#Taking My Football Betting to the Next Level

[scribblesofagoonerr]

Mascot Memories | Never Grow Up

this is the first part of the small 3 part series that i have lined up next

summary: remi is 3 years old and she is a mascot at leah's game for the first time during the world cup in 2027

pairings: leah williamson x reader

“Someone’s excited to be a mascot at Mummy’s game today, aren’t you?” You couldn’t help but beam with a smile as you bent down to your daughters’ level.

“Yes!” Remi’s eyes are dancing with excitement at the prospect of being able to be a mascot in England's opening game of the World Cup that is being hosted in Brazil, “I’ll be the best mascot ever, Mumma!”

You press a kiss to the top of your little girl's head and smile at her, “I’m sure that you will be, baby girl,” You pause as you pick up the small jersey hung up on the hanger, “Do you want to get changed into your football shirt?”

“Wear Mummy’s number?” Remi asks, curiously.

“You bet, Remi Roo!” You nod encouragingly, helping your little girl shed her previous t-shirt in favour of the football jersey with Leah’s number written on the back of it, “You look just like Mummy now.”

“There’s my baby Gooner!” Leah’s voice appears out of nowhere, walking into the changing rooms as she’s almost tackled to the floor by Remi.

“Mummy!” Your 3 year old crashes directly into your wife’s legs. 

“Ooft,” Your wife let out a grunt of pain when the whirlwind of a toddler ran into her, “When did you get so big?” She questions, crouching down to your daughter’s level.

“Mumma keeps feeding me all of them veggies that ‘ou don't like,” Remi retorts cheekily, poking fun at Leah’s childish food palette that limited her to only a several few things that she seemed to like to eat – The only veggie she will eat being peas, and even those she thinks are too exoctic to eat.

“Of course she does,” Leah chuckles in amusement as she takes a look Remi donned in her own Jersey with her name on, “Well don’t you look the part.”

“I look just like you do!” Remi grins, dressed in a tiny England jersey to match Leah’s with her hair pulled back into two playful pigtails, and a pair of white Nike trainers, “Even Mumma said that I did!”

“You do indeed,” Leah replies in agreement and holds her hand out for your little girl to take, “It’ll be time to line up soon, do you want to come and stand with me? I bet you we’ll hear the roar of the crowd from there!”

“Yeah!” Remi bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, her excitement palpable as you can indeed hear the noise coming from inside the stadium, a mixture of England travelling fans and the fans of the home team. It’s a feeling that leaves you with a buzz of your own excitement.

“Alright then,” Your wife smiles and turns in your direction, “Say bye to Mumma and Essie and we’ll make our way out there.” She tells her, gesturing to your 8 month old baby girl Esme Beau Williamson, born in September 2026.

“Bye, Bear. Bye, Mumma. Love ‘ous!” Remi rambles quickly with energy bursting through her, leaning over to give her little sister a kiss on the head and crash her little arms around you.

“I love you too, baby girl,” You tell her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “Have fun out there with Mummy, okay? We’ll be watching you!” You add, gesturing to the fact that Amanda and Jacob, Leah’s mum and brother were joining you to watch in the stands.

“She’s going to be absolutely fine, love,” Leah reassures you, sensing your initial nerves due to the fact that Remi would be walking out onto the pitch with your wife for the first time and you are worried about how she might take that overall, “I’ve got her. I love you.”

“I love you too,” You respond, pressing a gentle kiss against your wife’s lips, “Good luck out there, superstar. Make us all proud!” You add, moving to fix the captain’s armband around your wife’s arm and kissing it for good luck, a ritual you’ve come to do every game that you attend.

“I aim to just do that,” Your wife grins, a flash of cockiness taking over her face for a second before she peppers small kisses on Esme’s forehead, “Bye, Essie Bear. I hope to make you proud too. I love you.”

The stadium erupts into loud cheers as you watch your wife hold Remi in her arms as they make their way onto the pitch, your daughter is waving enthusiastically out to the crowd of England fans as there’s not a single trace of shyness in her demeanour.

Leah, ever the professional, keeps her focus with her stern game face plastered but even she can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips every time she gazes at her daughter. For the first time you’ve ever witnessed, your wife actually breaks her stern expression as the spotlight is on your daughter.

“Remi looks so grown up,” Amanda speaks aloud from where she’s standing in the stands amongst you, Jacob and Esme, cradled against your chest, as she watches in adoration of Leah and Remi on the pitch.

“Don’t say that too loud or Leah will freak out,” Jacob jokes, regarding Leah’s fear of Remi growing up too quickly. It’s now become a somewhat ongoing joke in your family now.

“Speaking off, look how proud Le looks,” You say, watching your wife and daughter with tears welling up in your eyes.

“This is definitely a moment to treasure forever,” Amanda chimes in, wiping one of her own tears away.

“I swear she might even relent from her usual stern frown,” Jacob jokes watching as Leah stood tall and proud in her captain’s armband, her face glowing with both excitement and pride, “Rem looks adorable though!”

“I mean, there’s always a first,” You remark in amusement as you watch your wife and daughter on the pitch, feeling insanely proud of them both.

The sun shines brightly over the sprawling stadium in Brazil, where the energy of the World Cup is palpable. Fans gather in vibrant colours and flags fill the stands, creating a sea of excitement and anticipation just as the national anthem plays and you can’t help but smile looking out onto the pitch while you look at your daughter who is beaming with an infectious smile.

“I think I might cry,” You murmur, overwhelmed with pride watching them as the National Anthem begins to play.

“You and me both, darling,” Amanda replies in agreement, her eyes are misty.

“Can you see your Mummy and your big sister, Es?” Jacob holds Esme in his arms like the proud uncle he is and points his index finger in the direction of where Leah and Remi are standing on the pitch amongst the rest of the England team, “Look, there they are!”

“Mummy! There’s so many people!” Remi’s voice is quiet and in awe, her eyes gazing around the stadium at the several thousands of fans in the stadium, “Are all these people here for ‘ou?”

Leah chuckles fondly as she keeps a gentle grip on your toddler, “Only half of them, baby Gooner,” She pauses as she points with her index finger in the direction of where you all sat in the stands, “Over there is Mumma, Essie, Nana and Uncle Jacob over there? Give them a wave!”

“Will they be able to see me from this far away?” Remi asks, curiously as she waves brightly in the direction and you can’t help but smile in adoration of the pair together, “It's so far away!”

“I bet they will,” Leah nods in agreement, spinning slightly to look over in the direction of the giant screen and then towards a camera, “Do you see that big screen over there? There’s a camera on the pitch and Mumma will be able to see you, even from all the way over here.”

“Wow,” Remi’s eyes widen in amazement as she eagerly waves in the direct eyeline of the camera and her mouth forms the perfect O as she sees herself on the screen for the first time, “Mummy! I’m on the screen with ‘ou!”

“You are,” Your wife couldn’t help but laugh faintly as the end of the National Anthem played, which meant that it was time for the coin toss and captain duties, “Do you want to come do something extra special with me?” She asks.

“Uh huh!” Remi’s eye’s gleam with excitement at the prospect of doing something extra special according to your wife as she continues to carry Remi over to where Leah stands  together with her teammates, with Remi perched on her hip to take a photo.

“Remember to smile, Rem,” Beth, one of Leah’s fellow team mates for club and country, reminds your little girl as she ruffles her hair playfully, “Don’t be frowny like your Mummy now.” She jokes, poking fun at your wife’s impartial need to always scowl during a team photo.

“I don’t frown all the time,” Leah retorts, scowling at the blonde.

“Yes you do, Mummy!” Remi’s little voice replies in agreement as she giggles, “You don’t scowl at me or Bear though!” With those words in mind, Leah can’t help but crack a laugh and the official photographer manages to capture the moment, history is changed that your wife actually broke her stern expression during a team photo.

“Mumma!” Remi shouts running across to you as fast as her little legs will let her, “Did ‘ou see me out there? I waved at ‘ou!”

“I did see you, baby girl!” You scoop her up into your arms, twirling her around as she giggles with delight, “You were amazing! The best little mascot I have ever seen!”

Your eldest daughter continues to bounce up and down in excitement, “I was on the big screen with Mummy!” 

“We saw that, Tiny,” Jacob grins, ruffling your daughters’ hair, “You looked like a champ out there!”

“We’re so proud of you sweetheart,” Amanda chimes in, pressing a kiss to the top of Remi’s forehead.

“And I even got to take a photo with Mummy, Auntie Beth and everyone else!” Remi continues to ramble, a tone of excitement in her voice still as she slumps back to sit on Amanda’s lap to watch the match play out.

“Mummy’s gonna win!” Your little girl declares, confidently.

“That’s the hope, baby girl,” You agree with her, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face, “We’re going to cheer her on though, no matter what. Mummy is a winner to us, no matter what. Right, Remi Roo?”

“Right, Mumma! I will be the best cheerleader ever!” Remi exclaims, nodding enthusiastically in agreement, “Mummy’s the best footballer I know!”

This game might have just been one of many in Leah’s career, but this day certainly was special and one to cherish, being able to watch your wife and daughter walk out onto the pitch together. 

A memory that you will always remember, shining bright in your heart.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[artdcnaldson]

hehe i’m here with stepbro!patrick my beloved

patrick books his flight immediately after talking to you, maybe even while he’s talking to you, but he doesn’t tell you. no, you find out patrick is visiting when you come back to your dorm after a grueling day of classes and find him sitting outside your door with a duffel and a bag from your favorite fast food place. his clothes are rumpled and it’s clear he hasn’t slept in at least a day, but his eyes light up when he sees you approaching in the hallway and he scrambles to his feet. the two of you collide in a hug so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you - he’s picking you up and spinning you around and for fucking once in the past few months everything feels okay again. he apologizes that your food has probably gotten cold, but he didn’t know when your class would be over. you usher him inside and it’s easy. it’s fun. you catch up, you eat, you laugh, you try not to remember how much you love each other.

that is, until you end up at some sorority party you promised your friends you would go to weeks ago. patrick comes with you, naturally, and again, it’s so easy to talk to him, be with him. the two of you flow together like nothing happened. in this dimly lit sorority house, you could almost live in a world where that’s true. you sip your horribly sweet jungle juice and watch patrick go shot for shot with some football player. you team up in beer pong and crush two frat guys who talked big enough game to bet money on it. by the end of the night you’re sufficiently drunk, but steadily sobering and patrick is absolutely sloshed. he’s stumbling and slurring his words as you two make the trek back to your dorm, his arm hung lazily across your shoulders so you can prop him up. he’s been looking for excuses to stay physically close to you all night and this is no different.

you haul a still very drunk patrick into your dorm and silently acknowledge that you have never been more thankful to have a single room. he’s giggling and looking at all the decorations on your walls, mostly photos you’d taken on a little digital camera you got for your birthday two years ago. he stops at one and points at it, looking back at you.

“‘s that from - hic - when we built that fort? with the blankets?” he asks, his eyes softening. it’s a photo of him sleeping, shirtless, in a pile of bright pink pillows under a canopy of pink blankets. the two of you had been hiding in the wine cellar during some stuffy gala your parents put on when you had the bright idea to steal a bottle of wine (or two, or three) and make a pillow fort in your room. you smile fondly at the memory and nod your head. right after you’d taken that photo, you settled next to him and he wrapped himself around you like a koala. it’s one of many photos of patrick scattered across your walls, you try not to think about how embarrassing that is.

that memory is the beginning of the end of your perfect little night. patrick looks at you, really looks, and slowly moves closer. you freeze in place, like if you make any sudden movements you’ll spook him and he won’t do what you’re desperately hoping he’s about to. before he can stop them, words spill out of his mouth. he tells you he doesn’t believe that you forgot about the voicemail you left him, that he hates himself for how much he missed you when he was ignoring you, that he needs you in his life so badly it scares him. he’s still talking as you coax him into your bed, under your pink frilly covers. every thought he’s ever had about you seems to be set free and said to the open air of your dorm room. he’s so emotional, so sappy and adorable about it, you barely know what to do with yourself. you kneel down beside your bed, so you and patrick are eye level, and run a hand through his hair.

he looks at you and for a split second his eyes flit down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. it’s you who takes the leap. you who leans forward and presses your lips against his. he returns it and for another moment you think it’s really happening, it’s finally fucking happening, he’s giving you permission - then he rips himself away, kicks off your blankets, and scrambles to his feet again like he had only 12 hours ago in front of your door. how different his face looked then and now.

“you should have stopped me. we can’t, i can’t. i can’t fucking do this with you. it’s wrong.” he’s panicking. he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be doing this, his heart is screaming at him to take it all back and get as close to you as possible but he forces distance. you try to argue with him, shoot back with anything you can to convince him to stop gathering all his shit like he’s going to bolt out your door any second. he stands with his hand on your doorknob and he hits you with one last blow.

“you should find someone who can actually love you.”

and all at once you’re alone again.

AUAUAUARRAGAGGAGHHHHN!!!!!!

Sappy love struck Patrick :(((

He’s so happy when he gets to Stanford and things feel normal, like you could move forward, like he can let things be good again.

He tries to push down his feelings at the party, to drown it in shots and beer and shove it down down down so he doesn’t do anything stupid. And maybe he should have thought about how drinking always makes him keen to act on every single idiotic idea he has.

Because you look so fucking good across the room, smiling and laughing with your school friends. You’ve got glitter in your hair, on your face and it catches the light so nicely. Pretty lipgloss he knows tastes like marshmallow. He wants to share a cigarette with you, so he can taste it like a kiss.

He doesn’t know why he won’t let himself have you. He knows, it would fuck over everyone else— his dad, your mom. It would taint his older siblings too, like there was a sickness in the family, a rot festering in the home. It would taint you— brand you with a huge fucking scarlet letter (he only half read the book, Art summarized it and he’s pretty sure he got the gist). He didn’t give a shit about hurting his dad, but doing something to hurt you you was unforgivable.

But of course, you want him. It makes it worse. So he drinks more. A second, a third cup of jungle juice. It tastes so sweet, he bets your tongue would taste the same.

By the time you’ve dragged him back to your dorm, he’s really feeling the full effects of the near gallons he’s had to drink. Stumbling and slurring his words as you ease him through the door to your single.

“Your dorm’s cute,” he slurs, then trips over the fluffy rug on the floor. “Can I smoke?”

“The windows don’t open, so no,” you say. He lost his pack at the party anyway, so the question is honestly pointless. He shucks off his shirt, tosses it at your desk, and collapses on top of your bed.

He looks at your wall, at the pictures hanging from flower-shaped thumbtacks. Some were your friends from Home-Home, before you moved in with the Zweig’s— friends and your childhood home and childhood pets. There were newer ones, of new friends, of you and Art after one of his matches, of the weekend trip when you and some friends went to the beach. But mostly, they’re of Patrick. You and Patrick, Patrick in his shitty myspace and facebook pictures… postcards he’d managed to send from overseas, postmarked a million times over. When he turns his head on the pillow, he sees you and him, in that stupid pillow fort when a transformer blew and the house lost power for two days.

"I'm sorry I ignored you," he says, and it feels like his tongue is too big in his mouth. "I didn't want to. I wanted... wanted to fly back here and fuckin' quit everything to just..."

"I know," you reply.

"I heard you fucking Art."

"What?"

"Couldn't even think about you or I'd get so fuckin' hard. Jerked off about it with him for, like, two hours."

"With Art?"

But he doesn't answer that. He just rambles on. "Think I love you, or I'm in love. That's so... it's scary. What the fuck am I s'posed to do with that?"

You freeze, kneel by his (your) bedside, all of the questions floating soft out of your mind. "Love me?"

His breath smells like a liquor store, his clothes smell like cigarettes and sweat. You want to curl into him and just stay there. "Yeah," he says. He's not looking in your eyes anymore. "Want to crawl inside your bed and stay here forever. Wanna kiss you like a— a boyfriend."

