your heels on the glass coffee table with. Natasha couldn’t help but wince slightly at clinking noise, remembering how Bradley would react to her putting anything on it in case she caused a scratch. In the beginning, it riled her that he didn’t think she was careful. Yet she had so quickly chosen to appease him, not willing to start a fight. And here you were, treating Bradley’s rule like it was nothing. Or maybe Bradley didn’t have rules when it came to you.

“Tell me, what gave the game away?” you asked.

Natasha couldn’t quite place your tone. She didn’t know what you wanted to hear. Were you goading her? Mocking her for taking so long to realise what you had known all along? Or were you looking for kinship, a reassurance that you weren’t the only one who’d succumbed to wilful ignorance in the name of Bradley Bradshaw.

She decided to tell the truth.

“The dress,” she admitted, gesturing towards the red fabric draped across her body.

You practically squealed with delight at her revelation.

“Let me guess – it was the wrong size?”

Natasha nodded gravely. The day of the dress would always haunt her. It was the point of no return. The moment her previously unfounded suspicions were finally proven. Until then, she’d twisted her logic into knots trying to justify Bradley’s evasiveness and blatant cover ups as innocent. But, once she’d read the note (“my beloved Bunny”), called the boutique, and heard your name, there was no denying the truth anymore.

You were laughing, bright bold and beautiful, utterly exhilarated.

“Oh Bradley, what a man,” you sighed, wiping a tear from your eye. Your tone was almost wistful, Natasha thought. She could hear the softness that still lingered in your voice when you said his name. It reminded her of the reverence she used to give those two syllables every time she said them.

“You’re welcome to him,” Natasha said quietly. “I’m leaving him tonight. He’s all yours now.”

You just scoffed.

“Give me a little more credit, Tasha.”

Something stirred deep inside her at the way you laid claim to her name.

“I’m leaving him too. I just fancied making a spectacle out of it. I’m not one to walk away without a trace.”

A spectacle? Natasha couldn’t remember ever making one. It wasn’t her way. But, then again, had she ever felt truly free enough to do so? She always made sure she didn’t stand out for the wrong reasons. She could never risk being branded as difficult and emotional or bossy and hysterical.

You cocked your head, looking at her intensely.

“Tell me, what do you plan on doing with that baseball bat?”

Natasha had forgotten she was holding it. Suddenly the wood felt as heavy as lead, and she noticed the sweat from her hand that was seeping into the grip.

“I think you want to break something, don’t you Tasha?” you said, deceptively sweetly. “You’re not alone. I want to break something too, just like Bradley chewed up both our hearts and spat them out. I want to hit him where it hurts.”

You stood up and began to stalk around her. Natasha could smell the heady, luxurious perfume you wore, and the proximity of your body made that feeling stir again. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs, letting your silky, seductive words seep into her blood.

“Think of all the lies Bradley told you, the lies he told us both. How he led us on for so long, toying with our hope, believing he was some kind of God. But now we see him for what he really is. A pathetic, two-timing, worthless piece of shit. A coward. Too weak to fucking choose and now he’s going to lose everything he worked so hard to achieve.”

Natasha could sense the rage that simmered and boiled beneath your skin. You were radiant with it. She wated to taste the fire and vitriol that spilled from your tongue.

“I mean, what was he thinking?! Two fiancées? Two weddings? Was he really going to live as a bigot with two wives in two homes on either side of the country?!”

Natasha was jealous of how you seemed to relish in your anger, how you’d allowed the betrayal to consume you and ignite a passion in your soul.

“He’s nothing to us anymore,” you spat. “Just a dumb, tragic, empty shell of a man that deserves every second of hurt that’s coming his way. We’re going to make him pay.”

You rounded on her, your chest heaving and your eyes ablaze with vengeance.

“So, I’ll ask you again Tasha,” you said quietly, voice deadly. “What are you going to do with that baseball bat?”

Natasha’s answer didn’t need any words. She gripped the wood with both hands and summoned every drop of unleashed fury that had been pent up inside her for the past decade. She raised the bat high above her head and pictured Bradley’s smug, taunting, overconfident face, then, with a scream, she slammed the bat down into the coffee table, smashing it to smithereens.

The taxi driver had tried to insist that you didn't need to pay her. She was happy to help fellow scorned woman in any way she could. You were a little scared to ask her to elaborate when she mentioned her deadbeat ex-husband, so you pressed the green notes into her hand regardless.

“You make the bastard pay”, she said coldly before speeding away. “And don't feel guilty about enjoying it, neither.”

God you were you enjoying it.

Natasha took you on a house tour like no other, revealing the secrets of Bradley’s hidden second life. You noticed how similar his San Diego home was to the two-bed you shared with him back in Virginia. The Virginia house was yours in name, but little evidence of your life before Bradley remained. The furniture was arranged exactly as he liked it, right down to the inch. The food in the fridge and the snacks in the cupboard were only what he approved of you eating. The surfaces were spotless, the walls painted white, the carpets and floors pristine, not a speck of dust to be found. Bradley had convinced you to turn your once colourful, eclectically decorated home into a whitewashed shell. Like a modern art gallery, but each space was meant only to display Bradley’s treasured possessions (though just half of them, you now realised). Your own collection was deemed unsightly and kept locked away.

