#stateside breaks

[desidesidesi]

Godsdammit, Peter. Do not make me nearly laugh that hard in the freaking library!

[mypeggableromance]

having a mild crisis and realising i just wanna write funny essays about games again 😔 Gunna start looking at PhDs but there really isn't many people in the UK that could supervise my shenanigans fjdkske but looking stateside... scawy

[vivwritesfics]

Ducklings

Domestic Bradley spending time with his family before he's called back to Top Gun (or fluff, fluff, fluffy, fluff)

2K

Bradley Bradshaw told nobody he was stateside.

No, he headed straight home. It was the middle of the night when he pushed open the front door, and almost every member of his family was sleeping. Everybody, but the dog.

Goose was growling when he walked through the front door. But, the moment he realised who was walking into the house, he became excited. Running from the kitchen to Bradley, tail wagging from side to side as he barked.

"Goose, buddy, shut up," Bradley said as he pulled the door shut and dropped to his knees to greet his best friend. "You're gonna wake everybody up!" He insisted.

As Goose settled into his lap to lick his face, the light at the top of the stairs flickered to life. "Shit," he groaned and stood up.

He couldn't look away as his wife walked down the stairs, bat in front of her. Goose had alerted her to an intruder, and her first instinct was to protect their babies. His heart swelled as he met her eyes.

"Bradley?" She called, lowering the bat.

A grin split across his face. "Hey, pretty girl," he called (all the while Goose was trying to jump up at him, but he was being ignored).

Suddenly the bat was on the floor and she was running towards him as fast as she could. She held back from leaping into his arms, but she threw herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss her.

"I missed you," she mumbled against his lips. "I missed you so fucking much."

The way she was squeezing him, it was like she never wanted to let him go. But Bradley was squeezing her back just as hard. And he really didn't want to let her go.

But he pulled away from her lips. Her head was against his chest as he looked past her, at the little faces peaking around from the top of the stairs. "Ducklings ," he shouted, and those four little faces disappeared.

She turned in his arms, hands on her hips as she looked towards the stairs. But then a sigh left her lips. "Come on down," she said.

The four of them raced each other down the stairs. It was a miracle they made it down the stairs without one of them breaking their legs. But they all got to the bottom of the stairs and ran towards their father. They pretty much pushed their mother out of the way to get to their father.

"Daddy!" The youngest of the four, little June, was on his hip in the minute as Bradley called the rest of them closer. "We missed you."

Bradley's grin was fond beneath his moustache as he looked down at his children. His kids, the ones he and his wife had created together. His perfect little demons.

"You guys are supposed to be in bed," their mother chided. But they didn't much care now that their father had returned home.

"Moooooom," Nick Bradshaw, the oldest of the brood complained. "Dad's home."

She shook her head and looked at her husband. "Wanna help me put them back to bed?" She asked.

The kids clung to Bradley as the six of them tried to walk up the stairs. It wasn't easy. Well, it wouldn't have been easy for anyone but him. Bradley was used to it. It happened every time he was leaving and every time he came back.

They went into the boys bedroom first. "Bed now, boys," Bradley said. They groaned as they pulled away from their father, but they did as they were told. Every time he looked around the room, Bradley hated the way his heart clenched. If he could have given them a room each, he would have. But they were stuck sharing.

Bradley passed Junie to her mother. He left Ethel (Ethie, to her family), standing beside her mother and went to tuck the boys in.

"Can we do something fun tomorrow?" Asked Nick as his dad kissed his forehead.

Bradley brushed his hair back. "Anything you want kid," he said and gave the same treatment to Daniel. "Goodnight, my ducklings," he said as he backed out of the room with his girls.

June climbed back into her fathers arms and Ethel grabbed a hold of his hand. "Come on, my babies," he said to his two youngest and led them down the hall, all while his wife watched on.

God, there was nothing she liked more than watching her man be domestic. He let go of Ethel and she dove beneath the covers while he put June down and tucked her in. "Have you girls been good for your mommy?" He asked as he turned to tuck Ethel in and kiss her forehead.

"Course we have, papa," Ethel said as she reached for her teddy bear. "We always are."

A quiet laugh left his lips and he headed back towards the door. "I know you are, my girls," he said, catching his wife's eyes. "Goodnight, my ducklings."

And then it was just Bradley and his wife.

The moment the girls' bedroom door was closed, Bradley was on her. Couldn't wait until they were back in the bedroom, he was kissing her with everything he had as he pushed her back towards their bedroom.

Fuck, he'd missed their bedroom. He'd missed this entire house. The wonky mirror in the bathroom, the kitchen cupboard that never closed all the way. Goose sleeping downstairs (although there was every chance he was gonna be in their bed by morning), his ducklings in their beds, excited for the day ahead.

"Fuck, I missed you," he whispered as he walked her back into the bedroom. "I missed you so goddamn much."

Her legs hit the back of the bed and she fell on top of the comforter, pulling her husband down on top of her. Her legs immediately wrapped around him and she kissed him softly, sweetly. It was everything he had missed.

Bradley Bradshaw wasn't used to sleeping in. But he was so damn exhausted (Mr and Mrs Bradshaw hadn't gotten much sleep that night), that he slept right though until midday.

Or he would have. But the kids came running. All four of them, followed by Goose, jumped on the bed, waking up their parents. "Dad!" They all shouted again and again, shouting ever each other as they tried to get their fathers attention.

"Kids, give us a minute!" Their mother called, holding the blankets up to her chest.

"But Dad said we could do something fun today!" Nick protested.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, as soon as we're up. Now, go and get yourselves some breakfast, your father will be right down."

With that, the kids walked out of the room, Goose following them. Wherever the kids went, Goose was right there, ever their protector.

As soon as the kids were out of the room, Bradley pulled his wife closer. "Good morning, Mrs Bradshaw," he said and kissed her shoulder.

For all of two seconds she was on top of him, pressing her lips to his own. "Good morning, Mr Bradshaw." There was a shout from downstairs. "You should head down there," she said and released him.

Bradley got up and got dressed. He leaned down to kiss his wife and headed down to his ducklings. His brood.

The kids had been downstairs for maybe five minutes and the kitchen was already a mess. Spilled milk covering the table, a piece of toast on the floor (which Goose was devouring), orange juice covering Daniel's shirt.

Roos put a mug under the coffee machine and pressed the button. And then he got to work.

He let Goose finished the slice of toast. Grabbing a towel, he wiped up the spilt milk and put the bowl by the sink. And then the coffee machine stopped and Bradley was walking out of the room with the mug, Goose following his master.

Bradley walked up the stairs and into the bedroom he shared with his wife. He strode over to her and pressed the mug into her hands. "Take your time, pretty girl," he said and kissed her. "I've got the kids."

That was what Bradley missed most about being home. His kids. Being a dad. It was the most incredibly feeling, getting to make his kids breakfast and lunch. Taking them to the beach, taking them camping with Goose.

Morning runs with Goose became a routine, one that Goose grew to love.

Bradley's life was bliss. He loved every moment with his kids, even when they were climbing on him and waking him up at the most ridiculous time in the morning and accidentally smashing their drinks glasses.

Even when he was breaking up a fight between the twins (Ethel and Daniel), he loved his kids. He loved sitting in the kitchen with his wife, back doors open as they watched the four of them play in the garden.

June fell off of the swing set that Bradley had set up the year before. But Nick was right there before Bradley and his wife could rush to her aid, shushing her cries and checking the graze on her knee.

But this bliss wouldn't last forever.

It could only have been home a number of months when he was called back to Top Gun. There was a good week where his wife was the only one that knew.

His head was against her chest, her hands moving through his hair. "It's okay," she whispered, but Bradley didn't know whether he was talking to him or herself.

The night before he left, he told the kids. June cried, the twins were visibly upset, and Nick was still. None of them wanted their dad to go, and part of Nick hated him for leaving it until the last minute.

They watched a movie that night, a princess movie. The six of them on one sofa, June in her fathers lap, Nick cuddled up to his mother and the twins between them. It was only when all of the kids were sleeping that they put them to bed.

"I don't wanna leave them again," said Bradley as he and his wife laid in bed. "I should have told them before this."

"Yeah," she said as she sat on his lap and pulled off his shirt. "But it's done now, Bradley. You can't change it."

She leaned forward and kissed him. "They love you," she said. "I love you. And I want you to say a proper goodbye."

His grin was almost sad as he looked at her. Eyes mapping out her face (like he never wanted to forget). "Tell me what you want, baby," he said, squeezing her hips.

She pulled off her own shirt. "Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw, I want you to make love to me."

Bradley Bradshaw lived to make his wife happy, after all.

She would have driven with him to California. They all would have, if they could have fit four kids and a dog into the Bronco. Instead they all stood in the drive, watching as Bradley threw his bags into his fifth child, his beloved car.

And then he turned towards them. As soon as he did, Ethel was running at him. She threw her arms around her father and cried. No matter how many times he'd been deployed since they'd been born, they'd never get used it it, he knew.

He gave each of his babies a goodbye. Each one got a kiss on the head. He said goodbye to Goose, and then he turned to his wife.

"I love you," he whispered and pulled her in. Tears were there, ready to fall, but she held them back. "Look after our ducklings."

"I will, Bradley," she whispered back, cupping his face. "I will."

Bradley Bradshaw hated leaving his family. But the sight of them in the rear view mirror, his babies waving so enthusiastically, was a sight he'd hold close to his heart.

[twst-hottest-takes]

Tweel Anatomy discussion!

Part 1.

(Ask and ye shall recieve! This will be split up into a couple of parts because this could get long and it's easy enough to break up into pieces. [I definitely wasn't putting this off until the cards officially released.])

For starters I have to say again that I just love the twins and their merforms are so cool. I just want an excuse to gush about them. A lot of this discussiom will involve headcanons and hypotheticals and estimations, so there is your warning to not take anything in this post as law. This post, like pretty much all the others is very opinionated. Some of the fun bits about contemplating the anatomy of a fantasy creature involves drawing the imaginary lines between where the fish parts end and the human parts begin, and where the two become a blur and turn into something completely new. I like to think I strike a balance with my hypotheses, but perhaps others might not feel the same way. This is a post meant to start a discussion, not a fight. So let's see how far down the rabbit hole we can go . . .

Starting with a classic: How big are these guys?

Let's answer Ace's question. (While laughing like middle-schoolers about how that question was phrased.)

Now there is no canon answer to my knowledge so I can only give my best estimation. (Corrections welcome!) I firmly believe that they do not change "size" between their land and sea forms. For all intents and purposes, the twins are being treated as though their heads, arms, torsoes, and pelvic regions are the same size between human and merforms.

BECAUSE EVEN WITHOUT CHANGING SIZE THESE GUYS ARE ABSOLUTE MONSTERS IN THEIR MERFORMS.

I have no real proof of my theory. I simply compared the sprites and scaled the chibis until they had the same head size. Forgive me for not having a better method of measurement. I am not going to try and unravel the live 2D mermodels and I think trying to measure their shadows from their intro scene would be even less reliable. The length of the tail is approximately 75% the length of the rest of the body after where his feet theoretically end.

I didn't do the same with Floyd because I feel that it's safe to assume that he's probably a few cm longer (3-5 cm max) due to his 1 cm height difference when they are in human form. I hazard a guess that only the two of them actually care about that difference in length.

332 cm. (Or around 11 ft for those of us stateside.)

We know they're huge, but tying a number to the length REALLY puts things into perspective. Like it's actually a little scary.

Next: Gill placement.

I am a big fan of the gill slits being around the ribs! Not only do they look cool, but I like that it can be read as a combination of human and eel anatomy in their merforms.