So you kiss him. Press your lips to his, soft and timid. His lips are slightly chapped, but soft. And right. Your hand moves to the back of his head, gentle, sweet. It's all right. It's what you've needed to do. He sighs against your mouth, like it's a relief, but it lasts only a few seconds before he pulls back.

It's like being doused in ice water, the way he looks at you. Like he's disgusted. "We shouldn't have... you shouldn't have fucking let me—"

"I did it," you say quickly, tugging on his arm. "I want it, it's not... we can."

He shakes his head and jumps to his feet, scrambling to find his shirt while you follow behind like a lost baby duck. "God, we really can't," he says firmly. "It's... it's fucking gross. We're fucked up. We can't."

"Patrick—"

"I shouldn't have come home."

You watch him leave with a painful ache in your gut.

[isadollie]

break a leg! • chigiri hyoma

★ telling someone to "break their leg" before an important event is supposed to bring them luck; but this time luck wasn't on your side.

★ this fic is a part of an amazing summer olympics collab by @tetzoro !! i'm so happy i'm able to take part in it 🫶 i had a lot of fun writing it!:3

"it's such a pretty city!" you sighed gently, your head resting against your boyfriend's shoulder. chigiri followed your gaze and smiled. "i told you, didn't i?"

the two of you were seated in a cute café, observing the busy streets of paris through the big window next to your table.

you looked into his eyes with a tiny smile. "you don't seem too stressed." he simply shrugged, pulling you a bit closer. "stress won't help me anyway. besides, you're here with me so i'm sure it will be fine." he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

of course you were there with him. how could you not? your boyfriend has been very successful in the football field for quite a while now, but the olympics are a whole new level. and now that his team made it into the semi-finals, you couldn't be happier for him.

you gently played with his beautiful, long hair with a smile. it's a short calm moment, among of all the crazy things that have been happening lately; all the stress, all the emotions that came with the competitions. you wanted to enjoy this moment for as long as you could.

"hey... let's go and take some cute photos together." you chuckled, slowly standing up from your seat and offering him your hand. chigiri raised an eyebrow, but obeyed anyway.

as always, "taking photos together" turned into a whole professional session with you as a model. you kept on coming up with new poses and he's been taking hundreds of photos, already contemplating which ones he'll post on his instagram later. he loved to show you off after all.

"a bit more to the left, baby" he said gently, showing you where to stand. "perfect! now... how about you go up those stairs?" he pointed to the staircase a few meters away from you two. "i bet the pics will be amazing!"

you happily obeyed, climbing up the stairs as you made another cute pose. "oh my god, chigiri look!" you suddenly squealed, getting distracted from your little modeling role. "a kitten! aww, it's so cute!" you cooed, turning around to see as the small creature ran up the stairs next to you.

what you didn't expect though, is that this cute animal will make you distracted enough to lose your balance. last thing you remember is that your foot didn't touch the step as it was supposed to, your body falling down to the ground, followed by your boyfriend shouting out your name.

---★--------★--------★--------★--------★---

"does it still hurt a lot?" chigiri asked softly, gently combing your hair.

you nodded with a grimace as you looked down at your leg in a cast. you looked over at him as you munched on the sweet pastry he brought you. "it does. those chocolate muffins are really tasty though, you were right."

your body was still in pain after your fall, which you blamed entirely on the orange, fluffy cat from the staircase. you got to the hospital yesterday, where they told you your leg is broken. you also had a few bigger and smaller bruises on your arms and back.

earlier today chigiri's team won in the semi-finals, but due to your injury, you watched the whole match on the tv in your hospital room. as soon as the game ended and your boyfriend had a bit of free time, he immediately rushed to your side. after he took the muffins, of course.

chigiri sighed as he put the hairbrush down, pressing a tissue to your cheek to wipe some of the chocolate away. "i'm so sorry, darling" he said so sadly, almost as if your accident was his fault. "did the doctors say anything?"

you looked away slightly, knowing you have to tell him the sad truth. "yeah. i have to stay here for at least three days more. i won't be able to be there to see the finals from the stands."

the long-haired man nodded slowly as he sat down next to your bed. he expected it, but hearing it out loud made his heart ache even more. he didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around you in a gentle hug, careful not to hurt you further.

the cute moment between the two of you have been suddenly interrupted as bachira stormed into the room with a big grin on his face, and a bunch of colorful markers in his hands. his eyes lit up even more as he saw your cast. "time to let my inner picasso come out!"

chigiri just sent him a glare, but you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a small laugh.

---★--------★--------★--------★--------★---

"i have to go now." your boyfriend said as he squeezed your hand gently. you saw how stressed he was, and you couldn't blame him.

competing for a gold medal at the olympics was not a joke, after all.

"good luck, love. don't you worry, yeah? it will be alright, i promise." you showed him a genuine smile, squeezing his hand back. he just sighed. "i just wish you could be there."

your eyes softened. "me too. but i have a tv here, i'll watch the whole game just like i did with the previous one, hm?"

hyoma smiled and leaned closer to stroke your cheek. "i really need to go now... i already have a missed call from nagi."

"right. i would tell you to break a leg, but i already did it, so no need for you to do the same."

he gently chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he left the room.

---★--------★--------★--------★--------★---

this didn't look well.

the score was currently 1:0, and chigiri's team was losing. you were tossing in your bed; as much as your broken leg allowed you to.

his team was trying their best, but the opponents always found a way to get the ball back. you'd let out a gasp whenever chigiri had the ball, and then let out a curse whenever he lost it.

suddenly the tv turned off, and your heart almost jumped out of your chest.

"oh no, no, no!" you whined, clicking every button on the remote, but nothing worked. you got out your phone, and attempted to watch the game on it, but your battery was on only 9%, so it soon died too.

where did you put the damn charger?

it wasn't anywhere near you, and you couldn't move much around your bed, not to mention you couldn't sit up on your own.

you desperately asked one of the nurses for help, but she couldn't find your charger in the room as well, which only made you feel worse. she even was kind enough to bring you her own charger, but it didn't fit to your phone. she promised to ask her colleagues for a right type of charger, but because of her other responsibilities, she couldn't come back to you in a while.

you sighed deeply, running your shaky hands down your face, knowing that you ran out of possibilities.

---★--------★--------★--------★--------★---

"sweetheart, wake up..." a soft voice from your left made you slowly open your eyes, feeling your shoulder being gently shaken.

you yawned as your eyes finally opened, taking in the sight of your boyfriend. "ah, finally!" he huffed impatiently, lightly pinching your cheek.

"what's going on..?" you mumbled in confusion.

then the memories started to come back; how you watched the game, how the tv broke and how you couldn't find a proper charger. you must have fallen asleep in the middle of this chaos.

"i swear, waking you up from your beauty sleep is harder than winning a medal." chigiri teased gently, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness.

"what..?" you rubbed your eyes and gasped, noticing the gold medal hanging from his neck. "you-! but it was 1:0-!"

he chuckled, still caressing your cheek. "at first, sure. but we ended up winning 2:1."

suddenly a pout formed on his face as he noticed your confusion.

"no way! you didn't see my goal?!"

"i can explain--!"

i wrote this in roughly 40 minutes so let me apologize for any mistakes i might have made! still, it was fun to write it:3

[poppadom0912]

Unexpected

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth

Summary: For nine months, you'd prepared and expected a baby but something unexpected happens.

A/N: Hello! I was back at school this week and have been so drained from the work load so I'm here relaxing and writing away. I only know surface level stuff so I'm sorry for any medical inaccuracies. Exams are next week so I won't be writing anything then. This is unedited and I apologise but please do enjoy!!!!

Four years into your marriage with Kelly, two years with infertility issues, you had come to the point of acceptance and making the possible choice of fostering or adoption.

But then one day you got shot at work and when treating you, the doctor gave you the unexpected news.

You couldn't believe it. You were finally pregnant. After so much struggle, IVF and the unsuccessful tests, you were finally pregnant. You could finally have the family you dreamed of having as a little girl.

You weren't allowed back onto the field. Hank benching you to desk work till your baby welcomed itself. A choice that made you very angsty to get up and be on the move.

You didn't feel like much of a detective being sat at a desk all day while the rest of Intelligence went running around ragged looking and catching bad guys.

So during the moments of peace, you found yourself driving to the firehouse to bother your husband and the people he considered family.

The men and women of 51 loved you as much as they did Kelly, you were one of their own and you were doing the impossible by growing and delivering a mini Kelly Severide into the world.

Kelly rolled his eyes every time you brought up the gender. Call it mothers intuition but you had a gut feeling that you were having a boy, a concept which Kelly didn't mind but thought otherwise.

Refusing to find out the gender, you preferred to watch everyone wait impatiently, their bets pilling up as they put money on your baby's gender.

You scoffed seeing Kim and Hailey 'sneakily' pass money over to Cruz one night at Molly's.

The pregnancy flew by. Small milestones of your belly popping, the first kicks, the weird cravings and watching the growing blob develop on an ultrasound was so surreal but before anyone knew it, you were already hitting the nine month mark.

You left early. Today's case was running late and another murder got called it close to midnight, you were no longer needed and your husband sat at home. The thought of foot massage was ever so enticing.

Said man welcomed you home with the tea that soothed your nausea, your nightly snack at the go and he looked just delicious sitting in his pyjamas.

Pregnancy hormones man. Who would've thought.

And just like every night, the day ended with both of you in bed, his hands gently caressing your ballooning stomach, talking and debriefing with your unborn baby, smiling when a particular comment elicited a kick, showing the imprint on a foot against your skin.

Falling asleep wasn't easy though, especially with the new addition of Braxton hicks. You always found yourself tossing and turning, pushing Kelly to the other side of the bed so you could be left alone with the other love of your life: your pregnancy pillow. The triangular pillow a dream come true.

Eventually, you got up to refill your bottle and water, taking a quick pee because the pressure on your bladder was stupid.

Taking out some ice cubes from the ice tray, you slowly plonked them into your bottle, your eyes heavy with the sleep that refused to come from such a long day at work.

"Baby? Why are you awake?" Kelly's voice was hoarse as he appeared in the kitchen, his hair a mess as he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes.

"Your son is playing football in here. He's already obsessed." You whispered back, letting him recollect himself as he made his way towards you, watching through bleary eyes as you closed the freezer door.

"My son huh? Well I think our daughter is just really excited to meet her very impatient parents." Kelly smirked, his arms circling around your waist before he crouched down to be face level with your protruding stomach.

"Hey baby girl." He whispered, his eyes focused on your stomach and nowhere else. "Your mummy is very tired after working all day. She needs all the sleep before you come home. Do you think you could do me a favour?"

You smiled softly at the sight. Your husband was already smitten and the baby wasn't even here yet.

A few seconds passed and all of a sudden, the little football match came to an end.

You scoffed, looking down at your husband incredulously. "Wow."

Standing back up, Kelly now smiled down at you. "Obviously, I'm the favourite parent."

"Watch it lieutenant." You pouted, poking his chest. "I've got some detectives in my back pocket."

Smiling at each other, basking in the silence and warm lighting, you almost forgot about your sleep deprivation.

Breaking you out of your thoughts was the sound of water dripping, Kelly's face mirroring your thoughts.

"Did you leave the tap on?"

You frowned, you were sure you-

Your mind went blank the millisecond you registered your wet trousers.

Looking down at where your feet would've been had it not been for your stomach being in the way, you swore lightly under your breath.

"I think he interpreted your words differently." You said, looking back up at Kelly who stood astonished.

"Baby's coming today."

*****

You didn't go to the hospital straight away.

Instead, you wiped yourself down and changed clothes while Kelly cleaned up and brought out your already packed hospital bag all while timing the length and time between your contractions.

The sun was rising when you made your way to the hospital, your midwife already in the loop the moment your water broke.

Settling into your room, dressed in your gown, you sighed.

You were bored. What were you supposed to do while you waited for the birth to get into motion.

Your epidural had been confirmed and scheduled for later on when your contractions progressed further. The nurse had just come to measure you before leaving.

You sent a quick text to Hank, apologising for such short notice, saying your maternity leave would start earlier than planned. Kelly had just called Boden, his shift starting not too long ago.

"Boden's got Cruz covering for me." Kelly said, putting his phone in his pocket as he stood by your bedside.

"I'm all yours for the next few weeks."

"I would love you so much if you could just-" You sharply inhaled at the painful contraction, doing the breathing exercises you practised with your midwife. "Just get this baby out."

"How about we go on a walk? Might help speed things up."

All Kelly was met with were your grabby hands.

*****

Several hours later and you were in active labour.

You were surrounded by nurses and the doctor, Kelly glued to your side but at some point when you were pushing, he was ushered away by a nurse who you briefly heard mention the words 'umbilical cord'.

"It's a girl!"

You choked back a sob, your eyes watery as they placed your daughter on your chest for skin-to-skin. Your hands immediately flew to hold her. Your emotions so haywire that you couldn't care less about the cleanliness of her little body.

Inhaling shakily, you looked up through tears at Kelly who was back at your side. He kissed your forehead multiple times, his hand on top of yours so you could both hold your baby.

After a few minutes, she was carefully taken away to be weighed and clean, leaving you and Kelly to revel alone. Reality came crashing down: you had a daughter, your had a-

"Mrs Severide, what's wrong?"

Hearing the doctors question, Kelly looked away from your daughter and back down at you in alarm, his eyes wide in confusion at your own confused face.

"I- I feel..."

You weren't able to finish as you were overcome with the sudden need to push.

It seemed that even without you voicing your thoughts, they knew exactly what was happening.

"Okay Y/N, we go again." The OB said as you squeezed the blood out of Kelly's hand. "Push just like you did."

The next few moments felt like a blur. You weren't too sure what was reality and what was an illusion - everything was happening too fast for you to comprehend what was actually happening.

All of a sudden, a second cry broke out, as loud and high-pitched as the first.

"It's a girl!"

You blinked, your head clearing up.

"Congratulations! Two beautiful girls!"

Then the apparent second baby was placed on your chest, a routine that was just performed not even ten minutes ago.

The tears were flowing now with nothing to stop them. Your shaky hands went to hold her small body as the clouds dissipated and the sky finally cleared.

*****

The two baby beds were rolled towards your bed, Kelly standing up when the nurses entered the recovery room.

"Congratulations mum and dad!" One of the nurses started.

"You have two healthy identical twin girls."

You couldn't believe it, no one could.

There was never a point during the nine months of pregnancy that would even suggest you having twins and now all of a sudden, your leaving the hospital with two twin girls.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear Kelly's conversation with the nurses.

"Kelly..." You looked at your husband who was just as shocked as you. "Kelly we have two babies."

"We have twin girls babe." Kelly emphasised, his stupid smile covering his entire face.

"We're not even prepared for one let alone two." You said, sitting up to pick one of them up. "Baby- oh my gosh, we have twins."

Before Kelly could reply, the room door opened and Matt poked his head in. "Knock Knock, can we-"

Matt stopped himself as he laid eyes on the baby on your chest and then the baby that was being picked up by Kelly.

"Matt, move out the way, let me see-" Sylvie barely stopped herself from squealing as she saw the two babies.

"Holy shit, twins?!" Matt half frowned, following Sylvie to your side. "When did this even happen?"

"Literally an hour ago man." Kelly said in greeting to his best friend. "No one had any idea."

"AH- two girls! Congratulations, oh my gosh I'm so happy for you guys." Sylvie gushed, cooing at the little bundles in your arms.

"Oh yeah, Jay and Hailey were somewhere behind us."

Another knock sounded just as the words came from Matt, the door creaking open for the blonde detective to make herself known.

"Y/N, hey-" Hailey gasped so loudly that Jay's swearing could be heard from inside the room.

"Woah." Jay's lack of words proved his surprise.

You and Kelly laughed.

"Well Kelly was right, they're girls."

Jay and Sylvie high-fived, their smirks making it evident they were on the winning side of the bet.

"This is definitely unexpected. I have no idea how we're going to manage." You said, handing one baby off to Hailey while Kelly lay the other into Matt's outstretched arms.