Similarly, the only evidence of Natasha’s presence in the rooms you passed through tonight was the destruction she left in her wake.

Once the coffee table had been obliterated, she couldn’t be stopped. Your goading had unleashed a wild beast from the darkest recesses of her psyche, and now she’d sunk her teeth into the possibility of revenge, she’d become addicted.

Ornaments and photo frames, Bradley’s prized baseball memorabilia, the flat screen TV and it’s imposing speakers, the alphabetised display of vintage records; all became victim to Natasha’s glorious rampage.

Then, when she was done, standing in the centre of the carnage, surrounded by the rubble and shards of everything she’d broken, she turned her attention back to you.

She was breathing heavily, and her lips curved into an almost snarl. “You just going to stand there or are you going to join the party?”

You smirked and turned on a spiked heel, striding into the kitchen to retrieve your weapon of choice. Natasha appeared in the doorway in time to see you wielding a menacingly large pair of scissors, the razor-sharp blades gleaming under the clinically bright spotlights.

“Does this answer your question?”

It took barely two minutes to turn the entire room upside down. You ransacked the cupboards, smashed the crockery and tore into each packet and box, deliberately dumping Bradley’s protein powder across the surfaces and grinding his granola bars under your feet. You pulled the power cord from the back of the fridge-freezer then pierced holes into every item you could, praying the food would rot as quickly as your heart did when you’d found out the truth. At the same time, Natasha had battered her way into the locked whiskey cabinet, and you joined her in pouring the contents of each eye-wateringly expensive bottle down the sink, but not before taking searing gulps of the most priceless tipple.

You kept a tight grip on the scissors as you continued your travels, slashing the brown leather of Bradley’s armchair for good measure before letting Natasha drag you up the stairs. She carried on ahead, making a beeline for the bathroom, but you remained in the hallway, transfixed by a framed photo of Bradley’s mother and father.

If Bradley was to be believed, Nick and Carole Bradshaw were saints (he certainly revered them as such). If anything were to happen to this portrait, it would maim Bradley like a dagger to the heart. But you never intended tonight to be a clean kill. So, you allowed the photo to remain, perfect and untouched, a holy relic of Bradley’s past; two angels looking on, trapped behind a frame and forced to watch as you and Natasha tore their precious son’s life apart.

You hoped, when Bradley eventually arrived home, he might find disappointment in his parents’ eyes. You prayed he would be crushed by the weight of their shame and tortured with the knowledge that if they were truly as wholesomely ‘good’ as he claimed, then he was no son of theirs anymore, not after what he’d done.

When you finally slunk into the bathroom, Natasha had already made her mark. Angry swirls of Bradley’s expensive shampoos, lotions and gels had been smeared over the mirror and wall tiles, his toothbrush was floating in the toilet, the shower curtain had been wrenched from its pole and she was dumping the last of his pristine white towels into the tub.

Your nasal passages filled with the nauseating scent of him. The earthy, citrus-spiked fragrance of sandalwood and clementine that you’d once found irresistible. Desire would stir in your loins upon inhaling the mix of bourbon cologne and sunscreen spritzed on the skin of his neck. But now the aroma had developed a new potency; cloying and overbearing, causing the air to thicken like treacle.

“Having second thoughts?” Natasha asked, when she realised you were standing stock still, staring into the distance. There was apprehension in her tone.

“No. Never.”

You didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to let her down.

“Pass me his hair dye,” you demanded, holding out a hand.

“Yes ma’am.”

Fuck. A minor moan passed your lips. Her immediate obedience was so thrilling, but you dared not give yourself time to dwell on what that might mean, of where it might lead. Instead, you uncapped the bottle and squirted every last drop of the permanent, staining colour all over Bradley’s white-and-fluffy-as-a-cloud bath towels.

The bedroom was the final stop. If you weren’t so fuelled by your quest for retribution, you might’ve had visions of Bradley and Natasha locked in a passionate embrace, writhing together in the sheets. You might’ve been haunted by the knowledge that in this most intimate of spaces, Bradley had fucked another woman, whilst you lay alone on the other side of the country dreaming of him, believing with your whole heart that he had been dreaming about you too. But your rage-addled brain led you down a different path.

You stalked towards the wardrobe and almost flung the doors off their hinges. You pulled a mound of Bradley’s ridiculous Hawaiian shirts from their hangers and cut violent slashes into them all, yanking them apart at the seams with your bare hands where you could. A part of you wished Bradley was there in person, so you could rip the fabric clean off his back along with strips of his flesh.

“Fuck,” you grunted, slicing through a particularly ugly floral. “Don’t you just want to tear him limb from limb?”

But Natasha didn’t hear you.