Since they have a humanoid chest cavity, it makes sense that even though they don't have lungs, they may have a muscular structure similar to a diaphragm. By having a muscular system that works passively/sympathetically they could have a "breathing" motion similar to humans; but, instead of taking air in, it simply keeps water moving across the gills to maintain gas exchange.

Benefits of this system include: Being able to sleep (as I would assume merfolk do), and being able to stay in one place (most fish need to be moving constantly to keep their gills working). The ability to be stationary isn't necessary for fish, but for merfolk who have social conventions, even being able to sit still to have a conversation is a boon (unless the world of mermen is built around the idea that no one ever sits still, but I feel like the photograph from Book 3 proves otherwise).

Furthermore, having the gills on the ribs as opposed to somewhere farther up--for example, on the neck--the twins can reasonably stick their heads out of the water without fear of limiting their breathing ability. Though these new card illustrations show that they don't seem to have any problem with having their gills exposed to the air (at least as far as being photogenic is concerned), I can see it being convenient for merfolk to be able to poke their head and shoulders above the water and still be able to breath regularly (which definitely doesn't have anything to do with luring unwary travelers to their deaths. . .nope. . .not at all).

I have seen people say they don't like the choice and that the gills should be on their necks. If that's coming from a place of personal preference and is purely aesthetic I guess I can see it. But if anyone tries to tell me that it's not "eel-like" enough and they need to have the gills closer to the mouth, I will fight you. From a design and functionality standpoint the rib gills are fantastic!

For the last bit of this entry, let's talk about the elephant in the room: THE EEL ABS!

I'd say "don't get me started on this one" but I'm already here and we're already too deep in, so here we go.

Things are about to get spicy!

~They're fine.

Like, as a choice, the inclusion of these muscles is likely just for fanservice points, but it's not an anatomically strange thing.

Come here and I will explain to you a thing:

MERFOLK DO NOT SWIM WITH THE SAME MUSCLE GROUPS AS HUMANS DO!

Once upon a time, (this is going somewhere, just stick with me!) people complained that Ariel, the Little Mermaid herself, was too skinny and not built like a swimmer. People insisted that she not have such a tiny waist and her arms should be bigger. Now I, here and now, should not have to tell the reader why this is so ridiculous to say, but I'm going to anyway~ ARIEL DOES NOT USE HER ARMS TO SWIM! Those who have watched the movie may have observed that she swims like an aquatic mammal. All of her momentum comes from the verticle motion of her tail, and to some extent her abdomen, not her arms. When she turns human, Ariel does not even know how she can use her arms to help her swim upwards and out of the ocean. She struggled without her tail so much Sebastian and Flounder basically carried her to the surface.

In this way, merfolk do not need to have the same type of body as a human swimmer because they are functionally different and some people seem to get stuck on that.

Now returning to Jade and Floyd, again, their arms are not "built like a swimmer's." Once again THEY DON'T HAVE TO BE. There is nothing in all of Twisted Wonderland that suggests they swim with their arms at all. These boys have 5 foot long tails that are probably primarily muscle to propel themselves through the water. The arms are not for propulsion. The tails do the grand majority of the work, but this conversation was started about abdominal muscles so we'll circle back to that now. Unlike other merfolk (as exemplified by Ariel) who swim with verticle motions of their tails, eel-based mermen would swim by making horizontal motions, also primarily with their tails. I do say primarily because the idea occurs to me that there may be situations where the limits of their ability to move might be tested. If a merman built like this wanted to go significantly faster than whatever is "normal" for them, muscle groups higher in the body would get used. Essentially, given Jade and Floyd as characters, I don't find it hard to believe that, at the speeds they swim, they would be using their very human-shaped abdomens to increase their speed. That's a workout, especially for the obliques.

So, in conclusion, I don't think the abs are weird. Gratuitous? Absolutely. But they aren't the anatomical monstrosity some people seem to think they are.

Let me say once more, if you simply don't like how it looks, or the fish abs squick you out and you like to headcanon they don't exist--that's fine. But don't argue with me on the basis that it's not realistic. Mermaids are, after all, fictional creatures and depictions of them tend to be fanciful. The tough conversation comes about when we choose to draw the lines with how realistic we actually want them to be, HENCE THIS ENTIRE POST!

(Laughs like a maniac before signing off.)

Thank you for coming to the first part of my rambling. What should I talk about in the next part?

Other than the throat teeth. We've got a miniature essay about the throat teeth just about ready to go.

Also, apologies if there aren't enough visual guides. I really wanted to get this posted, so if anyone wants me to I can doodle up some more stuff to help with things like the image of thr breathing aparatus and swimming motions. I have just not had much time this week.

(Going to fall asleep thinking about how sparkly these boys are.)

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 17

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst (so much angst I made myself cry), panic attack, drinking, sadness, reference to divorce, kids breaking your heart, references to babies, swearing, references to the military, fighting and marital strife, PPD, references to sex (but nothing explicit)

Seresin Residence, Miramar, 12 years ago

Jake sighed as he pulled his truck into the driveway of the little beach bungalow he had scrimped and saved to buy for his family. Normally, he was excited to get home after a long day of training, but lately? Lately, it seemed like all they did was fight. Some days, it was him fighting and Buttercup sitting there, taking it. Others, it was all out warfare, each of them screaming at each other. And after the fight they had had that morning, Jake wasn’t too pleased to be home.

The fight had worn on him all day. He had been absolute shit in the cockpit because of it, and he’d already had a verbal dressing down by just about everyone. Cyclone and Warlock had ripped into him pretty good. Rooster and Phoenix had taken pleasure in seeing him knocked down a peg or five. Maverick had only shaken his head at him in disappointment, and that had probably hurt the most.

With a groan, Jake got out of his truck and grabbed his duffle, heading to the front door. Three months ago, he would have kicked his boots off with a playful, “Honey, I’m home!” before racing to snuggle his daughters, pecking his wife on the lips as he went. But not today. Today, he toed his boots off and tossed his duffle into the laundry room.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Maybe they were all asleep. He wouldn’t be mad about it if they were. Maybe if Buttercup got some quality sleep, she’d be in a better mood.

Jake sighed and flipped on the light in the living room, startled when he spotted Buttercup sitting in her preferred armchair.

“Hey,” he drawled. “You surprised me. I thought you were asleep. Where are the girls?”

“Asleep,” she murmured, eyes tracking him as he grabbed a beer from the kitchen.

“Good. They eat okay today?”

“Charlie doesn’t like not breastfeeding, but she’s getting used to it. Abby’s still not eating enough.”

Jake ignored her cold, indifferent tone. “She’ll get there.” He flopped onto the couch and reached for the remote.

“Jake…”

“Buttercup, it’s been a long day,” he groaned. “I really don’t want to fight tonight. The girls are asleep. Go have a bath or something, let me watch TV, and I’ll order us a pizza for dinner. Okay?”

“So, that’s it then?” Finally, her voice had a touch of a bite to it. “No comment, no nothing from you? You said no and that’s that? Your word is law?”

Jake groaned and let his hand flop back onto the sofa. “I don’t know what else you expected me to say. I’m part of the U.S. Navy. Meaning I have to be in the United States. I can’t move to England just because you got a job interview for a publishing job. There are dozens of publishers that are stateside. Why not go for one of them? I’m sure they’d let you work remotely. I don’t see why you want to move to a different continent.”

“They’re the only ones who have offered to take a look at my writing on top of my publishing responsibilities,” she hissed. “Which you would know if you paid any attention to me.”

“Okay, so you can do your whole writing thing from anywhere, can’t you? Skip the whole publisher thing and focus on writing! When you’re done writing or whatever, you can send it to a publisher! You’d at least get to stay with me that way!”

“How am I supposed to focus on my writing, Jake? I barely get a chance to breathe, let alone sit down at a computer and write!” Buttercup’s voice was weak and desperate, and grating on Jake’s nerves. He hated it when she sounded like that, and she’d been sounding like it more and more. He would’ve done anything to make it better, but he was too tired to try. “You’re not around during the day, so you don’t know what its like! One of them always needs me, and Charlie is fussy, and Abby’s not eating enough, and I can barely breathe! And you want me to what? Follow you around from base to base, taking care of our daughters on my own while you’re on deployment after deployment?”

“That is what you signed up for when you married me!” Jake shouted, his frustration and exhaustion finally bubbling over. “I thought you would’ve known that based on how often your brother gets to go home! This is what it means to be in a military family! This is what you signed up for!”

“I signed up for you!” she shouted. “I signed up for a man who loves me, who is home to share the load with me! Not a man who has his head shoved so far up Uncle Sam’s ass that he can’t see the sun!”

“Don’t you dare!” Jake stood. “Everything I do is for the safety of this country and for you and our daughters. Don’t you want our girls to grow up in a country that is safe?”

“I would rather our daughters grow up knowing their father! They barely see you anymore! And it’s only going to get worse as they get older!”

“I’ll be promoted by the time that they’re older! That means less time deployed!”

Buttercup was shaking her head, shrinking back in her seat. “You’ll never give up flying, Jake. You wouldn’t take a promotion that meant you were grounded. It’s not who you are.” Buttercup’s voice shook. “Just like sitting at home, waiting for my husband to come back while I take care of our home and children isn’t who I am. I need more.”

Jake scoffed, red creeping into the edges of his vision. He felt like he was running on autopilot, unable to stop himself or control his anger. “So, what? We’re not enough for you?”

“Don’t do that!” Buttercup snapped. “Our family is everything to me, but I need more! I need something outside of just being a mom and your wife!”

“Okay, so London is that then? Will London be enough for you?” Jake was wrangling every ounce of his strength to pull himself back, to not do this. They were both tired, both stressed. She hadn’t been herself since the babies were born, and it didn’t help that he had been deployed when they had sworn to him that he would be grounded for his first few months of fatherhood. If they could just get on the same page again, everything would be okay. But that would only happen if he could get Hangman to take a backseat and let Jake handle this.

Buttercup’s eyes flooded at his mocking tone. “Fuck you, Jake.”

Loud cries echoed through the house and Jake huffed before heading down the hall. “Go take a bath, Buttercup. I’ll take care of the girls.”

In the nursery, Jake pulled Charlie into his arms and sighed, rocking his red-faced baby girl in his arms. It would all be okay. The first year was always going to be the hardest. If they could make it through that, they would be stronger than ever.

It didn’t hit Jake that it was too late until a few days later, when he came home to find a teary-eyed Buttercup standing in the kitchen, handing him a pile of divorce papers.

Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

Early morning sunshine danced across her eyelids, and she tried to bury her face in the pillow beside her. It was way too freaking early to be conscious after the night she’d had, she was bone tired, and she was sore in a deeply satisfying way. The dull ache in her muscles and the muted throbbing between her thighs were better than any soreness she had ever gotten from an extended workout. It was an ache that she hadn’t felt in years.

Stretching like a cat, Buttercup slowly sat up against the headboard and blinked against the sun streaming through the grey curtains, and three things hit her in quick succession.

She was not in her bedroom. Her curtains were not grey, and her window did not face east.

She was naked. Her usual t-shirt and shorts were absent as the cool cotton sheets kissed her skin.

The soreness she was feeling was accompanied by a series of hickies and bruises that decorated her body like confetti. Her neck, her chest, her breasts, her stomach, and her inner thighs were littered with the dark purple marks, leaving her feeling like a teenager the night after prom.

Buttercup felt her stomach roil as the memories from the previous night washed over her like a tidal wave. The barbecue, fighting with Jake, dancing with Jake, having 3 a.m. grilled cheese with Jake and splitting a beer with him before giving him permission to kiss her…Jake carrying her to his bedroom and making love to her sweetly and gently, then rolling her over and fucking her hard, then taking her again in the softest, tenderest way as the sun slowly began to rise.