"That's what we're here for, along with the rest of 51 and Intelligence." Sylvie said, looking fondly at the baby in Matt's arms as she held your hand in both of hers comfortingly.

"You've got a very big family ready to help. We're first responders, it's our job."

You hugged the blonde, overcome with sudden emotion.

"Besides," Jay spoke up, gently taking the baby from Hailey's arms into his. "What godparents would we be?"

The room dissolved into laughter.

You had two adorable girls and an entire village at your beck and call. While unexpected, they were more than welcome with open arms and open hearts.

[tkachuktkaching]

Some of the Matthew Quotes from his recent Interview

Fresh off eliminating the Tampa Bay Lightning in the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, Panthers forward Matthew Tkachuk joined The Pat McAfee Show on ESPN to talk all things puck on Wednesday.

Still in amazement of Tkachuk’s toughness to play with a broken sternum during last year’s Stanley Cup Final, McAfee and his energetic band of co-hosts started the show talking about playing through pain.

“In the Stanley Cup Playoffs all bets are off and you do whatever you can to play,”

“He was fired up to see us beat Tampa the other day,” (talking of his dad)

“Growing up having him as a voice, as a role model, my brother and I were not forced to play hockey, but we had everything around us to help us grow into it and love the game. We had him around every day to ask about anything, help coach us, teach us, but I’d say the biggest thing that allowed my brother and I to make it to this level was each other. Having that unbelievably close relationship, being each other’s best friends, biggest supporters, and competitors as well.”

“One thing that I’m super grateful that my parents did, and my mom deserves so much credit because she was mainly the one getting up at 5 a.m. to take us to the 6 a.m. practices while my dad was on the road, was that we were never allowed to play hockey 24/7, 365 days like some of these kids do now,” said Tkachuk. “My parents were all about playing every sport you can. I think that’s what allowed me to not get burnt out and my love for the game kept growing and growing more.”

“Don’t touch Bob and there won’t be any problems,” When asked about Tampa Bay and the two goalie interference calls against the Lightning in Game 5.

“We are really excited to get a few days of rest and get rejuvenated, but it’s the playoffs and you just want to be out there playing,”

“Some of the best parts of playoffs are just hanging out with the boys in the lounges on the road and watching other games throughout the league.”

With three first-round matchups still ongoing, Tkachuk spoke on how hard it is to close things out.

“The fourth game in a playoff series is always the hardest to win because no matter what you are in the series, the other team is so desperate playing for their lives you have to find a way to match that or exceed that,” said Tkachuk.

Something that can help with closing out a series is playing in front of a home crowd.

“It’s a tough question because last year in playoffs are team was lights out on the road and it didn’t matter where we played,”

“When playing in Florida, we have such great fans and the building is so loud, I think home ice is important for us, having the extra potential game seven at home, you always want to have that at home. I think our fans are so loud and we’ve made this rink here in Florida a tough place to play, so I think home ice is important for our team, it’s an extra layer you can add to the series. I think we have great fans, so it’s important for us.”

Among the recent sellout crowds at Amerant Bank Arena, Miami Dolphins Jalen Ramsey and Jaylen Waddle have come out to support and hype up the crowd with the banging of the pre-game drum.

Knowing Waddle was there, Tkachuk told the show he was planning on a big goal celebration in salute of the fellow local superstar.

“If I scored I was going to do the ‘Waddle’ because he was there,” said Tkachuk. “He’s my favorite football player.”

While it didn’t happen that game, McAfee called for Tkachuk to bring in the dance celebration next time he lights the lamp.

[studio82a]

The #1 most important thing to me about that episode is the true canonisation of real actual Pep Guardiola (not a fake person also called Pep) as Man City's coach, and the HUGE amount of impact that has on Jamie, as a footballer and as a person. The show is going beyond my wildest dreams in terms of canonising his impact on Jamie and proving that he's had excellent positive male figures in his life before Ted. Because being coached by Pep matters so much!

It wasn't that brief, either, Beard - it's depending on when Jamie was finally called up to the first team, but Pep's been there since 2016. The fact that Jamie went from Pep (a genius, praise-heavy, affectionate, passionate coach who does not tolerate ANY ego, and rotates his starting line ups and positions constantly, and, oh yeah, plays a version of total football) to George Cartrick (horrible toxic man reminiscent of Jamie's father who put Jamie as a one up front striker when he wouldn't have been trained like that at City whatsoever, and then tried to use his Guardiola-trained wunderkind to lazily coast, and the team wasn't even winning) explains so much about Jamie's attitude after 6 months at Richmond when we meet him in season 1.

Jamie would not have been "a prick" at Man City or shown individual ego or selfishness on the pitch or in the dressing room. He absolutely would never have gotten away with it. Pep would not allow it. Jamie would have been a little fish in a big pond, a young player trying to earn his place, probably trying to be an extremely good boy at training while also having to deal with his dad's outside (and incorrect) criticism about "dominating." Going from Pep to George is a travesty for Jamie. And then in comes Ted, who has zero tactical intelligence, is blase about understanding the sport, and never gives the players any hugs? Yeah, Jamie was on the brink of losing it and I get why. Honestly, even just the impact of losing Pep levels of male physical affection and positive reinforcement would have been a huge impact on him.

But now! Jamie's refusal to shit talk City when all the others were! His visible frustration the whole week! "I'm not doing it wrong! You're doing it wrong!" His football intelligence when he finally feels allowed to speak up, actually take command of the tactics and set the tempo of the game! That's Guardiola ball, baby! He knows! He fucking knows because he is the successor to the Cruyff-Pep legacy and at his core, a brilliant midfield playmaker! Yeah, yeah, the Lasso Way, I know, but for real, if Richmond win the league it's largely going to be because Jamie Tartt was trained by Pep Guardiola.

Do the cuddling/ touch starved thing next, show. It's extremely important.

Also, I bet we get a cameo at the Etihad game.

[betterthanburrow]

Hi! I don’t know if you’re taking request but can u do an insta au with @/bbyambi on insta if you are?

NFL WIFE DREAM - Instagram AU

(Bengals Quarterback! Joe Burrow x Social Media Influencer! OC)

liked by yourinstagram, and 380,708 more users

Bengals: It just got a whole lot colder in KC

view all 2,699 comments

yourinstagram: it just got a lot hotter in my room 🥵

↳ yourolderbrother: i didn’t know that you are a fan of football now?!

↳ yourinstagram: i’m not a fan of football… but i am a fan of this fine man that just appeared on my instagram feed 😵‍💫

joeyb_9: 😮‍💨🔥

liked by joeyb_9, and 420,991 more users

yourinstagram: i have been dreaming of becoming a NFL wife since i was a little girl… do you want to help me make my dreams come true?! @.joeyb_9

view all 222,007 comments

yourolderbrother: are you really flirting with a NFL football player through INSTAGRAM CAPTIONS?!

↳ yourinstagram: you miss 100% of the shots that you don’t take - Michael Scott

↳ yourolderbrother: first of all, Michael Scott from The Office didn’t create that quote… and second of all, you didn’t even know Joe Burrow’s football position until Google gave you the answer.

↳ yourinstagram: do you realize that if I become an NFL wife (to Joe Burrow) that means that you could get free NFL tickets?!

↳ yourolderbrother: oh wait… @.joeyb_9 i’ve always dreamed of being a brother in law to an NFL player!

joeyb_9: hmm… i guess that it would be very rude to not help make someone’s dreams come true.

↳ yourinstagram: hmm… you are right about that. (my dms are open 👀)

liked by yourinstagram, and 880,725 more users

joeyb_9: The Journey Continues…

view all 110,333 comments

yourolderbrother: hey future brother in law!

tylerboyd: Big levels

NFLonprime: Can’t wait to see what’s next 👏

camjuice5: 💙

yourinstagram: i hope i’m included on this journey 😚

liked by yourolderbrother, and 227,190 more users

Bengals: we will be back.

view all 15,766 comments

yourolderbrother: i’m not a Bengals fan but i would’ve rathered the Bengals go to the Superbowl against The Eagles this year than for the Superbowl to bet between the Eagles against the Chiefs 🤢

yourinstagram: the NFL referees are going to hell after the shenanigans that happened… I WANTED TO SEE MY FUTURE BOYFRIEND AND RIHANNA IN THE SAME BUILDING IN TWO WEEKS?!

↳ yourolderbrother: you didn’t even know about what happened with the NFL referees until i told you about it because you were so upset that you wouldn’t have the chance to see Rihanna perform at the HalfTime Show.

↳ yourinstagram: don’t expose me for not watching my future boyfriend’s last football game of the season.

liked by joeyb_9, and 499,551 more users

yourinstagram: blue birthday flowers from @.joeyb_9

view all 337,214 comments

yourolderbrother: happy birthday… @.joeyb_9 instead of flowers, for my birthday (which is in a few months) can i get NFL season tickets to all the Bengals games?!

↳ yourinstagram: 😐

joeyb_9: happy birthday princess 💙

↳ yourinstagram: thank you for the flowers… and who knew that a NFL Quarterback would know his way to a woman’s heart.

liked by 105,420 users

CincyProblems: it looks like the recent lost to the Kanas Chiefs is not effecting NFL Bengals Quarterback Joe Burrow as he has posted a beautiful bouquet of blue flowers to his Instagram Story.

It was confirmed by Social Media Influencer @.yourinstagram that the flowers from Joe Burrow’s Instagram Story were gifted to her for her birthday.

view all 29,557 comments

username1: i don’t know who this social media influencer is but, one thing that i do know is that she is definitely just using him for money…

↳ yourinstagram: if you’re mad that Joe Burrow didn’t respond to your instagram direct messages then just say that instead of being insecure.

username2: i just stalked @.yourinstagram’s instagram page… Joe Burrow is definitely a lucky man.

↳ username3: BurrowHead may not be going to the Superbowl this football season, but he has a hot girl by his side… no one on the Kanas Chiefs team can relate.

liked by yourolderbrother, and 130,019 more users

Bengals: Another unforgettable season. We can’t thank you enough for your support, Who Dey Nation.

view all 45,009 comments

yourolderbrother: i can’t believe i’m a Bengals fan now because of my little sister…

joeyb_9: 🧡🔥

yourinstagram: i can’t wait for next football season!

↳ yourolderbrother: the only reason you’re excited for next football season is because you’ll get to live out gour NFL wide dreams…

↳ yourinstagram: yes… and i’m excited for more hot football content from my future boyfriend!

liked by joeyb_9, and 455,991 more users

yourinstagram: 100K Subscribers on Youtube!

picture credits: @.joeyb_9

view all 199,545 comments

yourolderbrother: i can’t wait for the storytime about the time you slide into a NFL Quarterback’s dms and now you’re his girlfriend living your NFL wife dreams.

↳ yourinstagram: first of all, we’re not dating yet (we’re just having fun 😛) and second of all, the Bengals’ football season is over so i haven’t gotten to live out my NFL wife dream just yet!

joeyb_9: this was a really fun night of celebrations 🥂

↳ yourinstagram: it really was a fun night 😊

Author’s Note:

this Instagram AU request was sent to my inbox a few weeks ago and i really tried to get the Instagram AU published as quickly as i could… thank you to whoever sent in this Instagram AU request because this was a fun Instagram AU to write!

if you have any requests for Instagram AUs, send the requests to my Inbox and i’ll try to get the Requested Instagram AU published as fast as i can!

thank you all for the love and support! 🤍

[addictedtostorytelling]

hiya! im starting (yet another lmao) csi rewatch in hopes of getting as many timestamps as i can, for fics. ive seen through your posts you've done something similar and i was wondering whats your earliest one? im only a few eps i to s1 but already im remebering the first few are vastly different to later episodes. there are less crime scene pictures, less evidence layouts, etc. i'm just wondering how far i have before i get an actual point to plot! 🤣

(please keep up your csi metas i love themmm <3)

hi, rewatch anon!

good to hear from you again!

so i actually have dates for the first couple of csi episodes, not based on documentary evidence—as you state, the early episodes are very sparse on any kind of helpful paperwork or timestamps, a la evidence photos, lab printouts, cctv footage, etc.—but rather on some extrapolation.

remember how in the pilot warrick places a bet on an nfl football game between green bay and san francisco for judge cohen?

well, during the 2000-2001 nfl season, the green bay packers played the san francisco 49ers on 10.15.00—which makes that our date for episode 01x01 "pilot." this date aligns with the episode's original air date also being in october 2000 (10.06.00).

while the air dates and in-universe dates for episodes don't always line up, the writers did generally try to set episodes during the same months in which they originally aired where they could.

from there, we can deduce that the action for episode 01x02 "cool change" takes place one day later on 10.16.00.

which makes that date the anniversary for when sara first comes to vegas!

coincidentally, grissom and sara get engaged to each other exactly seven years and one day later, on 10.17.07.

in episode 01x03 "crate n' burial," it is mentioned that nick has been a csi level iii for about two weeks by that point, which means that the action for that episode primarily takes place on 10.29.00 (approximately).

unfortunately, after that point, the in-universe dates trail goes cold for a while.

the next one i've been able to find is for episode 01x10 "sex, lies, & larvae," which is the first time (to my knowledge) a date shows up based on documentary evidence: the paper marker on the morgue drawer where kaye shelton's body is stored allows us to determine that the main action for this episode takes place between 12.10.00 and 12.15.00 (as kaye has been dead for five days by the time of her body's discovery).

from there, dates continue to be extremely hit or miss throughout the rest of s1. it isn't until s2 that they start to more consistently feature, appearing in most episodes.

of course, even then, most seasons still have at least one or two episodes in them i've never been able to find dates for. the first and only completely dated season i have charted out is s7! all the rest of them have gaps.

which is to say nothing of the internal chronological inconsistencies, which are a whole problem unto themselves.

anyway, good luck with your endeavors, anon! enjoy your rewatch!

please feel welcome to send another question any time!

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Oral Sex (M receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Betting, Gratuitous Discussion of American Football

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Football is serious business. Of course you and Jake take it to a new and sexy level.

One of my favorite seasons is underway! College football! And Notre Dame and Navy played the first game yesterday. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Touchdown

As the fall approached, you let Jake know the importance of watching Notre Dame football.

"It's how I spend most Saturdays in the fall. You're welcome to join me, Lydia and I tend to get together and watch a lot of them together, or do your own thing. No worries."

Jake, unsurprisingly, has opted to join you most of the time. A Texas boy at heart, football is written into his DNA. The upside is that when you go over to Lydia's or she and Rooster come over to your place, it is that he and Rooster get to spend some time together. Most of the time they're hanging out talking, whatever weird antagonism they had between them before resolved, half paying attention to the game, more amused by your and Lydia's reactions to the game.

Today Navy is playing at Notre Dame, finally the guys will have someone to root for.

You get a text from Lydia in the morning:

Lydia: We're going to have to bail on tonight's plans. Rooster has a nasty cold.

You: Bummer, next week then. Does one feed chicken soup to a sick Rooster? Seems a little cannibalistic.

Lydia: lol. This Rooster is definitely a fan of the O'Callahan family recipe.

You: That's not the only O'Callahan "recipe" he likes to eat. 😛

Lydia: Yup, 'insert smug smile here'

You: Well, tell Rooster to get well so we can get together.

Lydia: Will do. Go Irish! ☘️

You: Go Irish!☘️

You let Jake know that it'll be just you two watching the game today.

"Makes sense, he seemed a little under the weather at work yesterday," he replies.

You take advantage of the nice fall day and wander around a farmers market and grab lunch at a little cafe nearby. You're waiting for your food when you say,

"I think fall is the only time I really miss Michigan. I always loved the leaves changing, heading out to the cider mill for cider and donuts, and the cooling weather."

"What do you mean head out to the cider mill? That sounds hilariously peak Midwest, by the way," he teases.