Instead, she was frozen in front of the small vanity table, staring at the Polaroid photos tacked around the mirror. They were all of her. Unnaturally framed poses of different outfits, hairstyles, close ups of her face, her lips and eyes, like the images a make-up artist, hairdresser or stylist would use to advertise the different looks they could offer. You knew instantly that none of the photos had been put up by Natasha herself. This was all Bradley’s doing. His not-so-subtle way of reminding Natasha, every day when she sat down to get ready, what he liked. This was a collage of suggestions - no - instructions, for Natasha to follow and ensure her appearance conformed to Bradley’s sky-high expectations.

You knew all this because there was identical vanity table in your home back in Virginia, surrounded by photos Bradley had taken of you.

“But you look so perfect like this Bunny. I love you so much. Don’t you wanna be perfect for me?”

His insidious ‘encouragements’ were easily recalled.

“Think of it as self-care. That’s what you girls call it, right? I know you’ve been feeling down lately, but trust me, if you look your best, you’ll feel your best.”

“I’m always telling the guys I’ve got the prettiest girl. You wouldn’t want to prove me wrong, would you? Just a little bit of effort, is that really too much to ask?”

Natasha was crying.

“How could I have let him do this to me?” she croaked. “I don’t even know who I am anymore, I’m just whatever he wanted me to be. How could I have been so foolish?”

You rushed to comfort her.

“No Tasha, stop. You’re not foolish. You never have been.” Her face was in your hands. “Bradley is the fool for thinking he could keep you so easily. But he doesn’t deserve any more of your tears. You’re the one with the upper hand now.”

Your voice was silken and seductive again, intent on enticing the wild and uninhibited version of Natasha that you were growing addicted to out from retreat.

“Break it. I know you want to. Break free of him.”

So she did.

The bat swung wildly through the air, and she unleashed a primal scream. The evil mirror exploded into shards and Natasha pummelled the vanity table until all that remained was a pile of splintered wood. You caught her reflection in the jagged shards of glass, the image distorted and off kilter, yet utterly mesmerising.

It felt sacred somehow, to witness the moment disbelief evolved into awestruck wonder as Natasha finally chose to revel in the destruction she had caused. All because of you.

You’d never felt such an electric connection with another person in your entire life.

A desperate yearning thrummed beneath your skin. There was one final act in the tragedy of your relationship with Bradley. It was time to pour gasoline on the remaining bridge.

You kissed her. The baseball bat that was still in her hand crashed to the floor as she flung her arms around your neck, her fingers digging into your scalp and pulling you close. Her lips were demanding and moved unrelentingly against yours with fierce, fiery fervour. The aromatic, slightly medicinal taste of her dry martini still lingered on her tongue, intoxicating you with every smouldering caress.

Already your heart was racing and your breathing shallow. You needed air, to put words to this moment before you willingly drowned.

“I’ve gotta have you, Tasha,” you pleaded desperately, holding her delicate face in your hands once more.

“Then have me,” she commanded. “Make me forget that bastard’s fucking name. Make me scream yours.”

Oh god. You kissed her again.

“Have me,” she hissed against your lips, biting on the bottom one and sucking. “Right here on Bradley’s bed.”

You moaned deeply and your knees almost buckled. The idea was so crazy, so debaucherous, so cosmically wrong that it felt more right than anything in else in your life ever had.

The kiss grew feverish, and you fell onto the king-size, limbs tangled. You rid Natasha of her infamous dress and stripped away her lacy lingerie, leaving her splayed on her back beneath you, her gorgeous figure entirely on display.

She was yours for the taking.

Natasha reached up to yank down the fabric of your bodice and reveal your breasts, but you grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head before she could.

Her eyes blew wide.

“No touching,” you said curtly. “Not yet.”

You wanted to take your time, you wanted to relish in the power that flooded your bloodstream. Now that you’d seized control, you had no intention of relinquishing it, not until you’d got your fill.

Natasha whimpered softly, but she obeyed your orders, keeping her hands away from your body by gripping the corners of the pillow beneath her head. Your core fluttered at her submission, and you were mesmerised by the pleading hazel eyes that gazed back up at you with a yearning you’d never once seen in Bradley’s.

You’d always been a lover of fine dining; and Natasha Trace was the most perfect banquet. You savoured her figure and sampled every fine delicacy her exquisite body had to offer, noting the way she reacted to every teasing touch. Her muscles were firm and taught under your fingers and tongue, and her skin was smooth, soft and smelled like honey. You plucked teasingly at her nipples and adorned her pert breasts with bite marks and kisses. Her abdomen spasmed and she sighed with longing when you finally reached her wet, glistening cunt.

“Oh, look at you,” you cooed.

You slowly swirled your fingers through her folds and coated them in her slick.

“Is this all for me?”

She whimpered and nodded, watching in awe as you traced your fingers across your lips before taking them deep and relishing her sweet heady taste on your tongue.

“Fuck.”

You smirked, then slipped your two fingers from your mouth and sank them into Natasha’s warm, velvet centre.