What had she done? What had she done? This wasn’t who she was. She had never been the type of person who just fell into bed with a guy, and certainly not when that guy was her ex-husband. But then, she had always been helpless against him. Back before things had soured between them, she had been almost as good as Maverick at keeping all of the Daggers in line, but one flash of those bright green eyes and those dimples, and she was basically Jello. She had never been able to tell him ‘no’, except for once.

Buttercup pulled her legs up tight against her chest and pressed the heels of her palms into her closed eyes until she saw stars. She was so stupid. So weak. She had put in over a decade of work to make herself stronger, strong enough to withstand being alone, strong enough to be a single mother, strong enough to hold her ground against him. And yet, like a teenage girl, she caved at the sight of gleaming abs and a cocky grin, and the sound of sweet nothings he had whispered in her ear.

What would the girls think if they found out? Would they think they were getting back together? Of course they would, that had been their plan since the beginning. But a one-night stand did not a relationship make, and neither did attraction. Attraction and chemistry had never been their problem. Communication had been, and, though they had clearly gotten better at it over the past decade, it didn’t solve all the problems that still remained between them. Past hurts and past histories and words that had been said that couldn’t be taken back.

God, how she wished she could take them back. She had been sick in the head and sick in the heart when she had uttered those poisoned words to him, wanting him to feel like she did in the most toxic way. She was toxic to him, not the other way around like so many had thought would happen. Her own brother had warned her away from Jake Seresin the minute they met, cautioning her that he would ruin her life, but he hadn’t. He had given her the greatest year and a half of her life and two daughters that she wouldn’t trade for the world. She was the one who ruined him. Just like her nickname, she was a poison, and she would only destroy him more if she stuck around.

Tears began to well in her eyes, but Buttercup quickly dashed them away as she scrambled from Jake’s bed and began searching for her clothes, which she found neatly folded on the antique wingback chair in the corner of the room. Her heart ached at the sweetness of this man, who had opened his home to her for a week so they could both get quality time with their daughters, who had ended his engagement because his fiancée had been cruel to their girls. He didn’t deserve this. Maybe the old Hangman had been cocky and brash and bold, maybe Hangman had left a trail of broken hearts behind him, but her Jake didn’t deserve to have his heart broken because she was so weak and selfish. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving him, of only seeing him at events for the girls, of eventually seeing him engaged to a woman who did deserve him. But she didn’t deserve him. She wasn’t strong enough to be his reason for living once the girls graduated.

The realization had her slowly pulling her clothes on, choking back sobs and dashing her tears away. He needed more than her. He needed someone who was strong enough to hold him up while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life once the girls had moved on. He needed someone who wouldn’t panic at the very suggestion of him going back to the Navy. She needed to walk away so that he could find that person. Despite the pain lancing through her heart and the heaviness in her limbs, she had to. She wouldn’t poison him anymore. Not when she…

More tears streamed down her face as she stumbled into his ensuite and desperately tried to make herself look like less of a heartbroken mess. He would be okay and, eventually, so would she. The girls would struggle, but she would fight like hell to make sure her girls still had so much love and support from both of their parents, even if they lived on opposite sides of the globe. They wouldn’t suffer just because their mother was toxic.

A deep wash of her face and multiple splashes of cool water later, Buttercup, resolved and heartbroken, strolled out of the bedroom and made her way back to the kitchen, finding her daughters sitting at the island while Jake flipped pancakes.

“Morning, Mom!”

“Morning, Mum!”

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake followed up the sweet chorus of their daughters’ voices with a shy grin, so unlike him but still so fitting that it made the ache in her chest deepen. “Did you sleep okay?”

Buttercup fought to keep her face straight as she regarded him with as much cool indifference as she could muster. “Yes, thank you. And good thing too. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

Plates clattered as Charlie set the island for breakfast. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

Buttercup fought the pain and panic rising in her throat as she looked at the smiling figures of her broken family. “A-Abby and I are going home tomorrow,” she croaked out. “Our flight leaves at 9 p.m.”

Silence fell like a heavy, suffocating fog over the kitchen. Abby had frozen in her seat, a juicy red grape dangling almost comically from her fingers halfway between the bowl and her mouth. Charlie wasn’t doing much better, a plate suspended in midair while her face flushed. And Jake? She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to see the anger or pity or fury that was undoubtedly marring his handsome features.

It was Charlie who broke the silence first. “What?”

The question was so simple, but Buttercup had to brace herself before answering. “We promised you a week together, and it’s been a week. Our flight has always been leaving tomorrow.” She managed a weak smile at her daughters. “I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun.”

“Mum…” Buttercup’s heart nearly shattered at the broken, pleading sound of her baby’s voice. “Couldn’t we stay? Please?”

For the time being, Buttercup was winning the losing battle against the tears that were clogging her throat and flooding her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we can’t. You start school next week and I have deadlines to meet. Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat have to go back to work too. But your dad and I have figured out a good schedule for visiting. You get more school vacation than Charlie does, so you’ll get to come here for a few breaks, and Charlie will get to come visit us when she has breaks, and then we’re going to split the summer in half, okay? I—” Buttercup’s voice cracked, and she turned her eyes skyward to prevent the tears from falling again. “I know it’s not what you want, but it’s the best we can do.”

“That’s BULLSHIT!” Charlie’s cry was loud and harsh. “That’s complete bullshit! You could both stay! Everyone should stay!”

Buttercup’s breath stuttered in her chest as she looked at her daughter, so full of pain and anger. “I know that you wish we could, sweetheart, but we can’t. I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry?” Charlie was crying now, hot tears running down her red cheeks. “I only get two weeks with you after 12 years and now you’re leaving and you’re sorry? That’s bullshit!”

“Charlie…” Jake’s voice was a soft warning.

“What?” She whirled on her dad. “It is! She could stay here if she really wanted to! But she doesn’t! She doesn’t care. Not about you or me or anyone! If she cared, she wouldn’t have left us in the first place!”

“Charlie…” Buttercup couldn’t stand the way her voice crackled with tears. “Charlie, I—”

“I hate you!” Charlie turned on her, green eyes full of anguish. “I hate you!”

“That’s enough!” Jake didn’t yell, but his voice held that military tone that immediately silenced everyone in the kitchen, save for Charlie’s ragged breathing and Abby’s soft sniffles. “You do not get to talk to your mother that way. You can be angry all you want, but this is a joint decision between your mother and I, so if you hate her then you hate me too. And no matter how you feel about us, I know that I taught you respect. We do not lash out at other people because of the way we are feeling in this family. We talk it out, and if we can’t manage how we’re feeling then we take a beat before we have a calm conversation. So, go take a beat. Take a lap of the ranch and cool off, Charlie.” Jake’s tone was no-nonsense and left no room for argument. Chest heaving, Charlie stomped away and let the door slam behind her. Jake sighed and looked at his oldest daughter, sniffling quietly in her seat. “Why don’t you go with her, Abby?” His voice was gentler now. “I think maybe some fresh air and a walk will do you both some good.”

Not saying anything, Abby nodded meekly and shuffled out of the kitchen, the front door barely clicking shut in comparison to the slam that had rocked everyone to their very foundations.

Buttercup stood stock still in the kitchen doorway, hand wrapped around her throat as she fought the tears that were falling slowly.

“Buttercup…” She flinched violently away from Jake’s gentle hand on her elbow, and he held his hands up. “Buttercup, it’s alright. It’s all gonna be alright.”

She shook her head, clutching at her throat to get the words out. “She’s right. It’s all my fault.”

“Now, I thought I told you I didn’t want to hear any of that anymore,” Jake said, gently but with a hint of stern resolve. “Now, why don’t we sit down and talk about this?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about, Jake.” Buttercup’s sigh was bone-weary as she sank into one of the island stools. “We have to go home. Abby’s got school, Bob and Nat have work, I have deadlines that I’m already behind on and signings I promised to do months ago and they want me to do edits for a script for one of my novels…We promised them a week together, and that’s what they got.” She shrugged helplessly. “There’s nothing we can do to change that.”

“I get where you’re coming from, darlin’, I do…” Jake leaned against the island across from her. “But…it wouldn’t be too difficult to get Abby signed up for school here, and Bob and Phoenix are grown ups, they don’t need you to take them home. And you…” He sighed heavily. “You can write from anywhere, so why can’t you write here with us?”

Buttercup’s heart cracked wide open, years of heartbreak and loneliness and anger pouring out of her like hot lava. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that again! What about the life I’ve built for myself? My professional reputation? My friends? Abby’s friends? I have a life in London! I like my life in London!”

“I know that.” Jake kept his voice even and calm, even as he wanted to reach out and calm her. “I know I fucked it up the first time. I know I didn’t get it the first time, how much the job and the move and everything meant to you back then. But you’re an award-winning author now, Buttercup. You’re like…number one draft pick in the NFL. You would have dozens of publishers falling all over themselves and each other to publish your stories now. Hell, with the way technology has improved in the last decade, nothing would stop you from keeping your publisher in London and Zooming into meetings with them from here. Isn’t it at least an option?”

Everything he was saying made perfect sense. It was all logical and well thought out, and, for a moment, she could picture it. Staying in Clifton, on the ranch. Turning the guest bedroom into an office for her to write out of while staring out at the pretty scenery, waking every morning in the cradle of Jake’s arms and cuddling with him until their daughters dragged them from bed. Giving them a real shot.

But a real shot meant the possibility of real pain. Pain that she had barely healed from the first time. Pain that she had put him through. Pain that he didn’t deserve. He didn’t deserve any of it, but to protect him, she would have to hurt him.

“I can’t just give up my job, my life because of a one-night stand.” Her voice was cold, belying the white-hot pain that was shooting through her heart, her very soul.

“I thought I meant more to you than that?”

She could hear the pain in his voice and ducked her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “You do…” she whispered, so quiet that he wouldn’t be able to hear her. The words “You did” came at a louder volume. “But I worked too hard to get to where I am now, and so did you.” She gulped down air, feeling like the walls were closing in on her. “I…I finally healed from everything we put each other through, and we can’t just fall back together again because it’s easy.”

Jake scrubbed a hand over his face. He knew what she was talking about. They had put each other through a lot, and it had taken over a decade to even start to heal from that, but they had healed. Wasn’t he worth giving it another go? Weren’t the girls worth trying for? He tamped down the anger he felt growing in his gut and asked, “When have we ever been easy?”

“You know what I mean, Jake.” Her sigh was heavy, bowing her shoulders like she was carrying the weight of the world. “We’re familiar. We’ve been living in the same house for a week, and, in a moment of weakness, we let ourselves fall back into old habits. And it felt good. But we’ve been down this road before. We know what lies at the end of it.” Tears pricked her eyes again and she blinked them back. “Besides, you were just engaged to another woman. You were planning on going back to the Navy. I…I can’t be the thing you hold onto just because you’re afraid of what your life will look like in six years.”

Jake felt the anger within him rise, and he relied on every ounce of his military training to remain composed, to not let the anger seep into his voice. “I don’t think I’m the one who is afraid here. You’re running.”

“Jake—”

Despite the way she was shaking her head, hands covering her face, Jake moved around the island and gently put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I know you felt something last night. I felt it too. Just because we didn’t work out the first time, doesn’t mean we won’t work out this time. You don’t have to be afraid of what might happen either, sweetheart.” His voice was filled with so much warmth and passion that Buttercup felt the tears fall faster and harder down her cheeks. This sweet man. She had never deserved him. His hands stroked her upper arms as he continued. “You’ve done such a good job on your own. Abby is incredible and your books…” Jake shook his head in amazement. “You’re incredible. But you don’t have to be strong and do it all on your own anymore. I know you can, but you don’t have to. Let me help. Just stay and let me help.” He was begging and he knew it, but he couldn’t help the tightness in his chest that told him that he had to convince her to stay. That he couldn’t lose her again. “I know you felt it last night,” he ended in a murmur.