"It's definitely a Michigan thing. A lot of apple orchards have cider mills and most have bakeries. It's a fall tradition, almost mandatory, to go to an orchard, pick your own apples, some of the places have farm animals to visit and pet, and get some fresh cider and donuts. They make the donuts with apple cider and they are so good."

"Huh, I've never really heard of that as a thing, but it sounds nice."

"One of my favorite things to do is people watch. My personal favorite is the Instagram mom who has dragged her family out in matching plaid to get some family pictures. The kids are bored and want to go pet the goats and Dad looks like he is nervously watching the clock for his college football game, but is there humoring his wife."

Jake laughs at the description.

"Or the basic white girl with knee high boots, skinny jeans, and a bulky sweater, usually in beige, and sometimes a wool hat. And don't forget the infinity scarf."

"So basically the people walking out of Starbucks with a pumpkin spice latte in San Diego."

"Yup, that's really one of the only markers that fall has arrived here. The PSL ads."

"El, I have to ask you a very personal question," he pauses for dramatic effect, "Do you like pumpkin spice lattes?"

"Unfortunately I do, I'm a sucker for them. I know that goes against your Navy ethic of coffee must be drunk black and terrible.

"Alright, I won't hold it against you," he replies and winks.

You head home and have a lazy afternoon. You and Jake spend some time reading on the couch which turns more into cuddling and making out.

A beep on your phone startles you and Jake out of your embrace.

"Time for the game," you chirp happily.

"Did I just get cock blocked by a football game?"

Jake asks, a bit whiny.

"Not any football game, the Notre Dame Game."

You chuckle at his tiny indignant harrumph as you turn on the TV and get the game up. The camera is panning over all the Navy cadets in the visitors section.

"Did you ever go to any football games?" you ask.

"A few of the home ones, I didn't travel with the team ever. Usually the other branches of the military were the big games of the season. I assume you went to many of the games."

"I had student season tickets all four years."

"So you're like an Irish super fan, like a little leprechaun," he says tickling your sides. You try to give him a death glare and it has no effect.

"I once tried out for the leprechaun. Didn't make it."

"Really, seems like you'd have some skills that would be very useful with the gymnastics and all."

"There's a lot more to being the leprechaun than just jumping around, it's getting the crowd excited, having the persona to get people into the game."

"You would look so cute in a leprechaun outfit." He laughs.

"Har, har. Are you thinking of that outfit," you reply pointing to the TV to the leprechaun mascot doing backflips, "or some slutty version you'd see at Halloween?"

Jake shrugs and says,

"Either or, but if you're going to force me to make a choice, I guess the slutty one."

You roll your eyes and direct your attention back to the TV as the opening kickoff is soaring high into the air. Snuggling into Jake's side you get comfy to watch the game with his arm around you.

"Why does someone as big as Notre Dame play Navy every year, it seems like they could get some names with more fan appeal?" Jake asks.

"It's history, paying back a favor to the Navy. Notre Dame during WWII, like most all male colleges, had trouble getting students and was coming close to shutting its doors. The Navy decided to use the campus for training cadets and that money kept Notre Dame afloat till the end of the war," you answer.

"Huh, never knew that. So you can thank the Navy for your education and in an indirect way, me." He jokes and continues,

"I've got an idea, since we're both obviously rooting for opposite teams," he points to your respective sweatshirts,

"How about a bet?"

"Sure, what did you have in mind?"

"Every time the opposing team scores you have to forfeit a clothing item. Overall winner at the end gets oral, no reciprocity required."

"You know Notre Dame has beaten Navy for the past 43 years," you remind him, a bit smugly.

"I've got a feeling about this one. Besides, if I lose I have to give you oral. Oh no, the travesty."

He slaps his hands to his face as he opens his mouth ala the kid from Home Alone.

"Alright, it's a fool's bet, but it's on."

You shake hands and settle in to watch the game.

The first piece of clothing to go is Jake's sweatshirt, the Irish scoring a touchdown early in the first quarter. You're off the couch cheering. Jake is smiling at your enthusiasm as he peels his sweatshirt off and tosses it to the opposite end of the couch. Underneath the discarded Navy sweatshirt is another Navy tee.

"How many Navy shirts do you own?" you ask, jokingly.

He laughs,

"A majority of my wardrobe is courtesy of the United States Government, but I make government issue look good," he responds, sweeping a hand down his body. Jake's shirt is snug enough to see his muscles defined through the fabric.

"That you do," you say as you give him a quick peck of a kiss sitting back down on the couch.

The rest of the first quarter is uneventful, neither of the two teams scoring. The game rolls into the second quarter and things start to get more interesting.

Navy rolls out a touchdown early in the quarter and Jake is whooping and cheering as you take your sweatshirt off and add it to his on the couch.

"Yeah, yeah, one lousy touchdown. We gave it to you to keep your self esteem up, can't have a less than confident military can we?" you grumble out.

"Whatever you say, dear," he says as he kisses your temple. You sit back down and cuddle up on the couch.

The calm doesn't last long, as Notre Dame scores another touchdown on a long pass.

"That is how you do it!" you shout, pumping your arms in the air. Jake rolls his eyes at your display and pulls off his sweats and throws them into the growing pile.

Your elation is short lived as Navy runs another touchdown into the end zone tying the score. You wiggle off your leggings and add them to the heap. Jake is smirking at your frustration.

"Come on, come, let's go Irish!" you cheer, trying to will the game in Notre Dame's favor.

Apparently, your cheering has helped and Notre Dame runs in a touchdown with three minutes to go in the half.

You're off the couch dancing around cheering and Jake is now really rolling his eyes. He takes off his shirt and you are momentarily distracted by the sight of his perfect chest ornamented only by his dog tags. He catches your eye as you ogle him and smirks,

"You see something you like, leprechaun?" he asks in a long drawl.

"Maybe," you reply as you sit down and tuck under his arm. Notre Dame is up seven on Navy with the score 21 to 14 as the half ends.

You and Jake check other college games and refresh your drinks during halftime. When the third quarter starts, you are already cheering,

"Alright Irish, let's get this done. Finish them."

Jake laughs and says,

"I've never been with a girl who is this enthusiastic about football."

"It's contractually required if you graduate from Notre Dame. It's in a tiny font on the bottom of your diploma."

You have to forfeit your shirt in the 3rd quarter, but Notre Dame still is in the lead by one because of a missed extra point by Navy.

"We're still winning," you say, only a little bit petulantly, with my arms crossed.

"Keep making yourself feel better," Jake humors you.

The fourth quarter is where the game starts to unravel for the Irish. Navy scores a touchdown and goes for the two point conversion and takes the lead. Jake lets out an enthusiastic,

"Woo!" next to you.

"Cough it up," he extends his hand for your bra. I take it off and toss it at him, it lands on his head comically. He is quick to discard it with the other clothing.

You're really cheering as hard as you can and finally, Notre Dame throws a long pass for a touchdown.

"So do you think they'll have the guts to go for the conversion or are they going to play it safe and kick the extra point?" he asks casually as he stands to pull down his boxer briefs adding them to the clothing mountain.

You are slow to reply as you take in the whole vision that is Jake naked.

"Extra point, live to fight another day," you stutter out earning yet another smirk from Jake.

Your prediction is correct and the fourth quarter ends with the game tied 28 to 28. Overtime starts quickly and Notre Dame has the first possession. They run it in and make the extra point. You look over to Jake for his part of the bet,

He laughs,

"I'm already naked."

"Fair, but I've still got my underwear," you brag.

"Not for long, I have a feeling," Jake replies.

He is annoyingly right. You shimmy out of your underwear as Navy kicks the extra point for their touchdown.

You are starting to lose your mind, Notre Dame has beaten Navy for 43 years in a row and now it's going into a second overtime?

Jake is laughing maniacally at your absolute shock,

"This is why you don't ever count a Navy man out!" he shouts at the TV.

The second overtime is useless as the teams trade field goals and the game remains tied.

"Come on Irish, let's do this," you plead as the third overtime starts . You are perched on the edge of the couch nervously bouncing your knee up and down.

Navy runs it in for a touchdown and you curse. You are not surprised that they go for the two point conversion as their kicking hasn't been good today. You're temporarily elated as Notre Dame scores another touchdown. Before you can blink, Notre Dame has set up for a two point conversion. A Navy lineman breaks through the Notre Dame line and sacks the quarterback. The game ends 46 to 44, Navy the winner.

"Holy shit, they just broke a 43 year record." You sit down stunned on the couch.

You look over at Jake, completely naked and still as confident as ever, his hands on the back of his head.

"I told you I had a feeling," he says smugly.

"Yeah apparently you should have bet some real money on it. I bet there are some bookies going nuts right now."

Jake catches your eye and says,

"I'm ready when you are sweetheart to claim my winnings."

He winks to complete the wolfish look he has on his face.

It's your turn to take the lead.

"You're right, it was a handshake agreement,"

you say as you slide over to him on the couch. Leaning over you catch his lips for a kiss that catches on fire quickly. You and Jake's arms reach out for each other by instinct, before you become too entwined Jake pulls back from the kiss.

"You're tempting me towards other ideas and we have to settle up before we can do anything else," he says, running his hand down your belly, placing his whole hand over your mound and teasing one finger into your folds before pulling back. You try to hold back the moan.

"Okay, if that's the way you want to go," you breathily reply.

You give him one more kiss before sliding off the couch to get on my knees in front of him. He is hard and ready, the anticipation already built up, a gorgeous bead of pearly precum forming at the top. You slot easily into his widely spread thighs.

You start by kissing his inner thigh and running your hands along his quads. When you get close to his balls you breeze past them letting a huff of hot breath out. He lets out a little frustrated whine above you. Kissing at his other thigh you run your tongue up to the crease in his pelvis. Jake gently threads his fingers in your hair, holding it out of the way of your face. You kiss up the golden hair of his treasure trail up to his navel.

"Please, El, I've been wanting you since before the game," Jake pants. You smile into his skin, and lick down to his very ready cock. You want to take him apart and make him melt with pleasure. Tracing your tongue up his length you tease him just a little bit more, just a hint of what is to come. Jake's hips buck up trying to get more contact.

You start licking him around the tip of his cock, gently. You haven't put him in your mouth and he's pleading, "Please, El, please."

You finally take him in your mouth and slowly slide down the shaft.

"Fuck, that's good," he grunts, a small degree of the tension and buildup released.

Pushing him all the way to the back of your throat and you are rewarded with a long groan. His hands are flexing and grabbing at your hair. You finally start to bob up and down on him and his breath hitches.

"Oh God, El. Fuck you're so good at that," he groans as he lightly thrusts his hips up chasing more.

You keep a steady pace, not fast enough to get him off yet, but definitely enough to get him closer. You place one hand at the base of his cock to take care of the length you can't fit in your mouth and move it in sync with your mouth while the other gently cradles his balls. You're rewarded with more moaning and his running mouth,

"You know if Notre Dame played as well as you suck cock, they would've blown Navy out of the water."

You make sure he sees your eyes roll when he looks down at you, in a slightly bratty move you press hard at his taint earning a startled grunt. A laughing moan escapes his lips before he retorts,

"Is someone a sore loser, El?"

You pull off his dick, smart mouth ready in other ways,

"Seems like I'm a pretty good loser, considering your dick is in my mouth. Which I mean, I could leave you hanging, Hangman."

"You wouldn't dare–," his reply is cut short as you take him down to the root, the golden curls tickling your nose, his cock sliding down your relaxed throat. You bob your head up and down as he lightly thrusts to fuck your throat.

You increase your pace adding some actual sucking to increase the intensity. Jake moans are turning into pants, you look up and he is trying to keep his head from falling back so he can watch you.

"Oh fuck, keep going, so close," he pleads as an incoherent string of words comes out. His body tightens and then he floods your mouth with his release. You swallow it all. Keeping your mouth on him, you ride out his orgasm with him. You let his softening cock slip out gently and you give the tip one last sweet kiss. When you look up his head is slung back on the couch and his chest is heaving as he catches his breath.

You stand up and take in the view, an absolutely ravished Jake Seresin. He is completely limp on the couch, eyes closed in the afterglow. You step over his right leg to get your clothes.

He snaps out of his near catatonic state and grabs you with his hands pulling you down on top of him, your back to his chest.

"Do you really think I'd let you get away without getting off? Leave you hanging?" he whispers into your ear as he slides his hand down your stomach.

"This was all about you, winner," you reply.

"I may have won, but I'll definitely be a good sport about it," he says as his strong fingers circle your clit. He continues down and dips a finger into your pussy, feeling how wet you are.

"My my my, you're very wet, were you turned on sucking my cock?" he asks.

You whine with need more than answer him.

"Answer me, El," he commands as he slowly circles your clit.

"I was, it's such a nice cock. I was thinking about it inside me, fucking me."

This is the answer he is looking for as he starts to rub faster and his other hand comes up to play with your tits.

"God damn, El, you are so sexy, so beautiful. I love watching you come apart."

The tightness in you is building, you crest and shatter when Jake dips one of his large fingers into your slit. He holds his fingers still against your clit riding out the aftershocks. Pretty soon you fall limp against his body satisfied for the moment

He starts kissing the side of your neck as you come down.

"Want to bet on next week's game?" he asks with a cheeky grin against your skin.

"Why wait till next week? I think you're ready for round two," you reply, grinding against his already hard dick. The kiss deepens until a beeping is heard from the pile of clothes at the end of the couch. He grabs his phone and shuts the reminder off while you're still in lap.

"Too bad it's time for Texas to play, darling," he smugly answers, enjoying the look of instant frustration on your face.

"Did I just get cock blocked by football?" you ask, repeating his words from earlier.

"Not any football game, the Texas game, sweetheart."

"Same bet?" you ask.

"You're on, El.'

This is the gameplay from the 2007 ND vs. Navy game where Navy did indeed upset ND.

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mayhemmanaged

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@midnightmagpiemama

@mygyn

[sleekervae]

You Look So Cool | Remington Leith x OC | The Robbery AU

Masterlist

A/N: wow, so this got really long and it took on a whole other life of its own. However, I haven't written action sequences in a long time and I'm proud of myself! I hope you all like it, don't forget to like, comment, reblog, whatever you feel like! And I'm super excited for the Debilitate video!

Warnings: guns, violence, swearing, some naughtiness but no smut

No one ever batted a second eye at the Hideaway Diner, a local truck-stop dive outside of Vegas that hosted a variety of curious and outlandish characters. The owner didn't really give a damn so long as his patrons paid their bills and no rough housing went about. The paint was peeling off of the walls, the wooden tables were chipped and worn down, and the end-to-end carpet could've used a good deep cleaning, nevertheless the mighty portions and enticing smell of crackling bacon was enough to leave every customer satisfied.

On a particularly sunny late morning, the diner was bustling with truck drivers and hitchhikers. Overworked and underpaid staff went about brewing pots of watery coffee and the kitchen staff were sweltering in the humid kitchen. There was indistinct chattering, retelling of stories and old men getting into debates over their bets for the next big football game. Nobody was paying attention to the young couple in a back booth, two half-eaten plates of hash and eggs sat cold between them.

Remington looked like every straggly, lanky weirdo you'd see on the side of town your mother would warn you not to visit. The people who didn't understand him would make assumptions, he's heard them all: drug addict, drug dealer, parolee, a deviant. Nevertheless, no one could deny how handsome he was, alluring in a dangerous classification that could spell trouble in the best way. The younger waitresses would always light up when he strolled in, instantly smitten with his sharp gaze and his charming smile.

He didn't have a lot to hold on to, just his car, the crucifix chain he kept around his neck, his two brothers, and of course he had his girl. Sitting opposite to him, Vera was a statuesque beauty with pixie-like features, and at first glance not many people would understand what such an innocent-looking girl was doing sitting across from Remington. But those same people making assumptions about Remington made poor ones for Vera, too. They couldn't possibly imagine what greatness the inconspicuous couple had to sit on.