Never had your name been spoken with such reverence, like a prayer. It only took a couple of passes for you to find the sweet spot that would lead her to the edge. You intended to keep her teetering until you, and only you, deigned to push her over it.

“That’s it, Tasha. You gonna make a mess of Bradley’s nice clean sheets for me? Let him know we were here; show him how much wetter I can make you?”

“Yes, yes! Please!” she cried desperately. Perhaps a different version of you might have taken pity on her.

But you needed to see her fall apart for you. You needed to see her shatter into a thousand pieces in a way only you could put back together again. You wanted her to beg for you because Bradley never did - he always held the cards. He said your suggestions were emasculating and made you feel so wretched and ashamed for merely asking, you never dared broach the subject again. The sex wasn’t bad, it would be a lie to say he left you unsatisfied, but this - what you were sharing with Natasha - was transcendent.

“Tell me what you want Tasha. Is there something you’ve always fantasised about, something he wouldn’t do?”

You could see from her expression that she had an answer. You were determined to draw it out of her.

“It’s something dirty, I can tell. Bradley was so fucking vanilla, so fucking basic. Thought just because he had that pretty cock, he was some kind of God. But he never fucking listened, did he? I’ll listen. I wanna make you come so hard your head spins, Tasha. Whatever it takes.”

Natasha moaned loudly and you switched the movement of your fingers to a torturously languid pace, syrupy and slow.

“I - I want - could you - I – please.”

“It’s ok Tasha, you can tell me. I’m here for you, I’ll do whatever you want,” you promised.

She was so unbelievably wet, slick drooling from her cunt and onto your hand with every drag of your fingers.

“Oh - I want – I-want-you-to-spit-in-my-mouth-and-spank-my-pussy-and-call-me-a-slut.”

Fuck. Her garbled admission made your own mouth so dreadfully dry. You needed to work yourself up to it.

“Oh Tasha, you filthy girl. You want to be dominated, don’t you? You want someone else to take the reins for once. Not just anyone though, you need someone who understands. Someone who knows how much of yourself you always fight to repress, when you’re up in the air or standing your ground against all those men who got just as far by only working half as hard. But I can help you forget all that. I’ll give you permission soon. I’ll let you feel small and delicate and used. You need to float, don’t you, Tasha?”

She nodded dumbly. “Yes, please. Oh please - OH!”

You slipped your fingers from her cunt and struck her pussy with a stinging slap, making her squeal.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” you cooed. “I’ll give you what you need, since you asked so nicely. Even though you’ve been such a bad girl, haven’t you?”

Slap!

“Yes!”

“You’re such a wicked little slut. Look at you. Getting fucked by your fiancé’s other girl. That’s depraved. Slut. Behaviour.”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

The final blow landed perfectly, and Natasha cried out, her pretty tears making her eyes glisten like stars. She whimpered your name, her breathless moans descending into one desperate plea.

More.

You returned your fingers to her silky centre, this time adding the pressure of your thumb to her throbbing clit. Natasha welcomed you eagerly, her pussy clenching and urging you deeper with every rolling wave of desire.

“Feels incredible to let me have you, doesn’t it?” you taunted, leaning closer. “There’s no shame in enjoying yourself. Bradley’s a fool if he ever made you feel like there was. I’m gonna spit in your slutty mouth like I own you now Tasha, just like you asked. And you’re gonna take it. Open up little Birdy.”

You reached out with a commanding hand and Natasha let you prize apart her jaw with no effort at all before presenting you with her tongue. She held your gaze as you let a string of spit fall from your lips and splatter onto the pink muscle. She went to swallow but you stopped her with a squeeze of her neck.

“Don’t move. Not until you’re told.”

She whimpered and her eyelids fluttered but she remained compliant. Natasha was strong. She could hold her nerve. But you could see from the tension in her face how difficult she found it to stay still. Your buried fingers stalled, absorbing every clench of her weeping cunt, and you resorted to teasing her clit, rolling the swollen bud under the pad of your thumb until you sensed Natasha was on the brink of delirium. Then you waited a little longer.

You spat harshly into her open mouth again without warning.

“Now.”

Her eyes blew wide, and you felt her throat constrict under your palm as she swallowed down your taste.

You fucked her into a lust clouded frenzy, relentlessly plunging your fingers into her heat and assaulting her clit. She bucked up against your hand wildly, desperately chasing the mind-numbing orgasm she craved. You knew she was getting close when her breaths became wailing gasps and a sheen of sweat coated her body, heat rising to the surface. The walls of her cunt closed in on your digits, and Natasha was reduced to a pathetic, quivering beggar that only yearned for one thing.

Then it happened.

She screamed as she broke. Her hands curled like claws and her nails pierced through the skin of the goose down pillow, angel white feathers blooming from the gashes. Her legs shook wildly, and her head thrashed from side to side, eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open in shock. Like the fire branded fury you’d enticed her into unleashing earlier, you were sure this release had been buried inside and waiting to be let out for even longer still.