Buttercup buried her head in her hands and sobbed. He was saying all the right words and she could feel the warmth and kindness pouring out of him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she would ruin it all again. “I…I can’t,” she cried. “We have to be the adults here. I can’t just leave my life behind and stay with you. Not again. We tried that once and it didn’t work, and we owe it to our girls to be better this time. We have to be better this time. For them. What we want doesn’t matter.”

Breath whooshed out of Jake’s lungs as he took her in. His Buttercup looked so small and broken, sobbing at his kitchen island. He had done that to her. He had broken his strong, independent, fiercely loyal and kind woman. No matter how badly he wanted to keep her, he couldn’t hold her back again. “This…this is really what you want?”

With doubt clogging her throat, she murmured, “It is.”

Jake’s shoulders bowed, and he grunted to clear the tingling in his throat and in the bridge of his nose. “Then…as you wish, I guess.”

Buttercup nearly ran down the path towards the dude ranch cabins. After a tense breakfast, one where no one said anything to each other, Buttercup got changed and got out of the ranch house as quickly as she possibly could. She felt like she couldn’t breathe with the weight of Jake’s disappointed gaze upon her and Charlie’s hate-filled words hanging in the air around them. Not even her sweet Abby had been able to look her in the eye, so she fled the moment it was acceptable to do so.

Now, she was marching to her brother’s cabin to talk to him and his best friend, to get some sort of reassurance that she was doing the right thing. She quickly climbed the two steps up and came up short when the door swung open, Javy emerging in his jeans, carrying his shirt from last night.

“Oh…” They both froze and stared at each other. “Hey Buttercup.”

“Hey Javy…”

“You, uh…” Javy shuffled his feet. “You good?”

“Not really,” she admitted, staring down at her toes. “Is Nat in there? Or Bob?”

“Bob spent the night in Mickey’s cabin with him and Yale. But Nat…” A shy smile pulled at Javy’s lips as he shrugged. “She’s asleep upstairs. I’ve gotta run to practice though. Can you tell her I said goodbye? And that I’ll see her for dinner tonight?”

Despite her own broken heart, Buttercup found herself smiling. “I’m glad you two were able to work it out. I’ll let her know.”

“Thanks, Buttercup.” He grinned and placed a light jab against her shoulder as he passed. “And hey? I’m sure whatever’s bugging you will work itself out in the end.”

“I don’t think so, Javy. But thanks.”

Buttercup let herself into the quaint little cabin and headed straight for the bedroom, where her friend was just waking up. Buttercup thanked whatever not-completely-evil god that was out there that her friend was wearing a t-shirt. After the morning she’d had, the last thing she wanted was to have her friend flash her by accident.

“Hey…” Natasha yawned as she stretched her arms over her head. “What’re you doin’ here? Where’s—” Natasha cut herself off, looking away from Buttercup.

“Javy had football practice. He says he’ll see you for dinner.” That was all Buttercup managed to get out before flopping onto the bed and sobbing.

“Jesus Christ, B!” Natasha scrambled up and pulled her crying friend into her lap. “What the hell?” A gentle hand ran up and down the length of Buttercup’s spine. “You’re alright, girl. C’mon.”

“J-Jake and I hooked up last night,” Buttercup blubbered, burying her face into the plaid comforter that covered her friend’s lap.

“And…was it…not good?” Try as she might, Natasha was struggling to see the problem.

“It was great!”

Both ladies were surprised at the strength of Buttercup’s sobs. It was unlike her to cry so much, but clearly, she had to exorcise some demons, and crying seemed to be the best way to get them out.

Natasha sighed and patted her friend on the back. “Then I am confused.”

“Join the fucking club…” Buttercup muttered, wiping her face on the bedspread before sitting up, her tear ducts seemingly empty. “We…we’re going home tomorrow. I can’t believe I was so stupid as to hook up with my ex-husband right before we’re going back home.”

“Not gonna lie, lady, but you were basically eye-fucking him all night. I’m not surprised that you two fell into bed together. The sexual tension was too great.” Natasha propped herself up against the oak headboard and stared at her friend. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Lots of couples do one last fuck fest after a breakup or divorce.”

“Is that what you and Javy were doing last night?” Buttercup bit out, no malice in her voice, only exhaustion.

Natasha bit her lip. “Actually…it was more of a ‘lets try this thing again’ than a ‘lets get this thing out of our systems’.”

Buttercup blinked her bloodshot eyes. “How are you two going to try it again when our flight leaves tomorrow?”

One of Natasha’s calloused fingers gently traced the scar that ran over her eye, something that she only did on the rare occasion that she was nervous. “That’s the thing…I’m not getting on that flight. Bob said that he could get me a refund with the airline since it’s, y’know, his airline.”

“You’re staying?” Of all the things she expected her best friend to say, it certainly wasn’t that. “What about your classes? Your friends?”

Natasha shrugged. “One of the other instructors can take over until they hire someone else. And there’s a gym in town that needs a new female personal trainer. Javy’s pretty sure they’d take me on the spot. And honestly, B? What friends? I had work friends that I only hung out with occasionally off the clock, and I had you and Bob. I lived in your home, ate your food, and hung out with you. No offence, because you know I love you, but not going back isn’t that big of a deal to me.”

Buttercup nodded as she looked at her friend. “I hate that you’re leaving me,” she mumbled, pulling Natasha into a fierce hug. “But I’m proud of you for giving him another shot. You just make sure he knows that if he hurts you, I’m only one transatlantic flight away from kicking his ass.”

“Or…you could always stay too and be just a walk down the road away from kicking his ass.” Natasha’s voice was gentle and kind, but Buttercup was already shaking her head. “Why not?”

“Because we tried, and we failed.”

“So did me and Javy,” Natasha nudged her.

“But you don’t have kids who will suffer if you try again and it still falls apart.”

“Fair point…” Natasha hummed and turned towards her. “What if it doesn’t fall apart?”

“I can’t risk it, Nat,” Buttercup murmured, tears welling in her eyes again. “I can’t hurt Abby and Charlie like that. They have to come first.”

“I get that.” Natasha reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand comfortingly. “But you have spent over a decade putting Abby first. You have been an amazing mother to that girl. Maybe it’s time to start putting yourself first instead.”

Buttercup squeezed back, snuggling down in her friend’s bed and sighing. If only it was that easy.

The next 24 hours passed in a blur of emotion. Charlie still wasn’t speaking to Buttercup, despite Jake’s private talk with her when she returned to the ranch house after her walk. Abby wasn’t faring much better, quiet but not angry the way her sister was. More…resigned. And Jake…well, Jake did what Jake always did. He walled up everything he was feeling behind thick, military issue shields and pretended. It was what he was trained to do. Compartmentalize and prioritize. His priority was making sure that his girls didn’t leave the ranch sad.

Buttercup’s eyes remained bloodshot for the rest of the day, and it broke Jake’s heart to see his girl so distraught. Part of him wanted to ask her to reconsider, to ask if her decision to leave was what was making her so miserable, but he didn’t. His Buttercup had only made one rash decision in her entire life: staying with him in Miramar. Every other decision had been meticulously thought out, including going to London to start over. He couldn’t blame her for that, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting to return to her life abroad, no matter how much it felt like it was killing him to let her go again.

So, Jake pushed it all down and tried to make it the best 24 hours he possibly could. He took his three girls on a trail ride after having a small goodbye lunch for their remaining guests. Fanboy, Yale, Payback and his family all enjoyed a small gathering despite the tense atmosphere. That atmosphere remained throughout the trail ride, though Jake had hoped it would help cool Charlie down. Dinner was similarly quiet, the five of them eating their spaghetti and meatballs in relative silence, though it seemed that both Rooster and Charlie were cheered to hear that Phoenix would be staying. Jake couldn’t help the glance he spared at Buttercup when that news was shared before Javy swept Phoenix out the door to keep their dinner reservation in town. He knew he couldn’t question why Phoenix was brave enough to stay and try to work things out, not when he knew why Buttercup was doing the brave thing by leaving. She was doing it so that the girls wouldn’t suffer from the fallout if they couldn’t keep their shit together a second time, and Jake couldn’t blame her. He would do anything to make sure Charlie was happy. Problem was that this decision didn’t seem to be making anyone happy.

Nobody got much sleep that night, the tension growing over the house like a big black storm cloud, what ifs and maybes swirling like a tornado. Day dawned without sun; the metaphorical storm having grown into a real one that had rain lashing at the windows. Breakfast was a silent affair, and Jake could barely choke down any lunch, one final meal before he had to say goodbye to his girls.

Bags were piled at the front door, waiting for the airport limo Bob had called for, complimentary because of his position with the airline. Six adults and two children stood in the doorway of the ranch house, waiting for the telltale sound of tire on gravel to signal the end. When Jake caught sight of headlights bouncing through the darkened sky, he sighed and gathered Abby into his arms.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured into her hair, and his heart broke as she clutched him tighter. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, okay?”

“I love you too, daddy.”

Jake opened his eyes and saw Buttercup ringing her hands as she approached Charlie, who had her arms crossed stiffly across her chest.

“I…I’m sorry, Charlie,” he heard her soft words and his chest ached for her. For both of them. His two girls were so strong and so stubborn, and they were both in so much pain. “I love you, sweet girl. I hope you remember that.” When it became clear that Charlie was not going to embrace her mother, Buttercup sighed and pressed a kiss to her hair instead. “I love you, darling.”

Buttercup turned to Rooster, who wrapped her in a tight hug. “You take care of yourself, alright, Buttercup?” he gravelled.

“I will. You take care of them for me, okay?”

“You know I will.”

A similar exchange happened with Javy, though Jake was sure that it included some sort of threat about treating Phoenix well, based on the slight grimace on Javy’s face as Buttercup turned and hugged her friend.

It was at that point that the car pulled up to the front door and Jake forced himself to release his daughter.

“Go say goodbye to everyone while I take your bags out,” he whispered to her, trying his best not to crumble at her tear-stained face.

She nodded and ran over to Phoenix, almost knocking her over. “I love you, Auntie Nat.”

“I love you too, kid.”

She squeezed Rooster next, the two of them having a whispered conversation as Jake passed, taking the bags out to the limo. He didn’t care that his white t-shirt was becoming see-through. He didn’t much care for anything at the moment. He was completely numb, just like he had been when he watched Buttercup and Abby walk out his front door the first time. He took his time loading the bags into the trunk before heading back into the house, feeling like he was walking to his execution.

When he stepped into the foyer, his eyes went straight to Abby and Charlie, embracing by the stairs. He sighed and turned to Bob, shaking his ex-brother-in-law’s hand before turning to Buttercup, who was watching her daughters with a sad sort of smile.

A gentle hand on her shoulder pulled her attention to him right as he pulled her into a hug. She folded into him the same way she always had, like she belonged there. Jake told himself that her trembling was because he was soaked to the bone, and if he felt moisture soaking into the front of his shirt, he told himself that was just the rain too.

She pulled away a few moments later, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes as she murmured, “It’s time to go, Abby.” She met his eyes for a fleeting second. “Thank you, Jake.”

“As you wish, sweetheart,” he murmured and escorted them onto the covered porch, where he gave Abby one more hug before pulling Charlie into his arms as they watched Bob, Buttercup and Abby make a run for the limo.