Vera picked at her scrambled eggs absent-mindedly, taking bites between reading through the drawn plans Emerson had given them the night before. Remington had skimmed through them already, but he knew how prepared Vera liked to be for everything. He watched her curiously; the loose hair from her ponytail swinging across her face, how her eyes darted between Emerson's notes to the ones she made on the napkin, and her lips moved slow, chewing her food thoughtfully. They were all such simple things, but Remington couldn't deny watching Vera be in her own presence was a true privilege.

She looked up when she felt his eyes on her, dropping her pen and sitting back in the booth, "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he shrugged back, his fingers inching across the table towards her free hand, "I just like watching you,"

"I'm not doing anything, though," she smiled at him skeptically.

"So what? You're pretty cool, anyway," he replied.

"I know," she teased back, "Maybe not as cool as you... but still,"

"We're gonna have to disagree on that," he simpered.

Vera didn't hesitate as he took her hand into his, giving her an affectionate squeeze. Even the simplest things he did, how he complimented and took care of her, Vera appreciated him so much. She had never met anybody like him. Underneath all his faults, Remington was truly nothing more than a dorky goofball.

"Well then, would you like to read your brother's blueprint so you can get on my level of cool?" she asked.

"I already read them," he replied simply.

"You barely glanced at them yesterday," she noted back.

"But I cased the place last week. I memorized every exit and noted all the shift changes in security," he reminded her.

"Sweetheart, all due respect, but you have the memory of a goldfish," she smirked.

"I do not!" he exclaimed, mocking offence, "I have a great memory!"

"Oh, really? What movie did we watch last week?" she asked.

Remington shrugged listlessly, he truly couldn't ever recall, "It was at the drive-in, right?"

"No, we were at home," Vera replied, "What about what I cooked for dinner Tuesday night?"

Again, Remington regretfully drew a blank, "You know, it was just so good I was more consumed with eating it than actually taking in what it was," he decided, trying to work his charm. Vera however had been around long enough to know when he was bullshitting her.

"Hmm. My point," she nodded victoriously.

"Hey, hey, hold on now," he interjected, "Those are just minor things. I remember all the big things,"

"Like what?" she asked.

Remington smiled coyly, "Like the red dress you wore for our first date; it had the white buttons going up the front and you had a black shirt on underneath," he recalled, "How about our first vacation together? We booked a ratty little BnB and the generator went out so we had no heat?"

Vera blushed, "And we had to find creative ways to keep warm. I remember," she chuckled.

"Not to mention our first heist together," he went on, "I was all nervous because it was your first one but you handled everything so fucking smoothly," there truly was no denying how proud he was that day, watching Vera take command of ten people so seamlessly and keeping them all in order while the guys took what they could from the bank safe.

Vera giggled some more, "Does it make a difference if I mention I was absolutely shitting myself and was just trying to impress you?"

"It worked!" he agreed, "And every time, you've done better and better,"

"Well, I did have a great teacher," she winked, "He's a pretty cool, guy,"

Remington slid out from his side of the booth and slide in next to her instead, looping his arm around her shoulders and Vera let her head rest on his chest, "Not as cool as you, V,"

Her eyes slipped shut as he kissed her head, a simple gesture but it made her heart flutter every time. No one had ever treated her as well as Remington did, and Vera didn't care if people didn't get it. He was her person, now and -- God willing -- forever.

However, their moment of bliss was interrupted as the waitress strolled over, a pot of sloshing coffee in her hand. Vera moved quickly to hide the evidence of what they were doing under her arm. The waitress, an older woman with greying raven hair, smiled at the couple.

"Well, aren't you two just adorable!" she drawled in a Carolina accent, "Can I offer you some more coffee?"

"That would be great," Remington smiled, pushing his coffee cup towards her, "Breakfast was excellent, as always,"

The waitress giggled merrily, "Oh, you're just the sweetest thing, hon," she then caught on to the blueprints under Vera's arm, "What're you two up to with them papers?"

Vera opened her mouth, her mind racing for a believable answer, but Remington beat her to it, "Oh these? They're plans for our new house," Vera looked at him skeptically. The waitress gasped in delight.

"Plans for a new house? You two are building a house?" she asked.

"Yeah," Vera nodded, quickly catching on, "We're just figuring out whether we have the space to put in a walk-in closet or a man cave?"

"You know which one gets my vote," Remington added.

"Well, good for you! That is excellent! I don't see a lot of young people these days taking the initiative like you two are. That is wonderful," she spoke as she topped up their coffee.

"Thank you," Vera grinned sweetly, covertly brushing her foot up Remington's leg. He did his best to bite back his smirk.

"Can I get you two anything else?" the waitress asked.

"Just the check would be great," Remington nodded.

"You got it," and she walked off back to the front.

Vera slumped in her chair, shaking her head as she began to put the plans away, "Okay. That was too close," she mumbled.

"C'mon, she didn't suspect a thing," Remington assured her.

"To be fair, we could rob this place right now and she wouldn't bat an eye," Remington chuckled as she went on, "But now the next time we come in, she's gonna be asking us about our house that we do not have," she replied.

Remington pulled her in closer, bringing his lips just over her ear, "Hey, depending on how this goes tonight, we can totally have that house,"

At that, Vera was intrigued, "To buy or to build?"

"How about both?" he suggested, "We could get a plot of land out in the country, build our dream house. My brothers wouldn't be around, either, just you and me,"

As much as Vera loved Emerson and Sebastian, having their own separate life to build sounded wonderful, "Sounds like heaven," she drawled, "Let's just not fuck up tonight,"

"We won't," he assured her, "We never do,"

She eyed him skeptically, "People who say 'never' always tend to get it in the end, Remi," she pointed out.

"Okay," he nodded, "How are you going into this, then?"

"With skewed optimism and a prayer to Jesus,"

Ambition was Sebastian's middle name -- or so he liked to think. However, when he saw the news of a diamond bid a year ago, he didn't bat an eye before he told his brothers of their new target. Emerson was skeptical at first; a great big convention centre in the heart of Las Vegas brimming with people of all walks of the economy, housing millions of dollars worth of diamonds. The money alone couldn't compare to the jewels and priceless accoutrements the crew could get away with. But the security was unparalleled to any bank they'd hit before. Nevertheless, the brothers, as well as Vera and their right-hand man, Andrew, had spent the past year preparing and planning for what would be the peak of their heist career.

The ultimate prize tonight was the Warhol Diamond necklace, worth a reported 11.5 million dollars. That should be more than enough for a house.

Of course, since this event was so upscale, it called for upscale tactics. They had to use some of the funds from previous jobs to score some invitations, and of course the invitation required them be dressed to the nines to get in. Of course, this was no problem for the crew, they always liked to dress it up a little on their jobs.

The evening came upon them quickly, and already the strip in front of the convention centre was packed with people. It would be so easy for any of them to slip away unscathed. The top of society was attending, limos and high-roller cars were lined up around the block while dashing men and extravagant woman stepped out, practically dripping in jewels. Remington licked his lips like a hungry predator.

"Did you have to wear the hat?" Sebastian grumbled at Emerson, who was dressed in a tailored red jacket and dark slacks. He had an antique top hat on his head, the brim lined in gold thread.

"I like the hat," Emerson grumbled, not very impressed with Sebastian's own velvet maroon suit, "You're the one wearing an ascot with an open-neck,"

"It draws less attention than a top hat," Sebastian pointed out. The brothers were hanging around in the lobby, shuffling through the herd of people who were oohing and awing at the gold-crusted, lavish Venetian decor. Everything oozed expensive, even the security guards at the metal detector appeared in bespoke tailored suits.

"Hey, c'mon. He likes it, just leave him alone," Remington grumbled back, dressed up in his own dark tartan suit.

Emerson was gawking around the halls, "They really beefed up security around this place. Are you sure about the shift change schedule?" he asked Remington.

"Of course I'm sure. We've been casing this place for a month," he assured, "Trust me, everything is under control,"

"It's all under control as long as V does her part," Sebastian whispered.

Remington smirked back at him, "You talk like she never pulls through," he said.

"I'm not saying she doesn't," Sebastian replied, "But it doesn't matter how many of these we do; there's always an outlier,"

"You were the one that wanted to hit this place," Emerson mumbled.

"Vera is gonna' be fine," Remington assured them, "She knows what she's doing. As long as Andrew's not late we'll be just fine,"

The boys got into the security line up, separately of course. They didn't want to draw attention as a group. One by one, they each went through the metal detector and a pat down, neither of them were flagged.

Meanwhile, Vera was already inside the party. She assimilated well into the crowd of philanthropists, politicians, and unabashed millionaires. She stood off from the bar while she waited for her drink, appearing lusciously priceless in a sleek, velvet black gown. It was a more expensive piece she bartered for, it made it so easy for her to slip into the persona of someone she could only dream to be.

She thanked the bartender for her whiskey soda and she wandered around the venue, meeting eyes with inconspicuous guests. Everyone was gathered around an empty stage front, awaiting when the bidding would start for the extravagant variety of jewelry pieces. Where would the money gathered be going? Well, the front man, Alister Warhol, announced that a percentage of the proceeds would be going off to benefit various charities. The only thing he neglected to mention was he was keeping over 90% of the proceeds for himself, as most philanthropists did.

With most of the guests distracted, she stopped to bend down in front of one of the vent grates. Attached to her garter belt were five canisters, each the size of a large fingernail. Vera had distributed the other four already, having slipped them into the vent grates. Making like she was adjusting the strap of her shoe, she was about to slip the last canister inside when she heard a throat grumble from above her.

Vera looked up, coming face-to-face with an older, distinguished gentleman. He was slender, his stark cheekbones protruding harshly through his skin, and his sunken eyes made him appear older than he appeared. He nursed his own champagne flute, and he smelled as though he'd enjoyed a few beforehand.

"Hello," he drawled, looking her up and down.

Vera strapped an alluring smile to her face, "Hello,"

"I'm sorry if I startled you, but I noticed you from the bar," he said, "You are absolutely stunning,"

"Why thank you," Vera smiled back, "Are you a bidder, tonight?"

He chuckled blithely, "Not exactly. I'm an acquirer for Mr. Warhol,"

Vera raised a brow, "Ah, so these pieces have come from your collection?" she asked.

"Some are mine, some are from other generous cohorts, some have been sold off to Warhol to pay off debts," he replied.

"I imagine I wouldn't want to be the person to owe Mr. Warhol money," she said.

"Absolutely not," he then took her hand in his, "The name's Redmond. Redmond Barrymore," and he kissed her knuckle.

Vera swallowed back her distaste, "Sophia Blackwell," her public cover name.

"Sophia Blackwell..." Redmond drawled, his expression furrowing, "... Oh, yes. I recall seeing your name on the guest list,"

Vera hummed, "I thought you were just Mr. Warhol's acquirer, Mr. Barrymore?"

He chuckled heavily, brimming with the bravado of a man with enough secrets to eradicate every person in this room, "Well, I like to have a handle on who may be bidding on my diamonds,"

Across the room, the brothers had finally entered the major ensuite. Remington immediately accepted a martini from one of the passing serving staff, scanning the room for their target. And there it was, the Warhol Necklace on full display in bullet proof glass, shelved on a high platform and out of reach for any person of general stature. Of course, it was surrounded by a handful of security guards.

"God, it's beautiful," Remington awed, "All 11.5 million of it,"

"We could make out pretty well with some of the pieces on these guests, too," Emerson added, looking around at the crowd.

"Remember, we have to stay focused," Sebastian reminded them, "Where's Vera?"

"I'll find her," Remington nodded, "You remember where we put the bag?"

"Yeah, I'll get it," Sebastian nodded, "We'll meet at the south-east corner in twenty minutes," and he ducked out of the crowd.

"I'm gonna' get a drink," Emerson decided before he too took off.

Remington sipped his martini meanwhile, his dark brown eyes skimming for faces and the odd Tiffany or Rolex he could knick away with. In the next pass he locked on Vera, her exquisite appearance accentuated against the shimmering gold and marble fixtures, not to mention the peak of her long leg beneath the high slit in her dress was so sexy. Remington had so many ideas of what he could do to her in that dress... if only that old man chatting her up wasn't ruining his picture.

He finished the martini promptly and placed it on a discard tray, making his way through the crowd and towards his girl. Vera meanwhile made her attempts to leave, though Redmond wasn't ready to let her go.

"Why don't you join me at my table?" he offered, "We're having dinner courtesy of Wolfgang Puck,"

Vera smiled politely, "That's very kind of you to offer, Mr. Barrymore, but I'm afraid I already have a table tonight," she replied in kind.

"Oh? With whom?"

"With me," Remington appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and Vera was relieved. Redmond looked him up and down, a little more critically than he had with Vera.

"Ah. And you would be...?"

"Aldous Blackwell, sir," Remington shook his hand, "Of the Toronto Blackwells,"

Redmond nodded slowly, "I see. I haven't seen you around here," he replied skeptically.

"I was kept late at an important business meeting, so I sent my wife ahead," Remington explained.

"And... what business do you run, Mr. Blackwell?" he asked.

Vera linked her arm with Remington, "The type that could afford him over half of Alister Warhol's diamond collection," she said. Remington squeezed her hand, never breaking his gaze with Redmond Barrymore.

"Very well, then," Redmond nodded, "I wish you luck in the bidding. As for you, Mrs. Blackwell," he took Vera's hand again and planted another kiss on her knuckle. Remington felt his blood pressure flare, though he kept his composure without a flinch, "It was a pleasure,"

"The pleasure was mine," she tried not to sneer as he walked away. She squirmed on the spot and rubbed her soaked knuckle on her hip, "God, what took you long?" she whispered to Remington.

"I couldn't help it," Remington ushered her through the crowd and towards the back hallway, "They got into it over accessories,"

"Well, they sure picked a time. If it wasn't for you, that creep would've suckered me into sitting for a dinner by Wolfgang Puck," she scoffed back, not thinking as Remington ushered her away from the crowd and into a dark, quieter hallway, "Not that I'd complain about the latter part,"

"I think with this, we could buy us a set meal from Mr. Puck's restaurant," before her eyes, Remington held up Barrymore's Panerai watch.

Vera wasn't shocked per say, though more or less impressed at his speed, "When did you take that?"

In a sharp instant, Remington had her backed into the corner, the watch shoved deep into his pocket, "While he was slobbering all over your hand,"

Remington stepped impossibly closer and pushed her legs apart with his knee. Vera's gasp was swallowed by his mouth engulfing hers, lips and teeth smacking in a rough, passionate kiss. She squeezed her legs around his, fingers threading through his hair as he moved to nip at her neck, his hand coming up to wrap around her throat. She had to bite her lip as he marked her, the rush of adrenaline and carnal tension shivering through her body, every touch of was electrifying and excitement bubbled beneath her skin.

“Remington,” she breathed, trying her best not to smirk as his dark expression, "Did it really bother you seeing the old man so close to me?"

He chuckled suddenly, though she knew it wasn't from amusement. His hand left her throat, slipping down the silky material of her dress until he reached the slit of her dress. His hand slipped up, caressing the inner part of her thigh, his eyes never leaving hers and his smirk widened.

"You belong to me," he mumbled, the intensity of his stare so dark and sharp, "You're all mine, and anybody who tries me will fucking regret it," he did not hesitate before pressing his lips firmly against hers, a desperate attempt to feel more of her. Vera looped her arms around Remington's neck and threaded her fingers within his soft locks, tugging it, smirking against his lips in satisfaction once he hissed at the action.

He swiped his tongue against her lower lip and pushed his tongue inside her mouth, deepening the kiss. With his other hand, he jerked her hips closer to his and pushed his hips against her, she moaned at the sensation of him rubbing against her. He emitted a low groan, his eyes clouded with pure desire as he pulled away from her lips in order to trail kisses down her throat. Oh, if only they had the time, the privacy, she would wrap her legs around his waist and let him take her against the wall right now, the crowd be damned.

"Are you for real?" their moment was slighted by Emerson, standing at the mouth of the hall, his unimpressed glower lit dimly in the shadows. Remington groaned, pulling away from his girl to face his brother, "You guys are like God damn rabbits; can you wait at least until we leave the premises?"