You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

With soothing praise and tender touches, you gently coaxed her down from her high. She clung to your body to ground herself, breathless thank yous spilling from her lips.

Natasha wasn’t the only one floating back to reality, and you held each other close as you dropped.

“It wasn’t too much?” you whispered, running your fingers through her silky hair.

Natasha caressed your face gently. “It was everything I wanted,” she insisted. Her voice was airy, ethereal. “I feel like I’m in a dream. Like I’m flying and there’s nothing holding me down anymore.”

You felt the same. You and Natasha were finally free.

The room became quiet. The night was still, and the air outside grew ever cooler, yet the embers inside your body still glowed from the rush of power that Natasha had bestowed upon you. You closed your eyes and basked in the gentle warmth, listening to her breathing at your side.

It took you a few moments to realise that her delicate hands had begun to unlace the ties at the sides of your dress. She bunched up the ruby red silk and looked at you, those gorgeous orbs of brown pleading. You nodded and she slipped the red dress from your body.

“Let me return the favour,” she begged. She kissed your lips, the slope of your jaw. Her tongue lightly traced the swirls of your ear then she suckled on the lobe. You needed her lips everywhere. You wanted to let her do whatever she desired to you, but a tiny voice of doubt was trying to make itself heard in the dark corners of your mind, even though you had been the one who started it all.

“What if Bradley comes back?” you whispered.

“Let him,” Natasha murmured as she bowed to savour your pulse point. “Let him see what he’s missing. We can tie him to a chair and make him watch. But I’m not stopping until I hear you scream for me.”

What began as romantic devotion descended into carnal devouring. She began by sweetly kissing your neck, shoulders and clavicle, before pecking down your sternum, immersing herself in your breasts, familiarising herself with every plane, dip and curve that made you you.

Having Natasha between your thighs was the sweetest of torture. Nothing would ever compare to the pleasure of her sinful mouth worshipping your cunt. She left no part of you uncherished, her lips and tongue eagerly lauding every inch of velvety skin. She gave you her full, undivided attention and remembered how each delicate change of pressure made you buck your hips, clench your muscles or twitch and squirm. She was loud about it too. Warm unabashed moans escaped her lips in response to your taste, only heightening your pleasure by sending delicious vibrations throughout your core.

Her strong hands held you open to be devoured, squeezing possessive finger marks into the flesh of your ass and stopping your hips from flying off the bed as you chased more, more more.

“Tasha, oh Tasha please.”

You weren’t sure what you were begging for. Release? Or the chance to spend eternity at her mercy?

At Natasha’s charge, you were rocketing towards carnal bliss. The only tether that kept you clinging to reality was the fingers you had knotted into her silken hair.

She suckled at your clit, drawing all the blood to the surface, then taunted you with the most delicate swirling kitten licks, each one lighter and fainter than the next until you were mewling pitifully, reduced to tears and pleading her not to stop.

This would never be enough to send you flying, and Natasha knew it.

“No no no please Tasha.”

You could have sworn you heard her giggle. A pretty, sparkling bubble of sound that glittered when it burst.

“Tasha, I need more.”

But she denied you once again.

Her touch was so feather-light it might as well not be there at all.

“Please, you said you’d return the favour. Please.”

Another taunting giggle slipped past her lips. “Oh but I am.”

And then you understood. Natasha intended to break you and rebuild you, just like you had done with her.

“T-Tasha!” you whined pitifully; your words barely coherent. “Tasha p-please – OH FUCK!”

Her tongue was in your cunt, the wet muscle plunging deep; then she sucked harshly on your clit again, before pressing into you once more, repeating the pattern over and over until you burst. Blistering ecstasy consumed your entire being, igniting a cataclysm of electricity centred entirely at your cunt. Your head tipped back, and your mouth hung open, as if you were preparing to shriek like a whoring banshee, but no sound came.

Natasha grinned at you dopily, high on your pleasure. She looked so delighted, proudly wearing the obscene sheen of your slick that coated her lips and chin.

But before you could begin to think about steadying yourself, she delved face first between your thighs again, wedging her shoulders at such an angle that you couldn’t close yourself to her.

“T-Tasha - I can’t,” you whimpered. But your words didn’t reflect what your mind was telling you.

I want more.

“It’s too much”.

I need you.

“I can’t”.

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

Tormenting teeth nipped at the flesh of your thigh. “Yes, you can, pretty girl. You can give me another one. You have to let me try. I’m addicted to your taste already. And I told you earlier, I’m not stopping until I hear you scream. You wouldn’t want to deny me that, would you? It’s hardly fair.”

You still had power, you still had control. Because you were choosing this. You were choosing to give Tasha the wildest side of you, just like she had.

“Go on,” Natasha urged. “Ask me nicely.”

“Fuck - Tasha - please make me come again. Please make me scream.”

“Good Bunny,” she quipped, branding you with Bradley’s old nickname. The moniker felt filthy and possessive coming from her lips. You weren’t Bradley’s anymore. You were hers. And Tasha was yours, your perfect, formidable, slutty little Birdy who was pleasuring you so well. Everything she was doing was only to please you.