Bob held the door open as Abby slid in. Buttercup glanced over her shoulder at Jake and Charlie, standing like statues on the porch. She waved a sad goodbye before sliding in beside her daughter. Bob gave him an understanding nod before joining them and slamming the door shut. The limo roared to life and started down the dirt drive, rain and wind whipping at the windshield as they went. Abby and Buttercup huddled together on the leather seats as Bob gave instructions to the driver, and then they were silent.

Jake’s chest heaved as he watched them go, watched two-thirds of his heart walk away from him again.

“Wait!” Charlie cried, throwing off his hold and taking off down the wet and muddy driveway. “Mom, wait!” Jake lunged after her, grabbing her up in a hug as the limo disappeared between the trees, the falling rain too loud for them to hear her pleas.

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[macfrog]

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.���

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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[fob4ever]

i was at a bookstore yesterday that had a copy of the kerrang: living loud book that featured the FOB watergun fight article i've never seen transcribed anywhere so i made a transcript of it for archival purposes. enjoy! from kerrang, may 2005.

For a man staring down the barrel of a loaded gun while wearing just underpants, Fall Out Boy bassist Peter Wentz looks remarkably chipper. Especially when you consider the person about to unload in his face is guitarist and vocalist Patrick Stump, grinning madly despite the fact that fellow six-stringer Joe Trohman has a pistol to his temple. He in turn is firmly in the firing line of drummer Andy Hurley, cackling loudly with his finger hovering over the trigger.

Passers-by stop and stare, waiting for the inevitable, messy climax of this "Reservoir Dogs" scenario. The tension mounts, onlookers brace themselves, the band get ready to open fire. Suddenly it happens.

"Argh!" screams Wentz as several litres of icy water soak him. "That's fucking cold!"

No, Fall Out Boy aren't about to blow each other away, They're having a water fight for K!'s benefit in a car park at the Chicago stop on travelling punk circus Warped Tour, where they're knocking out their "softcore" wares ("We're basically a hardcore band that couldn't cut it as a hardcore band," laughs Wentz) on the main stage alongside big hitters like The Offspring, Avenged Sevenfold and My Chemical Romance. The Windy City is more than just another stop for them; Chicago is Fall Out Boy's hometown, the place where they formed out of the ashes of their old hardcore bands, and where they still live with their parents- who are here for today's show - during the few weeks of the year they're not on tour.

It all started for Fall Out Boy here in 2001 when the members wanted a break from playing in their various bands. Long time friends Wentz and Hurley got together with hardcore associate Joe Trohman to do something a bit less heavy. Following a conversation about avant-metallers Neurosis in a bookstore, Trohman introduced Stump to the rest of the band. When their other bands folded, they took on Fall Out Boy full time.

"We wanted to do things before we were ready," chuckles Peter Wentz fondly of the early days of DIY tours for the benefit of the one or two people who would show up. "We'd plan two-week tours, just to see the world. Nobody would book us, so we had to do it all on our own."

"A lot of bands have scenes to go into and surround themselves with those people," says Stump. "We had no scene, so we would just play anywhere, with whoever."

FOB have come a long way from their humble roots. Right now they're America's fastest rising band. Radio smash 'Sugar, We're Goin' Down' has placed them squarely in the mainstream, having spent three weeks as the Number One song on MTV's 'TRL', a prime-time show usually devoted to pop acts like Maroon 5 and Ashlee Simpson. So dizzying their Stateside assent has been, they had to cancel their recent European tour in order to play the MTV Music Video Awards, where they are also nominated for 'Sugar...'. Thankfully, FOB haven't let the screaming adoration turn them into big-headed twats.

"A piece of shit with legs on it could walk onto 'TRL' and people would still go crazy," laughs Wentz. "That stuff just goes straight by me. With the fast turnover in the music industry, how can anyone have an ego"

Andy Hurley chips in. "You can be today's main stage and tomorrow's trash."

That's to find out tomorrow, though. Today among the madness of trying to plan anything on the Warped Tour - stage times are decided daily by lottery - Fall Out Boy have to try and find time for hanging out with family and friends.

"Three weeks on Warped is like three months on a normal tour," says Peter Wentz.

"Home becomes like Atlantis on tour, you wonder if it actually exists after a while," adds Patrick Stump.

Now FOB are big stars, a lot of old 'friends' have been coming out of the woodwork. Joe Trohman and Peter Wentz have polarised views on those who didn't give a toss back in the day suddenly becoming your pal once you've made it.

"The way I look at it is if someone's a dick to you and you don't know them, so what?" says Trohman. "Just care about who did support you, keep those important people close, not the people who five years ago called you a loser."

"I work the opposite way!" Wentz counters, before adding darkly, "The people I think about most are enemies. My brain works on revenge!"

Though a tight knit group of close friends, Peter Wentz is clearly Fall Out Boy's spokesman. He does most of the talking during the interview and writes the lyrics, and seems like the most driven one of the lot. As well as doing Fall Out Boy, Wentz has also written a book with tattoo artist Joe Tesaure, 'The Boy With The Thorn In His Side'. It's a dark, twisted tale that could have come straight from the brain of Tim Burton.

"I've always been into Roahl Dahl and people like that, and I was friends with a tattoo artist at the time and we came up with this idea to do a book together," he explains. "It wasn't something I felt fitted in with what Fall Out Boy is, I hate when bands do something that's not 'them'. The book is what it is, and Fall Out Boy is what we are."

Despite all thise talk of nightmares and revenge, FOB are upbeat individuals, enjoying their newfound success, while refusing to allow success to go to their heads. They'll tell you they don't like the shallowness of groupies or industry parties, and that the trappings of rock stardom hold no appeal.

"I don't feel like I deserve it," says Wentz in closing. "It's not like, 'this amount of time and this amount of shows = this kind of bus'. I appreciate what we've got. We've toured in a tiny van and it was cool, but now we're having new adventures living like this. I don't feel we deserve it more than any other bands do."

He surveys the sumptuosly appointed tour bus for a moment before chuckling heartily.

"Actually, that's a lie, we totally deserve it more than anyone else! Ha ha!"

[tumbleweed-writes]

From your smut prompt list....how about #1 and #44 for my favorite scotsman Chibs?

Belonging.

I have zero idea how this got so filthy. I would apologize for the filth, but it's smut. What'd ya expect???

18+ Only obviously.

Chibs pushes Y/N away in a poorly thought out attempt to protect her . Y/N decides to go on a date with a rebound to mend her broken heart and Chibs is left trying to remind Y/N that they belong with one another.

========

This date was a terrible idea. In fact, it might be the worst idea she’d ever had in her entire life. The thought danced through her head as she studied herself in the floor length mirror in her bedroom. A voice in the back of her head exclaimed that the polite and handsome rookie cop who’d asked her on a date was not quite worthy of the pretty little floral dress she’d chosen to wear.

The white knee length dress was adorned with red roses and the sweetheart neckline gave a perfect view of her cleavage. The red heels she’d worn with it made her legs look so appealing. She’d spent far too long curling her hair and picking out a perfect shade of red lipstick to match the roses on her dress.

The dress had been bought with a much different man in mind. Her heart ached as it reminded her that this man was clearly no longer worthy of this dress.

When she met Filip Chibs Telford she should have been wise enough to know he would break her heart.

She had been new in town opening a bakery not far from Floyd’s Barbershop on main street. She’d used what little inheritance she’d received from her grandfather to follow her dreams and open a bakery. She’d taken a huge risk having left her safe and stable job to follow her passions and open her own business. She’d been praying the risk would pay off.

She’d chosen to move from San Francisco out to Charming, California. She’d been charmed by the name, no pun intended, and the small town atmosphere.  It felt like the perfect place to follow her dreams.

One of her very first customers had been one Gemma Teller Morrow.

The intimidating looking Queen of SAMCRO had been looking for a birthday cake for her grandson and had been impressed with Y/N’s work.

Y/N had been nervous but delighted to have her first big client and she’d thrown herself into making the Harley Davidson themed cake for the toddler.

The men who had been sent to pick up said cake had not been what she’d been expecting. The Scotsman in particular had caught her attention; the accent quite uncommon in the middle of northern California.

She’d been unaware that she had caught his attention as well. 

At the time of their first meeting she’d been a bit distracted by Bobby Munson who’d been talking to her about the secret to a perfect muffin. She’d not noticed the Scottish Son admiring her during the discussion she’d been having with Bobby over preferred leavening agents and the perfect ratio of fruit to batter in blueberry muffins.

Bobby had become a frequent visitor to her bakery after the birthday cake job, and much to her shock the Scotsman had joined him more often than not.

The very first conversation Chibs and she had ever had one on one had been over shortbread, in particular his praise for her shortbread. She’d taken it as a genuine compliment when he’d admitted that her Scottish shortbread was the best he’d had stateside.

A friendship had formed between Chibs and she, although she knew to outsiders it might appear to be a strange friendship; the scary looking forty something year old outlaw biker being so buddy buddy with the young sweet looking baker. It was an odd mix; leather and whiskey with floral dresses and cupcakes.

The change in their friendship had come unexpectedly. She’d had some trouble with a local developer who’d been visiting Charming; the man had begun attempting to intimidate Y/N into backing out of her lease. He’d been quite pushy with a few of the businesses on main street.

He had intentions of building some upscale condos and high end retail on the street. He thought Charming would be a perfect getaway for yuppies looking to escape the big city. 

Apparently the landlord who owned this particular strip of buildings on main street was not interested in selling the property. He’d figured he had a pretty good deal going with the businesses operating there as most had been there for decades. 

So the developer had taken to attempting to get the business owners who were renting the shop spaces to back out of their lease. 

His attempts to get Y/N to give up her retail space had been friendly at first, until it had become clear that she was not interested in moving from her place of business no matter how much money he was willing to throw at her. 

He’d gotten quite demanding and it had become full on harassment. 

SAMCRO didn’t take kindly to the developer taking an interest in Charming’s real estate if it meant bringing in outsiders to the safe haven that was Charming, and Chibs had not taken kindly to the man attempting to intimidate the pretty young baker who he’d taken such a liking to.

SAMCRO had been willing to come to her defense and Chibs had seemed to take quite the pleasure in scaring off the developer.

Y/N’s intention to thank the guys with baked goods, and Chibs with his own batch of Scottish Shortbread, had been started with innocent intentions.

The guys had appreciated the muffins she’d baked them as well as the cake. Chibs had appreciated the shortbread…but somehow her thank you to him had gotten a little out of hand.

One second he’d been standing in her shop accepting the box of shortbread and the next minute her lips had been pressed to his; his hands caressing her body.

She was grateful that the bakery had been closed and it had been late enough at night because Chibs had wound up taking her back to the kitchen and one thing had led to another. She was sure the health department would shut her down if they’d ever known just what she allowed Chibs to do to her, bending her over the counter, and what they’d done on the floor. 

They’d laid side by side nude on the kitchen floor both out of breath staring up at the ceiling when the words had left him. “I think it kinda goes without sayin that I like ye a lot.”

The giggle that had left her made a smile cross his features, the smile only growing as she spoke in response. “Good, I like you a lot too.”

Things had been good; they’d been happy.

Then things had changed. Jax Teller had taken the gavel becoming club pres and Chibs had become his SGT At Arms.

With the new title came some unexpected distance between Chibs and she. Y/N had figured at first that perhaps Chibs had just been busy given all the changes in the club, but then weeks had gone by and then before she knew it a month had gone by and she barely heard from him.

She’d made several attempts to reconnect with him and find the spark they seemed to have lost; but he’d just seemed to brush off her attempts. She’d called and paid visits to TM Auto…she’d even visited the clubhouse and his apartment, but he’d seemed so eager to push her away.