Vera couldn't help but laugh, the brothers equal annoyance with each other a nice breather for her.

"Alright, c'mon then. Let's go find Seb," she patted the lapel of Remington's jacket and walked off, all the while he stared a hole into his cock-blocking little brother.

"Five minutes," he grumbled at him, "You couldn't have let me have five fucking minutes?"

Emerson shrugged, not bothering to hide the shit-eating grin on his face, "You forget your room is right next to mine. You take way more than just five minutes," he smirked.

"Oh, fuck off," and he brushed right past Emerson.

Sure enough, twenty minutes had past. Bids were called, alcohol was consumed, and the diamonds glittered so deliciously under the chandelier display. No one was the wiser to the crew crouched down behind the stage, the dapper looking group having switched out their classy shoes and heels for treaded sneakers, and each of them slipped a gas mask over their head. Sebastian kept checking his watch, it was almost time for the canisters to go off.

"Are we all ready?" he asked.

Remington nodded as he checked his phone, "Andrew's ready and waiting downstairs," he reported.

"And the canisters should be going off in five minutes," Emerson added.

At the mention, Vera's face changed. A sharp fear ripped through her as she realized she never finished her assignment, "Fuck!"

"What?" the boys turned to her, praying her exclamation wasn't anything bad.

"I forgot one," she whispered, reaching under her skirt.

"Forgot one what?" Sebastian asked nervously. They were stunned in silence as Vera pulled out the last canister from her garter.

"Fuck," Emerson covered his mouth.

Sebastian glowered at her, "How could you forget?!" he snapped.

"I didn't mean to! I'm so sorry!" she gaped.

"It's not her fault," Remington cut in, "She was almost caught by Warhol's collector,"

"And yet you wanted five minutes," Emerson snickered at him, slipping his mask over his now hat-free head.

"Shut up!" Remington snapped at him.

"Five minutes? Five minutes for what?" Sebastian asked.

"Nothing!" Vera replied swiftly, "You guys go ahead, I'll slip the last one in the vent real quick," she pulled her mask off and hid it behind her back.

"You're gonna' go out there without your mask?" Sebastian queried.

Vera started for the curtain, "I'll make it. Security just hit shift change," and she disappeared around the velvet material.

"Is she serious? Fuck," Sebastian kicked at the wall.

"She's right, though. She'll be fine," Remington assured, slipping his gas mask over his head, "Let's move,"

Sure enough, the security was switching to the late shift, leaving just a few crucial minutes for the boys to take the stage. Sebastian was swift to subdue the first guard and Remington hopped onto the platform. The auctioneer was more than confused as he turned mid-bid of another diamond piece, coming nose-to-nose with a stranger in a gas mask. Remington knocked him upside the head with his own microphone, taking the stage to address the astounded crowd. Gasps and screams of horror bounced off the marble-slated walls.

"Ladies and gentleman!" he announced, his voice muffled by the mask, "Please, we ask you to remain calm! You are not in danger! However, in case it wasn't clear: this is a robbery!"

Vera meanwhile was slipping through the crowd, the gas canister clutched tightly in her fist as she ran for the last vent. She heard it begin to sizzle and it burned against her skin. In the chaos of the mess however, she was suddenly slammed by another body. The impact threw her to the side and the canister went flying. It was long gone by the time Vera realized what had happened, and she was sure to catch shit for it later. Nevertheless, the canisters were beginning to release the gas from within them and she needed to get her mask on fast.

Some people tried to run for the door, though they found they had been locked in. It was all thanks to Andrew and his quick skills with heavy chains wrapped around the handles from the outside. The sleeping gas began to fill the room, no one would be getting out.

"We're not here to hurt you! In just a few minutes, you're all gonna' feel the most relaxed you've ever been," Remington called out. And sure enough, the gas had begun to take effect. The echoing of coughing, sputtering, and gasping bounced across the walls and bodies began to slump. It wasn't just the guests within the hall, the gas traversed through the vents, reaching the security wing above them, as well as the kitchen below. No one within the immediate vicinity would be able to call for help. Sebastian was holding some taken aback guards at gun point while Emerson was tying them up with duct tape.

"Hey you!" Remington glanced down towards a brave security guard, aiming at the younger boy with his gun, "You get the hell down from there, right now!" he shouted angrily.

Remington, ever so the one to tempt fate, stepped out from behind the podium, his arms raised in an open target. He was goading the guard to shoot him, revelling in the chaos, the panic, and the thudding of bodies beginning to hit the floor.

"You talking to me?" he chided. The guard coughed, trying to cover his mouth and nose with his jacket lapel, and he fought diligently through the gas.

"Yes! Now, I won't tell you again!" he exclaimed. He was none the wiser to the striking young woman coming up from behind him, the bottle of champagne in her hand she used to crack him upside the head. He went down hard and fast, his gun flying off to the side.

Vera stared up, annoyed with her showman boyfriend, "Really?" she groaned at him.

"Hey! You love my theatrics!" he replied, pulling her up on the stage.

"Not when you're goading a loaded gunman into shooting you," Vera rolled her eyes, watching as the last few groups of people began to succumb to the sleeping gas. It was truly a marvel to behold, the room that was bustling with excitement not ten minutes ago was wilted and weak, struggling for air like plants in a drowsy, dark room.

"I saw you coming, anyway," Remington assured her, "Did you get rid of the canister?"

Vera inhaled sharply, "Kind of,"

"What does that mean?" he popped a brow.

"... I might have lost it," she admitted sheepishly, fear flashing through the eyeholes of her mask.

"What do you mean you lost it?"

"I got knocked into one guy who knocked me into another guy and it's out there somewhere!" she pointed to the sea of bodies.

Remington peered out in shock and dismay, scanning as though he could magically spot the canister in the mess. He had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"And which vent were you supposed to put it in?" he asked tentatively.

Vera shook her head, self-resentment and disappointment settling in her chest, "... The one that leads to the security office,"

"Shit," Remington turned to the plethora of diamonds, calculating as their estimated time was now cut by half. Surely, security would be down within minutes, and it wouldn't take them long to cut the chains off the doors.

"Sebastian's gonna' kill me this time," Vera shook her head, "I fucked up, I fucked up real bad --"

"Hey! It's okay," Remington took her by her shoulders, "Listen, you tried. Shit happens,"

"But Remington --"

"But nothing, Vera! We'll be fine! I'll handle Sebastian, you start on the codes for the cases. Let's just get what we can,"

Remington directed Vera to start getting the diamond cases open. Emerson went to help her while Sebastian kept watch over the guards. Remington wandered over to him sheepishly, knowing fully well he was going to be pissed.

"Don't be angry," he muttered to him.

Sebastian eyed his younger brother cautiously, "... Why should I be angry?" he asked.

"Our time was just slashed in half," he admitted. Sebastian gawked at him, his furious expression maximized by his mask.

"Okay, I'm angry. What happened?" he asked.

"It's not important right now,"

"Remington --"

"Don't argue with me right now, please? It was one slip up," he pleaded. Hell, Sebastian of all people had to know nothing was perfect, not even circumstance. Remington just prayed that they could get away with enough bounty to calm him down later.

Sebastian was at a loss for words, staring back and forth between him and the diamond cases. He decided quickly; if they only had half the time then they had to go for the most valuable pieces. He immediately looked up to the Warhol necklace, still perched on its high platform.

"Alright. You scale the platform and get the Warhol. We'll take it and whatever else these guys can get, and we go," Sebastian decided.

"Deal," like a bat out of hell, Remington began to climb the stage set up, clinging to the bars like a howler monkey in the jungle. He had had enough practice that every move was a calculated piece of cake. The Warhol diamond was just within reach.

He jumped for the platform, clinging tightly to the shelf as he shoved at the glass case, moving it until it just teetered off the edge.

"Hey sweetheart!" he called down, garnering his girl's attention, "Here's our house! Heads up!" and the case plummeted down into Sebastian's arms. Emerson and Vera meanwhile had broken out a few key valuable pieces, definitely enough to warrant Remington and Vera their own property and then some.

However, the true crown jewel of the collection was the Warhol Diamond Necklace; a custom waterfall design with stardust African diamonds, ordered by Alister Warhol himself. The rumour around town was he'd had it especially made for the woman he wanted to marry, the only woman in the world who had supposedly rejected him and his high-class attempts.

"Emerson! C'mere!" the youngest brother discarded the last case he had in favour for the big one. He was an expert at cracking codes, give him any safe in the world and he could have it open within minutes. Time of course was not a luxury they could spare.

"What house is he talking about?" he asked.

"I don't know," Sebastian shook his head, "They're at the stage where they wanna' start playing house,"

"Ew. Gross," Emerson chuckled, working as quickly as he could to unlock the case.

"I heard that!" Remington called, still hanging from the rafter. Vera laughed to herself, working quickly to pack what few pieces they had into the duffel.

"Don't be upset, honey. They're just jealous," Vera teased.

"Oh, you wish," Sebastian simpered.

It was painstaking process, and every second they spared was another second authorities had to gain on them. However, Emerson heard the last click of the combination lock and the lid snapped open. With glazed eyes, he pulled out the million dollar masterpiece, truly feeling as though he had grasped the Golden Idol.

"God, she's beautiful!" he mired.

"All 11.5 million of her," Sebastian agreed, swinging around to Vera, "That's buy each of us a house and then some,"

"Hell yeah it will!" Remington leapt down onto the stage with a hard thud, though he walked away unscathed, "I can see it now: large open yard, rock wall faces, Italian fixtures --"

"How about a pool?" Vera suggested.

"Dream house needs a dream pool," Emerson agreed, slipping the necklace into their bag.

Remington chuckled, "And a big pool we can light up at night so we can --" however, he was cut short when a sharp bang rang out through the air, and a crippling pain in his torso followed. Remington fell to the ground to the horror of his crew, Vera and Emerson dropped what they were doing and rushed to him.

"Remington! Oh my God!" they quickly turned him onto his back. Remington was still alive, he was sure of that as he saw the gruesome fear rippling through his brother and his girlfriend, and his body felt as though it was burning from the inside out. He had been shot.

Sebastian meanwhile turned out to the crowd, finding himself in a gun draw with Redmond Barrymore. The older gentleman's gun was still smoking from his fire. He wheezed heavily, keeping himself upright on the table with shaky limbs. It wouldn't have taken much to take him out if not for the nine millimetre he had aimed for Sebastian's head. He grunted through the gas, his willpower seemingly stronger than the gas.

"You put my diamonds back! Or you're next!" he sneered.

"How in the fuck..." Sebastian drawled.

Redmond chuckled darkly, "What's the matter, son? You didn't expect to see an old man come back from the dead? You don't work for Mr. Warhol without having some special tricks of your own," he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like an epipen at first glance. Whatever was in that needle was a counteract to the sleeping gas, an insurance policy should an occasion as this arrive.

"We don't want to hurt you," Sebastian assured him, "We're just gonna take our loot and go. You'll never hear from us again,"

The older gentleman was in hysterics, "Really? You're quite brave for a man with no options, sir! You're down a man with no escape route because the security will be busting through those doors any minute!" he roared, "I commend your efforts though, the gas masks are a nice touch!"

Remington was gasping for a deep breath under his mask but he knew he couldn't remove it. The air was still too thick. Emerson had to hold him down while Vera ripped off part of the curtain, trying to clot the pack the wound so he bleed out. In his haze of pain and uncertainty, Remington focused on the giant chandelier. Thousands of crystals glinted and twinkled, giving him a brilliant yet crazy idea.

"The chandelier --" he sputtered, "The chandelier!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's pretty," Emerson grumbled.

"No! The chandelier!" Remington snapped at him.

"What about it?!"

"Use it!"

"What?"

Vera faced up to the ceiling, almost being blinded by the chandelier and its many glinting, sharp crystals. There was a cable holding the entire structure up; and it hung smack over Redmond Barrymore. If only she had something to cut the cable, they could make a clean get away. It was then she remembered the guards carried their own guns.

She raced over to the group of large men, each of them still out cold as she felt around for a gun. She found the perfect line of trajectory behind the stage, aiming at the guesstimated angle she prayed would make quick work for their escape.

Sebastian froze as another gun shot rang out, but it wasn't from his nor was it from Redmond's. He heard a distinct tinkling, jewels clanging together above his head. The cable holding the chandelier up was sizzling, and he caught wind of what was about to happen. He took a cautious step back.

"You know, I believe things are looking up for us," he noted. Redmond glanced up to the vibrating chandelier, just as another shot rang out. He leapt out of the way just as the chandelier plummeted to the ground, sending thousands of crystals smashing and flying everywhere, electrical sparks raining down from the cable.

The brothers didn't have time to take cover, they made quick work to get Remington to his feet. Vera took the gun with her and grabbed the duffel bag while Emerson had the bag with their stuff.

Redmond hadn't gotten away from the crash unscathed, his leg was pinned down by a metal rod, effectively shattering his shin bone. He cried out in pain and in anger, lashing out as the crew headed for their escape route. He roared like a lion who had missed his dinner, rage flaring through his body as he called, "Who the fuck are you people!?"

The crew stopped, turning back to Redmond with a great smugness hidden under their masks. Remington gathered his wits enough to taunt him back with a sassy remark, "Us? We're The fucking Bastards,"

A loud banging thundered from the doors, and they knew their time was up. Vera and Emerson lead the way while Sebastian hobbled along with Remington, all the while the middle brother kept pressing the curtain tightly into his wound. It hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to what being caught would feel like.

They cut through the kitchen, a mess of passed out staff, bubbling pots and burning pans. The smell was distinguishable of just burnt, burnt flakey char that nobody would eat. The service elevator was in the back and they all piled in, just as a flood of footsteps entered the kitchen. They had a second to relax.

"Well, that was fun," Emerson puffed.

"Yeah," Sebastian turned to Vera, "Nice thinking with the chandelier,"

Vera shrugged, "It was all your brother's plan," she replied simply.

"Do we have everything?" Remington groaned.

"Not like we can go back," Emerson replied.

"I just hope Andrew's ready," Sebastian shook his head.

"What's he driving?" Vera asked.

The boys looked between each other, realization hitting that they never asked what vehicle Andrew was going to be in. Vera stared dumbfounded between them.

"He didn't tell you what he was driving?" she asked in disbelief.

"We were running late, we just trusted him," Emerson replied.

"It's okay," Remington assured, "Andrew always pulls through,"

The elevator dinged to the basement level and the giant doors swung open. Much to their luck, security hadn't reached the basement yet. They quickly shuffled out, looking around for any sign of Andrew. It was then Emerson found the obscure looking ambulance in the sea of high-end cars, and sure enough, Andrew and his wild head of hair were sitting upfront, his own gas mask covering his face.

"I found him!" he pointed to the ambulance.

"Huh, fitting," Remington chuckled.

Andrew looked up from his round of candy crush and spotted them immediately. He started the truck before Sebastian could wave him down and pulled out in front of them. Sebastian ripped the back doors open and they all clamoured inside. Remington slumped to the floor.

"We all good?" Andrew called them.

Sebastian took the seat beside him, nodding and panting heavily, "Yeah. Drive,"

Andrew however had focused on Remington and the pool of blood staining his shirt, "What happened to him?"

"Just drive!" Sebastian snapped.

Andrew didn't need to be told again, he peeled out of the delivery truck exit and onto traffic. Police cars whizzed by them meanwhile, all stopping at the convention centre. Vera watched out the back window with bated breath, finally relaxing when she saw they were safe.

"We're clear," she announced, and they all pulled off their masks.

The fresh air was a welcome reward for their strife, that and the bag full of diamond trinkets and other jewelry pieces the crew pocketed. They drove unscathed out of the city, the flashing lights of the Vegas strip quickly dissipated into blacked out desert. Some lights flared from homes in the distance, the further they drove the less there was around. Remington stayed slumped on the ground, breathing slowly through his pain whilst he gripped tightly to Vera's hand. She cleaned his wound as much as she could, more of the dirty work would have to be done at home. When they hit a particular checkpoint they had to switch vehicles, Andrew already had a camper van waiting and left the ambulance behind.