Natasha’s next firm lick through your folds was almost painful, your clit was so sensitive, the nerve endings blindingly alert to even the daintiest of touches. Tears streamed down your face, and you scratched at the bedsheet with rictus fingers, grappling for some way to ground yourself to reality. You felt like some great force might burst through your skin at any moment, but still Natasha did not relent. She wanted to take everything you could possibly give, to ignite every flame and burn all evidence of what you had previously known to be pleasure to the ground. Then, like a phoenix from the ashes, true euphoria would rise.

If your first orgasm was like a flight to heaven, the second was an exorcism. A purging of everything that had come before. Men, women, Bradley; all memories of them incinerated. When the smoke finally cleared, only Natasha would remain.

You barely noticed that you had started screaming.

Natasha had never known a taste as divine as yours, and your orgasm was the most marvellous spectacle. You were utterly bewitching; she was entranced by watching the waves of pleasure roll through you. After experiencing it once, she was desperate to witness it again and again. To cause your pleasure to swoop and swell until it became a tsunami, flooding you, consuming you, crashing against the rocks before retreating to softer, calmer waters, lapping gently at the shore. It tasted even sweeter knowing that she had been the one to make you feel like this, that she was the moon controlling your tides. She wanted to be the only person to hear your siren song ever again.

“God, you’re pretty as a picture. I want to remember this, the best night of my life.”

“Then take one,” you breathed, your voice still laced with bliss.

It should have shocked Natasha, the intensity in which she wanted to do what she was told, to please you. Being under Bradley’s boot had stopped feeling like a choice a long time ago. For years, he had been an anchor tying her down, but being with you felt like free sailing on wide open seas; wild and unexpected. Exhilarating. Because you weren’t telling her to do what you wanted, you were telling her to do what she wanted.

She slinked from the bed and reached beneath it, pulling out a box.

You gasped excitedly. “Bradley’s polaroid! Oh, that’s perfect.”

Natasha was careful taking the camera from its pristine confines. Bradley always insisted on preserving the original packaging whenever he bought anything new, and to him, damaging the packaging was just as serious a crime as damaging the item itself. But then she remembered Bradley wasn’t there and took great delight in standing on the box before climbing back onto the bed.

“He never let me use this,” she admitted quietly.

“Me neither.”

Of course he didn’t. Bradley’s control was a wall Natasha had struggled to push against, but it made her even more enraged to know that you had suffered too. She would never say no to you, ever.

You scoffed at Natasha’s emerging scowl and made grabby hands at her thighs, motioning for her to staddle you.

“He’s nothing to us anymore, remember?”

Natasha allowed herself to find comfort in your words and the gentle brush of your thumbs caressing her skin.

He’s nothing to us.

“We can do whatever we please. Now, how do you want me?”

A grin warmed Natasha’s cheeks in response to your ridiculous pin up model pout, and she found the confidence to volley a quip right back at you.

“I think I want to eat you out again, get myself an action shot.”

You squirmed and squeezed your eyes shut, your hands moving to cover yourself.

The camera flashed and Natasha let the photo drop onto your bare chest.

“Don’t worry Bunny, I got my fill. You just smile for me now, nice and soft. Gorgeous.”

“You look so sexy in this one, Tasha. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Natasha’s cheeks warmed in response to your gushing praise. Was this what it was like to feel truly happy and content? She was already dreaming of a million more nights and the chance of a million mornings spent by your side, curled up against your soft naked body and having you whisper sweet compliments in ear.

“Oh, and this one. There aren’t words to describe how breathtaking you are.”

Natasha was beginning to wonder if she had discovered a hidden talent. It seemed that every photo she had taken was more captivating and titillating than the last. Though, with you as her muse, how could they not be?

The shoot had begun with you as the focus. First was a snap of you blissed out beneath her. Then a close up of your red-tinted lips, glossy and smudged from the evening’s kisses. A montage of your breasts followed; pushing them together, teasing your nipples, arching your back to present them at the best angle. Natasha’s hand appeared in the frame soon after. You were too great a temptation for her to resist. There was a shot of you lewdly sucking on two of her fingers, then a sequence of Natasha’s fingers trailing a wet path down your body, between the valley of your breasts, across your abdomen, swirling around your navel before disappearing from view. A portrait of your face as you gasped in pleasure told the story of where they ended up.

It was then the shoot had become a little more X-rated. Natasha had set the camera on a timer and placed it on the bedside table, aiming the lens towards the bed. You both quickly forgot that the camera was there at all.

Natasha got lost in you, succumbing to your indulgent kiss and floating into a dreamlike state. There had been no transfer of power this time, everything was shared, equal. This was the simple matter of basking in each other’s company, no agenda. Natasha had already proved she could bring you to ecstasy, and there was no question of your own talent in doing the same to her.

Tongues twisting, hands roaming, legs tangling, and cores colliding. Every action was a bid to become interwoven, tied together by destiny and desire.