The last interaction they’d had told her all she needed to know.

They’d been standing in his dorm room at the clubhouse after she’d paid a visit practically begging him to just give her a moment of his time. 

She could remember the words that she’d said to him. “Lately, I just feel like maybe you don’t love me as much as I love you. I just feel so…neglected. I know you’re busy, but I’d like to at least feel like you still have a moment for me in your life. Lately, it feels like I have to fight tooth and nail to get you to glance my way. I know there’s been a lot of changes for you in the club, and I’m trying to be supportive…I am trying so hard to meet you halfway, but it feels like I’m the only one trying. I feel like I’m fighting so hard for us. I’m so tired of fighting, Filip…I can’t be the only one fighting for us.”

The words she’d gotten in response had felt like a knife to the chest. “Maybe it aint worth fightin fer.”

“I love you, how is that not worth fighting for?” She questioned not above pleading with him. This just seemed to be coming out of left field. She didn’t understand how he could claim that they weren’t worth fighting for.

He’d always made her feel so loved and adored. She felt so connected to him. He made her feel so wonderful. How had he changed so quickly without even a moment's notice? 

The response she got cut her all the more deeply. “Jus leave me alone, Y/N.”

He paused the next words that left him sounding uncharacteristically cruel. “It was fun while it lasted, aye? Ye were a good fuck. We got each other off and it was all good n’ well. Shite is getting too deep between us lately; too personal. It’s gettin a wee bit pathetic on yer half. Yer clingy and desperate. Like I said, shite is pathetic. I can’t do commitment, Lass. I ain't the type to give ye the white wedding and white picket fence. We’re two different people from two very different worlds. We should own up to the fact that our paths ain’t goin to align. Ye shoulda known from the start what this shite was between us. This was never anythin serious fer me. I don’t love ye.”

Those words had shattered her heart; she only managed to step back from him as though he’d slapped her. She spoke, her words harsh, tears flooding her vision. “I wish I had never met you.”

With that she’d turned away and fled from his room and his life.

She’d allowed herself time to cry and have the biggest pity party known to man. Then she’d done her very best to put on a brave face and carry on with her life without Chibs Telford. She had returned to work and pasted a smile on her face. She’d thrown herself into her work. She had ignored the looks of pity that had been sent her way as Bobby and a few brave members of SAMCRO had dared to still come to her shop for baked goods.

She’d not seen neither hide nor hair of Chibs Telford though, and even though her heart might claim differently, her head insisted that it was just as well for her.

Even if her heart screamed that it was a lie; she swore that she never cared to see Filip Chibs Telford ever again as long as she lived and breathed. 

When a handsome young rookie cop had stepped into her shop with his little sister in tow looking to buy a treat for the girl; Y/N had been flattered by his obvious flirtation. She hated to admit it was cute. Guys who were good with kids were appealing. 

Though she didn’t quite get the same weak kneed putty feeling she got when Chibs flirted with her; she’d forced herself to flirt back with the young officer.

When he’d come back a week ago and asked her out for dinner, she’d said yes despite her heart screaming at her that she was not ready.

That was how she wound up sitting at an Italian restaurant on main street with her date. The restaurant was nice; romantic and cozy. The candlelight failed to invoke romantic notions in Y/N though as she stared at her date.

Seth; his name was Seth.

He was sweet, intelligent, handsome, and funny. He was kind and seemed as though he was passionate about his work. He had brought her a bouquet of roses and complemented her outfit. He’d held the car door open for her. He’d hung on every word she’d said tonight. He didn’t do a thing for her though. 

There was no spark there at all. He didn’t make her heart skip a beat. He didn’t make her feel that stir of lust deep within her. He didn’t make butterflies fill her belly. He didn’t make her feel like a nervous schoolgirl. 

She found herself comparing him to a certain Scotsman. He had a nice smile but his smile was missing the dimples she adored in Chibs. He had a charm to him; but it was not the same charm Chibs Telford had mastered. He was handsome and young, but Chibs was handsome in his own right and she was fond of the gray along his temples. Seth had a slow California accent but it was nothing like Chibs’ thick Scottish brogue. Seth was brave due to his career, but she didn’t feel the same sense of protection she felt around Chibs. He was funny, but he failed to make her laugh as hard as Chibs though. He was sexually appealing, but she didn’t find herself picturing what he might be like in bed. A voice in the back of her head exclaimed that he could not please her the way Chibs had done.

Chibs Telford had ruined her for other men, and she despised him for it. 

It felt hopeless. She hated that she was on a date with a nice and socially acceptable man and all she could think about was the socially unacceptable man who had been awful to her the last time they’d spoken. How was she this pathetic?

She loved a man who did not want nor love her. She could not think of anything more pitiful. 

She frowned as Seth spoke a frown crossing his features. “What do you think?”

“About?” She dared to ask hoping it was not so obvious she’d not been paying attention to a word he’d said thus far. She had no idea what they were even talking about.

“The sushi place they’re putting in? It’s going in out near that coffee shop by Jones Appliance Repair. Everyone’s been talking about it.” Seth explained the frown deepening he most likely picking up on the fact that she’d not been paying attention to him nor the conversation he’d been attempting to carry along with her.

“Oh, uh, I’d be curious to try it out.” She remarked her cheeks flushing ever so slightly mortified it was obvious she was not able to focus on this date at all.

Seth scrunched his nose up at the response he fast to reply. “Oh, I don’t think I’d be brave enough to try it. Eating raw fish just seems kind of unsanitary. I don’t know…seems like it might make you sick. I mean you really aren't supposed to eat raw meat, ya know?.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, tempted to snap that people ate sushi all the time and fared just fine. She pushed back the comment ignoring the voice in the back of her head that claimed Chibs would endure trying it with her even if he felt wary of it. He would try it if he thought it would make her happy.

She hated the thought, reminding herself that Chibs cared very little about what made her happy. If he cared about her happiness, he would not have broken her heart.

He didn’t love her. He’d said the words himself. Nothing between them had been serious according to him. He did not want her. 

“Are you okay? You seem miles away.” Seth observed she cringing at the statement.

She sighed, deciding to just be honest with him. He seemed like a nice enough guy and she felt guilty that she was unable to really commit to this date. She was using him as a rebound and she felt awful for using him in such a way. She felt like an awful person. Didn’t hurt people hurt people though? “I just got out of a relationship…he broke up with me and I guess, I’m still kind of heartbroken over it. I found out he wasn’t taking it as seriously as I was…or at least that’s what he said. I guess I'm still in love with him…which sucks, because he doesn’t love me. You’re a nice guy, but my head and heart are kind of a mess right now. Rejection stings, and my heart just feels so heavy lately. I guess, I’m just not entirely ready for any of this…I thought this date would be a good idea, but I’m just not ready.”

Seth nodded his head, reaching down to toy with the polished fork on the table. “Your ex is that Scottish guy, right? The biker, he’s in that club, The Sons of Anarchy?”

She furrowed her brow at the comment. She knew SAMCRO was well known around town…but she found it strange that Seth would have enough knowledge about the club to place the fact that she’d been previously involved with Chibs. She spoke the words flying from her lips. “How do you know that?”

Seth shrugged his shoulders he fast to respond. “I’ve seen them around town…saw you on the back of the Scottish guy’s bike once a few months back.”

He was fast to speak again. “Sheriff Roosevelt knows the Sons of Anarchy are up to no good despite their company line of just being motorcycle enthusiasts. The last sheriff Charming had was apparently way too willing to turn the other cheek when it came to SAMCRO. Pretty sure old Unser was just as crooked as the MC. Now that San Joaquin has absorbed the Charming Police department, the days of turning the other cheek are over. Most honest cops worth their salt would love to bust those guys. I’ve seen the records these guys have, the Scottish guy too. They’re criminals, there’s no way of sugar coating it. It’s some crazy shit. They’re an international organization, don’t know if you knew that. The Feds have tried and failed to bust them. The ATF were in town a few years back and they didn’t manage to pin them down the way they’d hoped. So, if the local PD did it, it’d be impressive.”

He paused, shrugging his shoulders the words that left his lips sounding so nonchalant. “I imagine you have to know something about what they’re up to given you dated one of them. I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re smart enough to see the red flags he must have been giving off.”

“Did you ask me out so you could dig for information about my ex and SAMCRO?” She snapped, the thought making her blood boil.

She was being used wasn’t she?

“Not entirely. I asked you out because you’re attractive and you seem like a sweet girl despite your dating history. Anything you might say about your ex and his friends is just a bonus.” Seth remarked.

 Y/N reacted by picking up her wine glass, tossing the liquid within it in his face.

Seth wiped his face, a scoff leaving him, his dress shirt now stained with red wine that had managed to drip down his face before he had a chance to really wipe it away. “Guess you’re really not over the ex if you’re this defensive over it. The guy seriously broke your heart and you’re still protecting him. Dude is a scumbag and you’re this upset about the idea of him being busted.”

He spoke nodding at the large windows, to their left, that gave a view of the street outside the restaurant. “Guess he’s not over you either. I noticed him following us when I picked you up. I’m surprised you didn’t hear his bike or notice him. Like I said though, you’ve been miles away all night. He really did a number on you. It’s a shame. You seemed like such a sweet girl and he’s ruined you, clearly.”

She turned in her seat spotting the motorcycle across the street and the familiar man standing beside it. She could see him standing by his bike, his arms crossed, his eyes squinted as he struggled to peer through the restaurant windows in the dim light of dusk.

She grimaced, torn between wanting to stay here and endure this horrible date or wanting to go outside and risk confronting the man who had broken her heart.

She sighed deciding that her heart was going to hurt either way. She might as well go with the devil she knew.

She spoke, gathering her purse and her jacket. “Lose my number. I am not going to be a career stepping stone for you. I may be ruined, but I’m not stupid nor is my self esteem low enough to let myself be used by another man ever again.”

With that she gathered what little she had left of her pride, ignoring Seth’s comment as she walked away from him. “Don’t come crying to me when he winds up in prison. He’s a criminal, Y/N. Don’t forget that. He’ll never change.”

She kept her head down as she left the restaurant pretending she did not see the Scotsman watching her every move.

She cringed as she heard the sound of a bike starting up. She moved a little quicker knowing it was a futile endeavor as she could not outwalk his Harley especially not in red open toed pumps.

“Get on the bike, Lass.” The comment sounded out beside her.

“Fuck you.” She snapped, daring to glare at him, not stopping her pace.

Chibs sighed, rolling his eyes at the comment. “Aye, I deserve that.”

“No kidding. You’re a real piece of shit, showing up here after the last time I saw you. I hate you.” She remarked her pace speeding up Chibs not giving up riding along beside her slowly.

“Now that ye got that outta yer system, will ye please jus get on the damn bike? What do ye think yer even doin? Are ye seriously goin to walk home? Ye live miles away, Love. Jus let me take ye home.” Chibs responded, flinching a bit at the venom behind her words.

“No, I don’t need a damn thing from you. I am no longer your concern. We were never serious, remember?” She snapped back, turning down an alleyway attempting to escape him.

Chibs remained undeterred, parking his bike at the curb and dismounting it. He followed her down the alleyway, his voice sounding drained. “Come on, Y/N. This is fuckin insanity.”

“The only insane thing is you bothering to show up and crash my date. I think you made it perfectly clear that you wanted me to leave you alone the last time we spoke. You made your thoughts on me and how pathetic I am perfectly crystal clear. Nothing has changed.” Y/N retorted groaning as she neared a dead end, it hitting her that her escape route was useless.