After thirty minutes of driving through seemingly nowhere, they turned into an obscure bungalow neighbourhood. It was a lower middle class community where nobody asked questions and everybody usually kept to themselves. The camper van pulled into their home, and the engine hadn't even been cut before the back door flew open and Emerson and Vera helped Remington inside. Sebastian and Andrew meanwhile took charge of unloading their loot.

Remington groaned as he fell into the bathtub, turning over to rip his shirt off. Vera began soaking rags in disinfectant, beside her a hastily thrown together medical kit. It wasn't much, but the tools she had were enough to patch her boys up when necessary.

A half-drunk bottle of whiskey sat on the rim, and Remington swigged it plentifully to numb the pain he knew was coming. Vera's hand were already a sticky mess of blood from the centre and she scrubbed hard to get herself clean.

"I thought he'd killed you," she rattled off, "I didn't know he had a gun, I should've known. He's a diamond collector of fuck sakes --"

"Vera. Vera!" he called, "Sweetheart, we got away scot-free,"

She fell to sit on the rim of the tub, staring at the open wound in his skin with marred distain, "But you got hurt, anyway," she huffed.

"We knew what we were signing up for," he assured her, taking her hand, "You did so fucking well tonight,"

"I fucked up, Remington," she sighed, "We could've gotten more than double what we made away with,"

"And it's enough. Vera, I don't care what we take or what happens to me, I just need you to be okay," he replied, searching for a depth of sparkle in her eyes, "Are you okay?"

She inhaled deeply. She couldn't lie that she had been rattled, and it was surely just a fluke of luck that she had shot down that chandelier so skillfully. She hadn't done her job properly and yet Remington was still so concerned for her. She couldn't imagine how she could even begin to repay him for his love. But then that was it: love wasn't supposed to be something transactional, it was a deep connection and profound fondness for one another. Remington wasn't just her partner in crime, he was her partner for life.

"I'm okay," she nodded, staring wistfully at the rags on the sink counter, "You're probably not gonna' like me in a few minutes," she warned.

"Impossible," he smiled, "You're so fucking cool,"

Vera blushed, supporting herself on the rim and wall of the bath and leaning in to brush her lips against hiss, but was interrupted when their foreheads bumped together, making them both giggle and the tension faded away.

She kissed him sweetly, muttering softly under her breath, "I love you,"

"I love you, too," he sat back in the tub, bracing himself for the stinging pain of retrieval and cleaning. He'd done it before, but every time it never got easier.

Vera took her own swig of the whiskey bottle, holding it out for him, "Drink," she ordered. He obliged her happily, his eyes stayed glued to hers.

Vera sighed as he handed her back the bottle, making a silent apology, "Good, now bite your tongue," and she poured the alcohol over his wound.

The boys couldn't help but tense up when they heard Remington shouting from the bathroom, a position neither of them envied him for. He would bitch and complain for about twenty minutes, grovel about his pain for a day, but he would be back to normal in no time. It was all worth it anyhow as Emerson held up the Warhol necklace, every individual diamond sparkled in the low light. No matter how many hitches they hit in their job tonight, The Bastards were successful in what they'd come for.

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[jfbuckley]

Not a very pleasant blog entry to post, but whilst one might have harboured delusions of a romantic, swashbuckling upset, it was always extremely likely to be like this.

With nightmares of the horrendous 6-3 thrashing still fresh in my memory, I was too nervous to watch, therefore my football correspondent has kindly provided his match review, scrupulously fair and balanced as ever. I can’t imagine the state I would have been in had I watched: city scoring after 12 seconds would probably have been enough to finish me off!

Unfortunately I think all United fans knew that the odds were vastly against us in this match. This current city team is exceptional, and much as many fans will moan about oil money and shady dealings, the fantastic quality of the team cannot be denied.

There is nothing sacrosanct about “the treble.” A long time ago, in a different context, my football correspondent said that “all records are meant to be broken”. It might have sounded like a throwaway kind of comment, but it made an impression on me and I’ve always remembered it. I suppose when Spurs won the double in 1961 they thought it was a magnificent achievement that would never be equalled, but then Arsenal did it ten years later, we have done it more than once and it is now commonplace. Likewise with the treble. City will more than likely do it, another team may do it sometime - but ours was the first, will always be the best, and it didn’t need the resources of an oil producing government to fund it.

I think this has been an excellent season for United, and if we can get a few decent players and unload some deadwood, we should do even better next year - and - city WON’T be at the top for ever!!

———————

hi - of the many cup finals united have been involved in mostly they have been favourites to win - sometimes it has been an evens bet about who would win - on some very rare occasions united have been the underdogs and this match up definitely fell into the very rare category

city are champions again and since finding form in late january have been bulldozing aside opposition home and abroad crushing the likes of arsenal, liverpool, bayern and real madrid - so it was with a touch of trepidation that i settled down to watch the game

city kicked off and in a clearly pre planned move captain gundogan played the ball back to keeper ortega who steadied himself and launched the ball into the united half on the right - haaland headed inside and de bruyne challenged lindelof for the bouncing ball - lindelof's weak header was pounced on by gundogan who'd wandered towards united's area - without breaking stride gundogan met the ball on the volley and his shot flew into the net past a startled de gea - just 12 seconds had gone and the uphill task that faced united now assumed everest proportions

rodri nearly scored with a header a few minutes later and united were rocking - gradually united seemed to clear their heads and began to make inroads - city were still the dominant force and haaland was just inches from connecting with a cross - then on the half hour fernandes floated a ball towards wan bissaka and grealish inside the area - wan bissaka won the aerial challenge and the ball caught grealish's flailing hand - united's players appealed almost apologetically - it clearly wasn't intentional by grealish but the ref was asked to look at a replay - having done so he pointed to the spot - fernandes coolly rolled it in and somehow united were level and remained so at half time

after 51 minutes fred conceded a free kick on the right of uniteds area - as players waited around the penalty spot de bruyne crossed the ball out to the unattended gundogan - he swung his left leg and the ball travelled towards goal - it seemed to take an age but it was enough to beat de geas dive and city were back in front - it didn't look like a great piece of keeping - not as bad as the west ham shocker but not far off

united tried to get back into it - garnacho came on and looked a threat - weghorst came on but didn't - mctominay came on - as the match neared its end city seemed content to see the match out - in the last minute in the 6 yard box mctominay forced in an effort that looped up and landed on the bar - united were unable to net the rebound and the final whistle blew a few minutes later

so united fell to defeat - they did their best - they tried but it wasn't enough - the best team won and next week are likely to win the champions league to complete the treble - united have been the only side to win the treble and can take pride in doing so but it has always been a bit fanciful to imagine that it would never ever be done by any other team - if city do it then good luck and congratulations to them

as for united - other than city - united have been the most successful team in the premier league this season - they qualified for the champions league, they won one cup and were only denied by city in the other one - as far as seasons go that's not bad at all

bye

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[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

Crikey, it’s getting chilly! You know this is now a big topic of conversation! The thing is: it’s not even that cold yet! Wait until we get frost, ice and snow, then your bits will be tingling! Thankfully, I have turned into some kind of superman and I’m not really feeling the cold like I usually do. Having said that, tonight I am going to not one but two functions (via public transport), so I will have on hoodie, padded jacket and gloves. I’m healthy but I’m not mad! I don’t fuck with extreme temperatures! I cannot afford to be ill; I’ve got too much to do.

I teach at two different places. They both want me to do more work next term. This makes me very happy. I suppose I should be flattered. In my Wednesday class, I had students at widely varying levels. Some were very young and aspiring artists, some had already been signed to major labels and been through the mill, but the module leader said I made everyone feel welcome, I made sure everyone’s questions were answered and that everyone got something from the module.

I don’t want to blow my own trumpet (although nobody else will) but I don’t just think I’m a good teacher, I think I’m a good manager too. It reminded me of my time at MTV. I got turned down for a management role five times (until I eventually gave up applying) and then I got made redundant because I was on a decent salary but I wasn’t a manager. So, a big shout to everyone involved in internal, corporate politics! If you’ve ever worked your arse off but been passed over for promotion time and time again, I feel your pain! Big corporations often take the safe option and promote quite bland and invisible people that will never rock the boat (but will never create anything meaningful.)

If you get the chance, watch ‘Sr.’ on Netflix, a very touching documentary about film director Robert Downey Sr. Father of Iron Man a.k.a. Robert Downey Jr. I watched it and compared my relationship with my father. Naturally, I look like my dad and we have much in common, but Sr. and Jr. (both former drug addicts) really enjoyed a very loving and supportive relationship and, looking back, I just don’t remember having that same relationship with my father. I didn’t even cry at his funeral.

On Wednesday night, I think The Trouble was quite relieved that there was no football. (I bet the rest of the world had withdrawal symptoms!) At the moment, we are full of optimism but, come Sunday, how will we be? If we lose, lots of people will start tucking into their supply of Christmas drinks and snacks to drown their sorrows. “Fuck it! Let’s open another bottle!” Having said that, if we win, lord knows what will happen! I think everyone will get laid!

Have a throbbing and thrusting Thursday (with hopefully a few thrills through your thoroughfare?) I love you all.

[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Three

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. So how do you move on from that? Ha! You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

Fluff, swearing, innuendos, canon typical violence (a smidge), light angst, pining lotsa pining

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Word Count: 4,914 (yup, take a glass of water with you)

Series Chapters

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Three

The next time you saw each other, Bucky threw a standard issue nod, curt, more distracted than annoyed, which is to say it’s exactly the kind of greeting you want. It’s reassuring in its ordinariness.

You saluted him from your favorite spot in all of G3, a steel bench with a wooden back across the building you worked out of. There was a plan to develop this side of the street, but luckily the powers that be (Pepper) opted to keep the lot vacant and the seat remained the lone structure in the field. You sat there to enjoy the breeze and the space to think, only limited by the sky above. The only complaint you had were the armrests that prevented you from lying down for naps during breaks.

Bucky disappeared inside the building with Natasha. You nursed your iced coffee until it became a lukewarm beverage before heading in yourself.

Operation First Resort, also known as the time you asked him out on a date, never came up again. Not in conversation at least.

Bucky’s discipline of speaking only when necessary greatly helped matters although his eyes communicated more than you could ever fathom. They were like a lost language. Haunted, beautiful, practically arcane. If he ever thought about that evening as often as you did -  it’s just your wishful thinking.

You also excelled at pretending it never happened, although it didn’t mean you stopped having feelings for your favorite brunette super soldier. To compensate for ranking him number one, you made it a point to ask Sam in passing about collegiate level football and the NFL draft. When Natasha approached you about tracking down a Russian prisoner during your personal time, you didn’t hesitate to help her. Steve was a little harder to crack - maybe centenarians really were your weak spot - but he always received a fresh pack of yellow post-its everytime you sent him a plan to review.

At any point in the past few months you could have found some other emotionally distant, square-jawed heartbreaker. You could walk into any law enforcement office, S.H.I.E.L.D. included, and find one before getting past security. That wasn’t your persuasion though. You doubled down on that crush as if it were a dare and your parents raised you to not be a quitter.

Why stop at crushing on the geezer who jabbed your arm with a manila envelope or the nearest writing implement to get you to look at him, when you can fall in love with said geezer instead?

You don’t like me back? Pffft, let me love you anyway.

You were headstrong when you needed to be - you wouldn’t have landed this coveted analyst gig otherwise - but for the most part, you were more of a “go with the flow, path of least resistance” type. For nearly a year, you handled this situation by not doing a damn thing about it.

All you had to do was hunker down. Bucky was a force of nature. Your best bet was to sit still and endure the beautiful devastation.

In the back of your mind, you knew this - your altered state - would pass. He would start dating again at some point and that would effectively, forcibly serve as the cease and desist order your stubborn mind awaited. He might get assigned a permanent post in Europe. He could come back with a gorgeous partner who was amazing in bed and in the kitchen, with their adorable dimpled kids, who’d speak at least three languages and know judo.

Or maybe you’d always hold a place for him in your heart, and you would do it from a respectable distance and keep that piece of information to yourself. Theoretically speaking, as long as you keep your emotions under lock and key, you can continue to live with liking Bucky a little too much for years and years.

That was the plan. Granted, if this were an actual Avenger-level mission, your plan would never get the green light from the operations floor.

In your line of work, “hero helpline” as you described it to your mother, variables signified risks. Any element prone to change must be taken off the board or mitigated. The only pieces in play must be ones you control. Risks must be reduced to the point where the consequences are more acceptable. Like blowing up a room instead of a building. Taking a punch to the face instead of getting stabbed in the back.

Your approach to handling these Bucky-related feelings relied entirely on your ability to behave professionally and make rational decisions. This plan wasn’t just objectively bad; it was reactive and worse, reckless.

As Sam would say about half-baked mission ideas: “Is it a suicide mission? You know that shit gets people killed right? Just checking.”

Your plan guaranteed hurt feelings. Yours, specifically, but you were the one who insisted on acting like you weren’t into Bucky anymore.

In the weeks that followed his reinstatement as a field agent, bringing up the encounter felt pointless. Then the weeks turned to months and it seemed even more unnecessary to revisit history.

You were just as much as an expert in picking up where you and Bucky left off. At some point, he became your primary candy supplier because he consumed at least a third of your stash at work. He claimed he shared them with Sam and Wanda anyway.

“Rogers is too good for Skittles now?”

“He prefers peanut butter.” He pretended not to catch the sarcasm.

“I’m not keeping peanut butter at my desk.” You huffed at the absurdity. You’d forgotten what the argument was about in the first place. Unreasonable snack requests? Candy not mysteriously disappearing from a locked drawer?

Claire watched these exchanges with “I told you so” written on her face.

It was not expedient to entertain Claire’s theories. Not because you worried about things getting out of hand. Things were already out of hand since your heart decided to love Bucky unprompted, despite the hundred-percent assurance of non reciprocation. Talk about getting these wayward feelings.

You didn’t want to encourage talk of nonsense to protect the one thing you and Bucky shared.

It may not be based on years of saving each other in schoolyard fights and battlefields or embarking on international hi-jinks in the name of freedom; it’s a friendship grown from the trenches of Grid 3, Building A, Third Floor, Operations Analytics Wing.

On behalf of desk workers around the world, you’d argue that there was solidarity created from helping each other keep a straight face when a colleague spouts bullshit to get picked for a leadership position or from covering for each other, like when Bucky ran into you pacing up and down the hall, teary-eyed because of a phone call. Without asking questions, he offered to handle your afternoon meetings so you can step out of the office for a while.

Your office-based camaraderie was just as valid as any bond formed elsewhere. You were determined to hang onto it, with fierce fingers clamped around the neck of this friendship. Frankly speaking, that’s all you’d ever have with Bucky.

You acknowledged the underlying desperation too. The fear of losing him to the messiness of emotions. Other than grin and bear it, there wasn’t much you could do that wouldn’t complicate matters for both of you.

Maintaining the status quo ensured you stayed friends. But how were you expected to keep business as usual, when variables begin to shift?

Weeks after the mission that caused the temporary closure of the Alexander Hamilton bridge just outside the Bronx, Bucky spotted you and Claire returning to your desks from a conference call. He beckoned to you from a meeting room. No smiles, no hello’s, a fairly regular “I need to talk to you” signal from the guy.

“Wonder why Blue Steel wants to get you alone?” Claire asked, batting her lashes at you.

You threw your alleged friend a dirty look and hissed, “Do the words ‘enhanced hearing’ mean nothing to you Chavez?”

She only giggled and pushed you toward the room where Bucky waited. “Hey, if he’s got you food from Vic’s again, can I have it?”

“Seriously CC?” You rolled your eyes but your friend was already waving goodbye, not even looking at you as she walked away. You watched her turn into a corner. After a quick check of the hallway, you headed to Bucky’s meeting room, pausing at the door to knock.