“This one is my favourite.”

Natasha glanced at the image you held up. She was nuzzling noses with you, and you both bore dizzy smiles and twinkling eyes; spent, sated and satisfied.

“We look so happy,” she breathed.

“Because we are. We deserve to be.”

You reached out to gently tuck a whisp of hair behind Natasha’s ear and the sparkling jewels of your engagement ring caught her eye for the first time all evening. She took hold of your hand to examine it more closely and found a smooth milk-white pearl encircled by a set of tiny crystal-clear diamonds.

“Pearls are my birthstone,” Natasha said quietly. She dropped your wrist and toyed with the silver band that sat on her own finger. The ring she wore was the inverse of yours; a fat, gleaming diamond surrounded by small delicate pearls.

It was clear to Natasha now. Bradley had mixed up the rings. It probably wasn’t even a mistake, he just ordered two that looked similar then tossed a coin to decide which to give to who, there would have been barely a thought behind the decision at all. It’s not as if he ever truly listened when she expressed a preference, his own opinions always trumped hers in the end. What did she have to complain about, after all? He’d say she was being ungrateful. He’d say the ring had cost him a fortune and any other woman would have killed to wear a rock like that on her finger. Besides, he did listen. There were pearls on the ring, weren’t there? What more could she have possibly wanted?

Care. Attention. Thoughtfulness. But apparently that was too much to ask from the man she had planned to marry.

Natasha’s affinity for pearls began in childhood, with hours spent digging through her grandmother’s jewellery box and twirling in front of the mirror with strings of them around her neck. Even now, she believed there was nothing more classically beautiful than a simple pair of pearl droplet earrings. But it wasn’t only the aesthetic she appreciated. In breaks between intensive training and memorising aircraft specs and mission briefs, Natasha often found herself delving into the cultural history of her birthstone. She discovered the famous Ama pearl divers from Japan, all women because of a naturally better capacity to hold their breath. She read how, in some ancient texts, pearls were said to be ‘daughters of the moon’, whereas others claimed them to be the tears of Eve as she left the garden of Eden. The more Natasha learnt, the more she found affiliation to the pearl’s associations, how their true splendour was only revealed when someone cracked open their hard outer shell.

Natasha once thought Bradley would be the one to achieve that feat. She was wrong.

A quote from famed mineralogist, George Kunz, came to Natasha’s mind: “the diamond is to the pearl as the sun is to the moon.”

You were the sun, blazing and radiant. You were the diamond, hardened and resistant, formed under the extreme pressure of Bradley’s thumb. Why had that petulant oaf of a man tried so hard to make you and Natasha the same, when the real magnificence was found in your differences?

Natasha removed her ring and held it out to you. Your expression was quizzical for a moment, but you responded in kind without protest, then allowed Natasha to slip her old ring, the one with the extravagant, clear-cut diamond, onto your finger. You nodded and returned the favour, sliding the brilliant white pearl onto Natasha’s left hand, where it belonged.

“Come out west with me,” Natasha heard you plead. It was time for conversation to turn to the future.

“I own a house in Virginia, it belongs to me, only me. Thank fuck Bradley never bothered to sign on the dotted line. You can help me rip up the rest of his shit and send it to him a casket. We can spend whole days in bed together and do all the things Bradley never let us do; things we probably stopped ourselves from even dreaming about. I’d worship you, Tasha, if you let me. My only desire in life right now is to make you happy.”

It was a thrilling proposition. To do something reckless, completely unplanned and unexpected, to flip her life on its head and run to the other side of the country with a stranger. In just one night, you’d ripped Bradley’s remains from Natasha’s heart and taken his place.

There was only one answer to your question.

“Yes.”

The polaroid camera made a deliciously satisfying CRUNCH when it hit the stones beneath Bradley’s bedroom window.

“Oops.”

Your mouth formed a falsely innocent ‘O’ and you touched your fingers to your lips in coquettish mock shock like a real life Betty Boop. A mirthful cackle left your lips and Natasha glimmered with adoration. Nobody had ever excited her as much as this. For the first time in years, she felt true unbridled hope.

You both got re-dressed in your identical red gowns and Natasha retrieved the packed bags she’d hidden away. One suitcase, her khaki deployment holdall and a rucksack was her existence had been reduced to; a striking reminder of how much of her sense of self Bradley had managed to whittle away.

She appreciated the squeeze of her hand you gave before hauling the holdall over your shoulder.

Natasha followed you down the stairs and out of the front door. Neither of you bothered to look back. Bradley’s imposing bronco awaited on the driveway, like an ugly brutish beast squaring up for one final fight in defence of its owner. But Natasha wasn’t scared anymore. She called you to a halt and squared up to the car, primed and ready for battle.

“Tell me you hate this monstrosity as much as I do.”

You replied in the affirmative. “It’s a fucking eyesore. Yet Bradley would probably lick it clean each night if he didn’t think people would judge him.”

“I’ve dreamt about torching it.”

It was true. And, in those dreams, Natasha always made Bradley watch. He would scream in tortured anguish as if he was the one being burned.