Chibs sighed, unable to stop himself from saying it. “Ye ain’t pathetic. Yer date didn’t look like it was goin so well. A fuckin cop, Love? Really?”

She scoffed at the comment she turning to glare at him, the words falling from her lips, unable to stop herself from taunting him. “Remember we come from two different worlds. In my world I can date a cop and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

He stepped closer to her his eyes growing dark as he stared down at her. “Aye, maybe so. Ye didn’t look like ye were havin much fun with him though, Lass. Ye looked fuckin miserable all night.”

She glared up at him, deciding to push his buttons all the more, lying through her teeth her words far more vulgar than she’d ever dare them to be in any other conversation. “Oh I’ve had plenty of fun with him, Chibs. You did say I was a good fuck. I thought I’d test the theory with him. I might be desperate and pathetic, but you know how good I feel wrapped around a cock. Maybe I thought I’d try his dick out, see how good I could feel.”

The words made his eyes grow all the darker. He stepped even closer to her his voice picking up a possessive tone. “We both know he can’t fuck ye as good as I can, Love. We both know I could do ye so well ye couldn’t walk the next day. Ye seem to be walkin jus fine righ now which tells me he’s nowhere as good as me.”

Her eyes narrowed, she shoving back the lust creeping up in her at the reminder of just how good Chibs Telford had been in bed. “You lost the right to fuck me the second you broke my heart”.

She paused, stepping back closer to the wall, her words harsh, the pain evident in her voice she clenching her fists refusing to cry in front of him. “You don’t love me, remember? So, why the hell are you even here?”

He cringed at the statement a sense of something she did not expect to see in his eyes washing over him; shame, regret.

He sighed the words leaving him. “I made a mistake.”

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, she sounded as emotionally drained as she felt. “You can’t just show up like this, Filip. You can’t throw me away and then get mad because some other guy wanted me. I’m not something you can just drop and pick back up at your convenience. I can’t deal with the emotional whiplash. I deserve better than someone who only wants me when someone else shows interest.”

“It ain’ like that. I ain’ jus showin up because some prick wanted ye. I won’t lie and say that Bobby mentionin ye had a date didn’t push me to get off my arse and stop bein so stubborn. This ain’ about me wantin ye only cause someone else does. I never stopped wantin ye.” Chibs struggled the explain the comment, his words only confusing her further.

“You didn’t act like you wanted me very much the last time we spoke. You told me I was the only one taking anything between us seriously.” She pointed out the hurt evident in her voice.

Chibs cringed at the comment, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, a sigh leaving his lips. “I didn’t mean any of it…I thought I was protectin ye.”

“From what?” She exclaimed, annoyance joining her confusion.

He sighed, shaking his head. “From me, Love. I know we never said the words…never acknowledged the truth…I never said out loud jus what I am…what SAMCRO is. I knew ye were smart enough to figure it out…that I’m an outlaw. I’m a criminal and yer innocent.”

She parted her lips wanting to snap that she was not that innocent. She didn’t have the chance though as Chibs spoke again. “I have seen ol ladies come and go in this club. I never took an ol lady before ye…Even after I divorced Fiona…I figured I’d not find anyone I wanted to spend my life with…I watched my brother’s and their ol ladies though…I’ve seen em be treated like shite by my brothers. I’ve seen men treat the women they claim to love like dog shite.”

“You never treated me like that…I mean aside from how you dumped me, that was kind of shitty.” She remarked, her voice soft.

Chibs nodded his head, a heavy sigh leaving him. “Aye that may be true. It wasn’t jus kinda shite love, I was a piece of shite.”

He paused, forcing himself to say the words he should have said to her from the start. “The violence that the life I’ve chosen requires…I never wanted ye to experience it. The role I’ve taken in the club..Sgt at Arms..it requires a certain level of violence…violence I’m perfectly capable of…it’s a side of me I never wanted ye to know existed in me…the life I’ve chosen to live chews ye up and spits ye back out. I’ve seen it break more people than I care to admit…and I’ve lost more than a few people in my life. I got in my head thinkin bout ye, thinkin bout how much I love ye…how pure bein in love with ye feels. Told myself the life I chose to live would jus taint that purity, that the world that comes with me would break ye. I couldn’t let it happen. I love ye, and I’d rather let ye go than lose ye or make ye think I’m a monster.”

“So, you just broke my heart instead of telling me how you felt? That was the plan?” She snapped, absorbing the words rolling them around in her head soaking them in.

He loved her.

She knew of course just what he was…she was not stupid. She didn’t buy the whole innocent motorcycle enthusiast lie SAMCRO loved to spin. She had spotted the occasional signs that Chibs’ day to day life consisted of more than just being a mechanic at TM Auto. He carried a burner cell and weapons for heaven's sake. Those were pretty big red flags if there ever were any. 

The red flags had never pushed her from Chibs. He’d seemed so sweet and had been a perfect gentleman to her. She’d told herself that anyone who could treat her with such adoration could not be a danger to her. She’d ignored any sense of self preservation that told her he was dangerous and had followed her heart with him.

She also heard the whispers around town. Charming’s local populace seemed to be well aware that SAMCRO was up to no good. They seemed to tolerate the club as a necessary evil of sorts.

She’d told herself that the men she’d gotten to know, who so often frequented her bakery, were not a threat to her.  

Chibs sighed nodding his head wordlessly as Y/N spoke the words leaving her. “You’re an idiot, Filip.”

He felt a small smirk cross his features at the comment. “Aye, been called worse.”

He sighed the smirk dropping from his lips the words sounding certain as they left him. “I fucked up, Love. I thought I was doin the righ thing…lettin ye go. It fuckin hurts though. I miss ye. My heart misses ye. This past month has been miserable without ye. When I found out some fuckin cop was takin ye out on a date, I bout lost my mind. I came out here tonigh to…I don’t know…see ye from afar, maybe work up my nerve to crash yer date…try to win ye back. I figured if I got here and ye seemed happy, then I’d let ye go…but ye don’t seem happy. I don’t think either of us are happy apart, Love.”

She sighed resting against the brick wall of the building behind her the words leaving her. “I don’t know what to do with this, Filip. I mean it. I can’t deal with the emotional whiplash. This past month has sucked. I’m not happy apart from you…I’m afraid of letting you back in though. How do I know you aren’t just going to drop me the next time you get too lost in your head? I know what you are, Filip. I’m not an idiot. I care about you enough to learn to accept that side of you…I’ve been accepting thus far…I’m so hesitant to learn to trust you again though… I can’t listen to you tell me you don’t love me again. I can’t let you break my heart in some hairbrained attempt to protect me again.”

He let out a sigh of his own, his heart sinking, fearing that it was too little too late. Perhaps he’d ruined the one good thing he seemed to have going for him.

He swallowed the lump in his throat knowing he had to try to fix this. He was going to try as hard as he could. “I know I really fucked up, Lass. I swear to God though that I will spend the rest of my life tryin to make up fer how much I hurt ye. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’m beggin fer ye to give me a chance. I will do whatever it takes to get ye to let me back in. I’ll work fer it day and night if that’s what it takes. Yer the best thing I got in my life…the purest, I aint known many pure things in my life. Bein with ye made me feel like I migh jus be a good man even with all the shite I’ve done and all the pain I’ve caused fer the club…Bein without ye, it’s been hell fer me. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and I can’t focus. I’ve been a grouchy fuck, accordin to Bobby at least.  I fuckin broke yer heart and my own in the process. I want to fix it, Love. I want to fix our hearts if yer willin to give me the chance. Jus give me the chance to put our hearts back together. Let me try.”

She felt her throat grow tight at this, her eyes growing damp, Chibs fearing she was about to tell him that there was no chance for them. His fears died as she spoke, her voice weepy. “Oh, Filip.”

She reached for him, her hand pressing to his cheek he leaning into her touch as she spoke. “I don’t want to feel this miserable ever again. Please, don’t make me feel that awful ever again.”

“Never, Love.” He reassured her his hands reaching out to press to her sides, thankful that she did not yank away from him as he pulled her into an embrace.

He leaned down his lips sliding across her, the kiss starting out slow and sweet, almost as hesitant as their very first kiss.

The kiss quickly grew deep and impassioned the realization of just how much they’d longed for one another growing apparent. 

She slid a hand down his body resting it against his denim clad cock massaging it as it began to perk up the lower region of his body very aware of just how much he’d longed for her. He groaned, pulling from the kiss his words thick with need. “Fuck, Love. Yer playin with fire here.”

She smirked at him, the words spilling from her. “I don’t mind fire.”

He moaned his hips rocking against her on their own accord eager to chance even the slightest hint of stimulation from the woman he’d feared he would never have a chance to have ever again.

He spoke that jealous little voice, unable to stop itself from working the words from him. “I have to know, Love. Did ye really fuck that cop bastard?”

She sighed, deciding that lying to him would just be cruel. She pulled her hand from his crotch ignoring the low whine that left him. “No, Filip. The last guy I slept with is you.”

He nodded his head frantically, a sense of relief washing over him. “Aye, okay…even still...”

He paused for a moment finding the words unable to stop himself from still feeling possessive of her. “I’m going to fuck ye so hard yer going to forget that guys name”

She felt a wave of lust wash over her that she knew Chibs was only capable of dragging from her. “Please.”

His lips met hers, the kiss somewhat harsh that possessive voice in the back of his head insisting that he had to claim her right here right now. She was his and she needed to be reminded of it.

His lips left hers pressing down her neck nipping at her skin roughly sucking against any marks his teeth may have left behind ensuring she’d have plenty of love bites to remind her of who she belonged to. 

His hands roamed her body she practically melting against him doing all she could to run her hands across his back caressing him over the leather of his kutte.

He ran his hands up her body yanking the front of her dress down so hard he was amazed it didn’t rip the fabric. His lips pressed down her chest nipping at the delicate skin along her cleavage wanting to leave his mark there as well.

She moaned, her head falling back, his name leaving her lips. He groaned against her his words muffled against her skin. “Aye that’s right, Love. Say my name, let everyone know jus who ye belong to.”

He yanked her bra down her breasts spilling from the cups, his lips locking down over a breast suckling harshly a whine leaving her.

He ran a hand up her dress along her hip caressing her skin as his lips focused on her breasts nipping at the skin and taking her nipples between his lips suckling eagerly.

She whined as he wasted no time to slide a hand along the lace of her panties, a groan leaving him the noise vibrating against her breast as he continued to suckle.

His hand slid eagerly under the waistband of her panties, his fingers finding her slit. He grunted rubbing her for a moment before allowing his fingers to slide between her damp center. He thrust his fingers in her stroking her walls, her knees practically buckling.

He spoke pulling from her breasts his voice sounding almost awestruck. “Yer so fuckin beautiful, so fuckin wet fer me. Just grippin down on my fingers pullin me in. This pussy missed me, aye?”

She nodded her head wordlessly a whine leaving her his fingers stopping a frustrated noise leaving her. He spoke his voice demanding. “Tell me, Love.”

“I missed you so much, Filip.” She admitted the words so needy and so true. 

He groaned, rewarding her with a thrust of his fingers curling them just right to hit a part of her that made her tremble against him. “Good girl. That’s my lass. Drippin down my fingers takin em so well.”

She moaned, not caring who might just hear her. She was sure a marching band could make their way down the alley at the moment and she would not give a damn as good as she felt at the moment.

His fingers slid across her clit, the action making her knees grow all the wobbly, her fingers digging into the leather of his kutte a high pitched whine leaving her. “Fuck.”

He smirked, rubbing circular patterned into the sensitive bud, the action making a few more curses leave her lips. 

He balanced stimulation to her clit with the thrust of his fingers into her core, the action making her feel dizzy. The only thing she could focus on was rocking her hips to chase the stimulation he provided. 