He looked up from his phone and brushed the hair off his face with the finesse of a four year-old. Your heart skipped at least a couple of beats; there was something endearing about the childlike gesture from one of the grumpiest people on earth. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? No, you’ve had what, three by now? How about water?” He maneuvered around the desk and quickly pulled out a chair for you.

“You’re in my building, feel like I should be the one offering you something to drink.” You didn’t even wince at the reminder of your “no thank you let’s not” driveway chat. It’s been months since his send off at the bar, but recalling the exchange came easily to you.

“Boss said I get pantry privileges.” He shrugged as if access to your wing’s kitchen was a big deal.

“I think it has more to do with you being an Avenger than being her former direct report. Sorry to burst your bubble.” You contained a smile by biting on your lip. It was too easy to carry on with Bucky like this, even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“No, it’s because I’m her favorite. Still.” He responded with round, serious blue orbs staring you down, daring you to prove him wrong.

Of course you would correct him because you were a sucker for punishment. “Well, I beg to disagree, because I’m the favorite.” You manage to keep a steady hand while dusting imaginary dirt off your shoulder.

“Can’t win with you.” He threw his hands up but there was a hint of laughter in his eyes. He’d give you that much. “To think I came here hoping you’ll help a guy out.” The Vibranium hand clicked against wood when he drummed his fingers on the table.

You leaned back into the seat, not to relax but to put some distance between the two of you. Otherwise, you might forget to breathe.

Bucky handed you his battered smartphone after a beat. Silver duct tape ran along the back and edges of the phone, allowing him to grip the sleek device better.

You narrowed your eyes at the scratched screen. “What exactly am I looking at?” You zoomed in on a washed out photo of a heap of trousers and jackets on a bed.

“Suits. Gotta pick one,” he grumbled.

Did you even want to know if it was for? Jury duty? A date? Funeral?

He shifted in his seat. “Pepper’s fundraising thing on Friday. Steve’s loaning me a suit. Dumped five of them in my room today. What the hell does that clown need five suits for?”

Bucky’s existential crisis over formal wear wasn’t unexpected. You didn’t remember seeing him in anything other than tactical gear or hoodies and jackets. You wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in his jeans.

Yeah, you’ve thought about sleeping arrangements every now and then.

“Oh you know - jury duty, dates…” What else did Steve do outside of his 9 to 5 saving the world gig? “Press interviews and events, that kind of thing.”

“I guess.” Bucky hung his head as he listened to you list life events he didn’t have the slightest interest in. “Can you pick one?”

“Why?” You’d worn suits before but that didn’t make you an expert on fashion.

“They all look the same to me and you - you always dress ok,” he replied, eyeing you in a clinical way. “I mean, that and that, they go together.” Bucky gesticulated wildly, pointing to random parts of your body.

“Oh so my black boots match the black top and black trousers? Thanks?” You responded, suddenly feeling self conscious about your go-to office attire.

He threw his head back and exhaled. There was a little bit of Steve in the drama of it all. For a second you thought he’d say something about “being too old for this shit.” He caught the giggle you attempted to pass off as a cough. “Are you gonna help or am I gonna have to talk to someone else about a stupid suit?”

“Ok, ok, but can you take another photo because I can’t tell the difference looking at this.” You returned his phone. “Stand with your back to the window when you take pictures. Or better yet, hold them against your body and get Steve or Sam to take photos.”

Bucky rapped his knuckles on the table. “That is not happening. We can have a look at them now.” You sensed a whoosh behind you when he eased out of his chair and reached the doorway in seconds. “Come on. They’re in my room.”

You’d never been inside G5 before. The only people you knew who’d ever stepped foot in that sector were people who lived there. A field dotted by trees, and rumor has it, Happy’s booby traps, separated the grid from the rest of the compound. Visitors have to be personally escorted by a resident to gain access to the apartments.

Pattern shifts implied change, moving variables you were trained to squash with haste.

“Uh, can’t leave in the middle of the workday.” Your eloquence was something else.

Of course the prospect of visiting the G5 apartments interested you, but going to Bucky’s room amounted to testing how elastic the friendship boundary was. You never even considered the idea of inviting Bucky to your place before because it was that far out of the realm of possibilities. He didn’t even have your home address.

“It’s nearly 5. Won’t take us half an hour. Promise.” The metal arm whirred, similar to a car ready for the green light. He tapped the doorframe impatiently.

It didn’t have to be this complicated. He asked for your help. He said it won’t take up much of your time.

Bucky stepped into the hallway. “I’ll show you the kitchen. You can raid the pantry.”

Well in that case… “Let me grab my bag.”

His room was predictably neat and sparse, but the first thing you noticed was the faint scent of his shampoo, like he had just gotten out of the shower and had been walking around the room. Aside from the bed, he had a stool that doubled as a bedside table and a screen mounted to the wall. The only things that counted as personal items were the small potted Spider plant from his old desk and a stack of books below the TV.

You immediately catalogued the selection: a mix of genres, but more than half were biographies and science books. He caught you inspecting the titles as you entered the room but he didn’t say anything.

Bucky remained standing by the doorway and watched you take in the room. No narrated tours of where he spent his private time. No explanations as to why the suits were strewn across the bed haphazardly, the only thing out of place in his spick and span living space.

Desperate for something to do, you sorted the suits, matching the items and laying them out separately on the bed. There was a double breasted number while the rest were classic single breasted pieces. You smoothed the lapel of the one closest to you, already picturing Bucky in this jacket. It didn’t require much effort to imagine how handsome he’d be in any of these suits.

“So uh, which one do you like?” He slipped his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not the one wearing the suit Buck.” You turned toward him. “Which one do you like?”

“None of them.” His disdain for formalwear was apparent. He’d been glowering at the suits like they’ve committed a series of petty crimes.

“Have you even tried any of these yet?” You reached for the navy number with the silk lapel.

“We don’t need to do that. Just - please just pick one out.” He was starting to lose his patience. You could tell from the tight jaw and the frantic mechanical sound his arm made when he formed a fist.

“No, you’re trying them on.” You handed him the navy suit, resisting the urge to say something about how it complimented his eyes. That could make him jump out of the window. “Do you have a dress shirt?”

He mumbled under his breath and you didn’t need super hearing abilities to know it was something very close to regret for asking you to come over.

“You dragged my ass here so you have no choice but to do as I say.” You pointed to a black suit. “You’re trying that one next.”

To be fair, Bucky complained but he usually listened to you. The thriving plant in his room was proof of that. He grumbled and dragged his feet but he eventually grabbed a white shirt from his walk-in closet on the way to the bathroom.

Two thuds signaled he kicked his boots off.

“Hey, what about shoes?” You asked.

You heard him shuffling about and grunting behind the door. Oh the drama. “Back of the closet!”

His closet wasn’t huge, although it was still larger than yours, and definitely five times more organised. He only used half of the storage space. You found a pair of black leather Oxfords after looking behind a row of sneakers and boots. The heel was barely scuffed. This could not have been worn more than once and it seemed like it had been recently polished - like the rest of his shoes. As you stepped out of the closet, you noticed a pair of sweatpants folded neatly on its own shelf.

So he didn’t sleep in jeans after all.

Minutes later, a click alerted you to Bucky stepping out of the bathroom. His shirt tuck was sloppy; he had the face of a man approaching a guillotine, but holy shit he looked breathtaking. You’ve never swooned over anything or anyone but Bucky Barnes in a suit made your knees buckle.

“There he is!” You chirped weakly.

He fidgeted, pulling on his collar and stretching his neck. “I look like an asshole.”

“You look, you know, it looks good.” You tugged on his sleeves gently, catching your breath in your throat when your thumb brushed against the back of his hand. It released a jolt through your hand, like he’d been hoarding static electricity the entire day. You immediately cleared your throat, telling yourself to ignore the tingling in your palm. “Um, can you - you have to tuck that shirt in like a commanding officer is about to inspect it… What do you think of the jacket?”

That was a ridiculous question. The lapels rested on his sculpted chest and the suit accentuated broad shoulders you itched to run your hands over.

If he noticed your reaction, Bucky didn’t show it. He focused on fixing his shirt. “It’s…” More fidgeting and twisting. “It’s a little tight. But it’s fine. This is fine. I can wear this.”

You couldn’t stop putting your hands on your waist. “Bucky, why are you acting like trying clothes on is some unbearable task?”

His shoulders drooped. “I’m not-“ He paused when you raised an eyebrow. “I… I don’t go to these fancy things. Steve’s the one who goes and he’s good at talking to people. I’ll be standing around total strangers  not knowing what to say and looking stupid all night.”

Ravishing was a better word, but you would never tell him that. Instead, you fetched the next suit and handed it over with the tiniest smile you could muster so he wouldn’t feel like you were making fun of him. “You don’t look stupid. You can show up in cargo pants and look fine. But a suit makes donors think you care about the foundation, and I know you want guests to donate as much as they can. Think about all the good you’re doing just by putting on a tailored jacket and flashing those baby blues at esteemed checkbook holders.”

That was not flirting. That was a factual description of his eyes.

Bucky didn’t read into it. He accepted the second attire with a little less grumbling this time. The worry etched on his face faded. “You know the foundation also gives money to animal shelters.”

You took a few steps back and reached for your phone to take a picture, which was a mistake because he immediately went on defense mode and the scowl returned with a vengeance.

He waved you off with his black and gold arm which started making noises not dissimilar to a rocket about to take off. “No no no.” The vowels became increasingly longer as he spoke. “No.”

Did he just stick out his lower lip after that last “no” or were you hallucinating?

“Listen, you asked me to help. This is me helping. So put the hand down please and don’t look at me like I just asked you to kick a newborn kitten.”

The buzzing muted when he dropped his arm, but Bucky continued to glare at you.

The joke was on him because that smolder worked for you anyway. You snapped a photo that you would send him later for reference and he promptly marched back to the bathroom.

After the second suit, Bucky surrendered himself to the process. He’d put each outfit on and tell you which jackets he could eat dinner in and which ones made him feel like a balloon two seconds from bursting. You checked the length of the trousers and asked what he thought about lapels and button styles. He never smiled for the photos but at least he looked at the camera directly.

You were crouched on the floor, tugging on the hem of the fifth pair of pants when someone cleared his throat by the door.

Steve’s impressive figure filled the doorway. His brows went up but he masked his reaction quickly with a charming smile. “Uh, hello.” His eyes shifted from you kneeling on the floor to his best friend standing before you. “Door was open so I thought I would drop in.”

“This is a good length I think. What do you think, Steve?” You got to your feet and stepped back to get a good look at Bucky. You gestured for him to spin but that request went ignored.

“The gray makes his eyes pop, doesn’t it?” The blonde super soldier studied his friend’s attire. “Sam told me you were in Buck’s room.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve been brought in to manage the umm...” You paused to see if Bucky would jump in and help explain your presence in his residence. When he didn’t say anything, you turned to Steve. “Wardrobe. Pro bono stylist to, uh, Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve’s grin was as bright as Bucky’s scowl was dark. You instantly recognized a staredown taking shape. The fair-haired super soldier held his smirk while his dark-haired counterpart frowned. Seconds passed and neither person felt the need to speak. They just knew which buttons to push and it usually made for quality entertainment, provided you weren’t involved.

The thing was, you couldn’t quite say for sure that you had nothing to do with the ongoing staring match.

You felt compelled to break the silence. “Gray’s a good color.”

It didn’t stop the nonsense brewing between the soldiers who both happened to be over a hundred years old. Only on paper, of course. Mentally, it would be impossible to prove they were over the age of 13 when they act like this.

“You told me to ask somebody. I found someone, and then I had to put the suit on. All of them.” Hostility oozed out of Bucky.

Steve glanced at you before replying to his friend. “Bud, pretty sure what I said was to ask someone to be your date for the evening.” The snicker was inaudible but it was certainly on his face.

Bucky continued to deliver dagger looks to Steve while you busied yourself with arranging the pile of clothes again. The lack of reply from Bucky didn’t bother the blonde man.

“Now that you have something to wear, all you need is a lovely friend to go with you to the gala.” Steve spoke with a confident booming tone conveying authority and leadership, just like in the ads that ran 24/7 on the public broadcast stations. “Should be an entertaining evening. Good food, definitely. I hear Pepper booked a band. Are you doing anything Friday?”

Oh no, the last line, that was meant for you wasn’t it? Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Steve waiting for a reply.

Why would he care about your Friday plans?

It was best to take that question at face value. “Uh, yeah, as a matter of fact. Gotta take care of something. Family stuff.” You found yourself making a conscious effort not to look at Bucky, who was pretending you weren’t in the room either. You definitely had errands, but you didn’t necessarily have to do them this Friday. “Nothing as quite as fun as the event, that’s for sure. I made Bucky promise to sweet talk at least one billionaire into making a donation.”

You forwarded the pictures you’d been taking from the past hour to Bucky, marking your recommendation with a smiley. You didn’t know what else to do while he continued to stand there openly glaring at Steve. “Hey Buck, I sent you the photos for reference. To help you pick… choose one of Steve’s suits.”

Adding that last phrase made you feel silly. As if Bucky had another choice to make. You were there to settle the suit situation. Now that it’s been resolved, you didn’t need to be there longer than you had to.

“That’s too bad,” Steve said sincerely, but it’s the other man’s prolonged silence that troubled you.

Bucky shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it to the pile on his bed.

Between Steve’s curious expression and Bucky’s newfound fascination with hanging suits in his closet, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being caught in the middle of a telepathic argument.

“Is Sam still around? I’ve been meaning to talk to him about a... thing.” These two don’t even deserve a good excuse right now. You slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Common room,” Steve replied. His eyes followed Bucky walking back and forth. “Left, past the elevators, don’t stop walking until you hear him.” He stepped aside to let you pass.

You squeezed past Steve, giving him a nod before taking quick strides down the hall. You had taken three steps when you heard the door open again.

“Sweets!”

“What?” You turned back, shaking your head at how abruptly you stopped walking when he called out.

More importantly, why did you assume it was for you?

Bucky stumbled out of his room and closed the door. Soapy mint fragrance travelled with him to the hallway, filling your head with his scent.

“Did you just-”

“You’re always giving away candy.” He shrugged and didn’t care to elaborate further.

Sweets. So it was a nickname after all. Yours. From Bucky. Your brain started working on overdrive, seeking meaning in this revelation. Fighting to give it meaning, when it could very well be noise that you should discard.

“I’m passionate about processed sugar, yeah.”

God your cheeks were burning. There was nowhere to hide in the long and empty hallway which was supposed to give the two of you a little bit of privacy.

Something about the way the two of you stood around the hall brought you back to the evening outside the bar. Not for the first time, you wondered if he ever thought about it. You wished you could tell. No - you wished he thought about it.

“Do you need a ride home?” He finally asked, running a hand through his hair.

Sometimes he made you realize he was just as good as you at dodging these self-made traps and skipping to the next part of the conversation.

“No, thanks. I can take the shuttle.” A round-the-clock shuttle service brought employees to drop-off areas and bus stations outside the compound.

He nodded. “I’ll walk you out then." He added, "Ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to let me know when you’re ready to leave?” like you knew what that was supposed to mean or what you were supposed to do in that instance.

“Ok.”

He re-entered his room without giving you another look. You heard Steve say “Why don’t you…” before the door slammed shut.

Just as Steve predicted, Sam’s cheerful voice filled the hall. Instead of following the sound, you headed for the lifts and pressed the elevator button. You didn’t need to see Sam anyway. Like your family errand, it can wait another day. There was something you needed to figure out first.

You poked the button again, knowing it would not speed things up.

This was crazy. You always wondered what the residential building was like, and now that you’ve been invited in, you couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Part Four

Thank you so much for reading :) Comments, replies, questions, hello's are appreciated.

Taglist: @enchantedbarnes, @justab-eautifulmess

Find the other parts here.