“Well Birdy, I don’t have any matches, but I did keep hold of these…” you grinned, holding up the menacing pair of scissors you’d been wielding for most of night.

Natasha could almost cry with joy. Was this love? Was this what being with Bradley should have felt like the whole time? You were anticipating her most hidden desires before she even realised them herself.

She kissed you again, zealously and ardently, until you moaned against her lips and her knees grew weak.

In the groping of bodies and tangling of fingers, the scissors found themselves in Natasha’s possession, and she splayed them open before gripping them tight, the blades almost slicing into her palm.

Giddy madness twisted her smile. “Tell me, Bunny, where should we begin?”

It was the early hours of the morning when Bradley finally staggered into an Uber. The streets were still silent, but the sky could barely be considered dark anymore, and there would soon be evidence of the sun rearing its head over the horizon.

He’d enjoyed having a rare night out in San Diego alone, not having to keep track of his every move while Natasha was around. He’d allowed himself a few more drinks than usual and given himself permission to let his guard down, confident that his beady-eyed fiancée was miles away. Not that Bradley truly believed she was on to him. He’d slipped up a couple of times, sure, but Natasha had never said a word. She obviously wasn’t as sharp as she liked to think she was.

Bradley had both his girls on a tight leash, of that he was certain. You’d both been so well behaved recently too, not acting up or pushing his limits. He’d finally got you both tamed. Turned out all he’d needed to do was buy two sparkling rings with massive rocks and promise you and Natasha your dream weddings; the pinnacle of every girl’s life, no matter how right on feminist they claimed to be.

He looked forward to what would greet him when he arrived home. The thought of Natasha naked in bed, just the way he liked, and the prospect of draping one girl’s soft body over his and drifting off to sleep whilst fantasising about the other.

The two of you combined were his perfect woman. If only he could build a girlfriend out of each of your parts, it would have been so much simpler than having to mould you both, stamping down the traits he disapproved of and manipulating you and Natasha into behaving. But the chances of such a goddess existing were slim, so for now he’d settled for keeping you both. Besides, he’d worked too hard to throw it all away for anything less than perfection.

He thanked and tipped the Uber driver then flashed him a cocky smile.

“Have a good rest of your night. I know I will.”

In his state of inebriation, it took Bradley a few moments after stepping through his front door to realise something was wrong.

Shit. Had he been robbed?

The entire house was ransacked, as if a freak tornado had sprung from nowhere and wreaked havoc, obliterating everything in its path before disappearing into the ether. Bradley could do nothing but gape at the wreckage, dumfounded and distraught among the carcases of everything he held dear, his kingdom laid to ruin.

It was only after choking down the bile in his throat that Bradley realised; he hadn’t heard a peep out of Phoenix.

“NATASHA!?”

His yells were fuelled by rage, not fear. How the fuck could she have slept through all of this? Why hadn’t she tried to stop the intruders; to fight them off? She was in the Navy for fuck’s sake – hadn’t she at least called the fucking cops?

“NATASHA?!”

He pounded up the stairs, but his alcohol filled body hadn’t caught on to his brain’s sudden surge of clarity. His legs were heavy, and he stumbled, his knees slamming harshly into the top step.

“Fucking shit – FUCK! NATASHA!”

His roars got no answer.

Bradley hauled himself forwards and surged across the landing, practically pulling the bedroom door off his hinges as he flung it open to reveal… an empty bed.

Natasha was nowhere to be found. Instead, Bradley was greeted with yet more annihilation. A wretched pile of ripped shirts, scattered shards of mirror glass and splintered wood, white feathers from burst pillows. The room reeked of sex and some kind of cologne, and Bradley’s vision became clouded with thoughts of Natasha in the throes of pleasure with another man. His supposed rival’s face changed by the second; a Rolodex of every member of the male population Bradley had ever witnessed Natasha speaking to, such was the scale of the feelings of inferiority he tried so hard to repress.

“Cheating fucking bitch.”

But then something caught Bradley’s eye. A polaroid picture lying in the centre of his crumpled sheets.

He sank to his knees.

It wasn’t cologne he could smell; it was perfume. Your perfume.

This was no random break in, no freak tornado or Natasha’s tryst with another man. And there, captured for all posterity in a neatly framed square of film, was the sordid proof.

But it was the words scribbled in the white space underneath the photo that had sounded the final death knell.

When Birdy met Bunny.

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😱 This one was so fun to write! I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much. I'd love to know what you thought!

Tagging people who have expressed interest:

@roosterforme @cherrycola27 @sometimesanalice @trickphotography2 @bobfloydsbabe

@jessicab1991 @captainorbust-blog @waltermis @ratcatcher2world @angelbabyyy99

@noob-master-69-1 @itscryptic @je-suis-prest-rachel @jessicab1991 @minnie-rae

@sarahsmi13s @hangmanssunnies @desert-fern @carolina-on-my-mind03 @startrekfangirl2233

@blue-aconite

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