He spoke a teasing tone to his voice. “Christ, look at ye, Love. Riding my fingers, so needy fer me. Ye love this don’t ye? Me fingerin ye in the alley where anyone might see us.”

She whined nodding her head knowing this was the most risky thing she’d ever done in her life and she found it thrilling.

She knew she’d realistically be mortified if anyone walked upon this, but the risk of it all made her wetter than she was sure she’d ever been in her entire life.

He spoke, pushing her all the more. “Imagine if yer fuckin date walked up on this aye? Saw ye riding my fingers moanin fer me like a whore. Fuckin seein I’m the only one who can make ye feel this good by my fingers alone.”

“You make me feel so fucking good, Filip. No one else feels this good.” She whined the statement, working a moan from him, his lips pressing to hers in a deep bruising kiss.

She continued to ride his fingers eager to chase a release.

He encouraged her his voice demanding as he pulled from the kiss. “Play with yer clit, Love. Touch that pussy while you ride my fingers.”

She moaned, pressing her fingers to his lips, he taking them between his lips sucking them wetting them for her.

She pulled her hand from his lips reaching down as he demanded toying with her clit, the task not easy with the fuss of working around the skirt of her dress and her panties.

She rubbed circles into her clit frantically trying to increase the pleasure she felt.

She whined the heat beginning to pool in her abdomen, a coil tightening within her proving that she was so incredibly close to falling over the edge.

She spoke the words needy. “Going to cum.”

“That’s my love. Want ye to fuckin cum. Cum on my fingers, sweetheart. Let go fer me.” He encouraged her his eyes unable to leave her as she neared her release, her skin flushed, her lips parted, her head fallen back, her chest heaving. 

She was unable to stop the high pitched moan from leaving her as she let go her thighs shaking her center clenching and unclenching around his fingers.

He continued to finger her throughout the orgasm he moaning his cock throbbing desperate to be within her his manhood feeling envious of his fingers.

She whined as she came down from her orgasm, his touch becoming too much all too quickly. She slumped against him as he pulled his fingers from her.

She kept a tight grip on him almos sure she’d collapse to the ground if he was not holding her up.

She moaned as he pulled his fingers up to his lips, sucking them, cleaning her taste from them, a satisfied groan leaving his lips.

 He pulled his fingers from his lips pressing his lips to hers sharing her taste with her. She moaned against the kiss his hand roaming her body as she recovered from the intensity of her orgasm.

He pulled from the kiss his words needy. “Want ye so bad, Love. Let me fuck ye.”

She whined nodding her head the words that left her just as full of need. “Please, Filip. Need you so much.”

He groaned, reaching down and unfastening his belt with skilled hands. He unzipped his jeans unbuttoning them. He yanked his boxers down just enough to pull his hard cock from the confines of the fabric.

She moaned, reaching between them her hand wrapping around his cock he grunting at the touch. Her thumb ran along his slit spreading the precum leaking from him, he moaning at the action.

He spoke resisting the urge to thrust against her hand though the temptation to spit in her hand and demand she jerk him off a tempting one. "Shite, m'love."

He could picture cumming from her touch spilling his release against her hand, maybe even letting a little of it land on her sweet little dress. He smirked at the thought a possessive voice in the back of his head exclaiming that he’d mark her so clearly making it obvious she was all his.

He spoke his voice demanding as he reluctantly pulled from her touch. “Get rid of those panties, Love. Give me room to fuck ye.”

She did was she was told, reaching down to place her fingers under the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs letting them land against the concrete below them not caring what happened to them as long as it meant having his perfect cock buried in her.

He groaned, taking himself in hand, sliding it along her wet pussy, the words leaving him. “Gonna fuck ye so good, Love. Gonna ruin ye for any other man.”

“Already have.” She whined the words so honest. 

She knew her heart was his. She was trusting him to take care of her and make this right with her.

He groaned the words spilling from him. “Fuckin ruined me too, Sweet Lass. Ye belong with me. Yer all I fuckin want, forever.”

He moved his hands to her thighs encouraging her to wrap her legs around his hips allowing him to press her against the wall for support.

She wrapped her arms around him clutching on to him desperately trusting him to keep her held upwards. She spoke the words needy. “I’m addicted to you. You’re mine.”

He spoke positioning his cock at the entrance the words possessive. “Yer fuckin mine too. My ol lady, only mine, till the breath leave my body.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond as he slid himself home entering her inch by inch hissing at the sensation of her velvety soaking walls enveloping his cock. 

He spoke his words low and full of praise. “Perfect fuckin pussy. Belongs wrapped round me, only me.”

“Only you.” She moaned agreeing her head falling back as he began to rock against her his hips jerking against her desperately proving he was intent on fucking her.

His hips rocked against her frantically pushing her back up against the wall, his hand reaching up to press to the back of her head not wanting to slam her head into the rough brick wall behind them.

She whined clutching on to him all the tighter, letting herself sink into the sensation of him. Her lips pressed to his trying her best to muffle her moans.

He moaned against her lips the sensation of her wrapped around him so heavenly. He knew no one had ever felt so incredible wrapped around him.

He may have taunted her commenting that he was capable of fucking her so hard that she couldn’t walk the next day, but it was the truth. He knew she was so capable of taking all he had to give her.

She thrived equally on the rougher encounters they had as well as the softer slow love making sessions. Each time he had the privilege of taking her he was reminded of how lucky he was.

He had not been lying. She had ruined him for other women. 

He was hopelessly devoted to her. She took him so perfectly and she loved him so deeply. She loved him for all he was, even his imperfections. She saw the good in him that others disregarded.

She was his saving grace at the end of the day. He knew he could protect her. He could make sure she could remain his sweet loving ol lady who made him shortbread and slept peacefully by his side at night trusting him to care for her.

He kept thrusting in her his hips not losing speed knowing he was desperate not only to chase his release but to help her reach hers as well. 

He spoke his voice low and filled with adoration. “Look at ye, fuckin cock drunk on me. Can’t think bout nothin but how good I feel.”

She whimpered, nodding her head the words struggling to leave her lips. “Feels so good, Filip.”

He spoke a moan of approval leaving him. “Feels perfect, Love. Takin my cock so well. Shite, I love ye.”

“Love you.” She responded, her fingers digging into his back as he continued to take her against the wall.

She whined, able to hear the sounds of cars passing by only feet away.  The alleyway was dark enough out and there were no lights nearby to reveal that she was being fucked in such a public place.

This felt so filthy but so perfect. This was so dangerous, just as dangerous as him, and she loved it. She loved how risky this felt. She loved the man desperately fucking her making her center ache around him dripping against his cock. 

She knew he was the only man on this entire planet who could make her feel this good and the only man she would trust to take her in such a vulnerable place.

He would protect her; she knew this. She trusted him to take care of her and keep her safe. He would prove to her that he was devoted to her and would cherish her heart just as dearly as she cherished his.

He moaned the words leaving his lips. ‘Gonna take ye slower the second I get ye home. Gonna take ye so many times tonight, Lovely girl. Gonna remind ye that this pussy belongs to me.”

She whined, nodding her head frantically. “Missed you so much, Filip.”

He groaned, nodding his head. “Aye, missed ye, Love. Never goin to make ye miss me again. Never gonna fuck this up ever again, Love. Gonna keep ye by my side as long yer willin to have me.”

“Want you forever.” She whined the words so certain, making his heart ache with absolute adoration.

“Aye, forever.” He worked out his eyes locked on her, she by far the most stunning woman he’d ever seen and ever had the privilege of loving. 

She moaned, her hand pulling from his back sliding down her body finding her slick clit. He moaned realizing what she was doing as she began to rub at the bud of nerves so eagerly. “Such a good lass. Touchin that pussy fer me. Jeysus, Love. Play with yer wee clit make yerself cum on this cock.”

She whimpered his words encouraging her, she wanting to make herself cum for him. She wanted him to know how good he made her feel. She wanted him to know he was the only man capable of making her feel so good. 

He spoke becoming lost in lust, the words falling from him, his balls aching knowing he was closer than he’d prefer to be. “Fuckin cum on my cock and let me cum in ye. Fuck, make yerself cum. Wanna fill ye up so bad. Want my cum to drip from ye. Gonna fuckin put yer panties back on ye, not clean ye up even. Want ye to know I’m claimin what’s mine. Gonna be our wee secret, Gonna take ye home on my bike with my cum leakin from ye.”

She moaned at the statement knowing he was truly the only man who could say such absolute filth to her without her feeling bashful. If anything the dirty talk just egged her on.

She’d not had too many partners prior to him but he was by far the best she’d ever had. 

She rubbed her clit knowing just how to touch herself to help her along the path to a release. She’d had more experience in getting herself off before meeting Chibs Telford.

She’d discovered that with Chibs around she rarely had to rely on getting herself off. He was always eager to make her feel incredible even when he was exhausted.

She felt her toes curl at the sensations building up in her, she knowing it wouldn’t be much longer now.  She could feel her orgasm building in her, the fire spreading through her knowing it would burn so hot for him. 

She trembled against him, her thighs growing tense, her body jerking against him. Her fingers did not let up on her clit, her center clenching around his cock eagerly attempting to milk his release from him as she fell over the edge.

She pressed her lips against his a cry leaving her lips as she came.

He moaned the feel of her fluttering around his cock absolute perfection. It did not take long for his own end to sneak up on him, his balls drawing up close to his body, his cock throbbing.

He spilled into her as he fell over the edge, his words spilling against her lips, his accent growing so thick she could not even make out the words. “Fuckin take it, Love. Yer mine.”

She whined the warmth of his release filling her in hot spurts making her shudder against him. She clung on to him, her body feeling weak and so incredibly satisfied. 

He moaned the last of his release, desperately spilling from him into her his own knees feeling wobbly.

He pressed her further into the wall knowing he felt shaky enough that he feared not being able to hold her up as well as he should.

He pressed lazy kisses to her lips a low moan leaving him as he softened enough to slide from her body a shudder leaving him as the cold air hit his spent cock.

He spoke a drowsy giggle leaving him. “Christ, Love. Thank God fer the pill.”

She felt her own giggle leave her, she shaking her head. “Beats the hell out of condoms.” 

He smirked knowing she was the first woman he’d been with in a long while where condoms weren’t an absolute necessity. 

His experiences prior to her had consisted of croweaters who he was so not going into fucking without a rubber. 

He’d made it quite clear to her though that he only had eyes for her and he had a clean bill of health. So the pill had become their main form of contraception until the day they decided they might want to bring a few tiny Telfords into the world.

It was a possibility they’d discussed, and Chibs had been shocked to find that he didn’t mind the idea of possibly giving her a child at some point in the future even if it worried him to know he’d most likely be an older parent.

The idea of her having his child did fill him with an undeniable sense of pride though. 

She lowered her thighs from his hips he continuing to hold her up her knees feeling like jello at the moment.

She rolled her eyes not missing the proud smirk on his lips at the realization that he’d made her so unsteady on her feet especially in heels.

He tucked himself back into his boxers hastily zipping his jeans back up and refastening his belt.

He pressed his lips to hers lowering her dress back down the words leaving him. “Never goin to risk losin ye again, m’love. Need ye in my life. Never fuckin this up ever again. I love ye.”

She placed a hand on his cheek, her lips pressing to his, the words spilling from her. “I love you too, never letting you take the risk of losing me again. You can’t get rid of me, Filip. I’m yours.”

He nodded his head, a sense of comfort washing over him any fears he’d had of tainting her or destroying her seeming way too far away to grasp. “I’m yours. Ye ain’ gettin rid of me either.”

She closed her eyes as he held her against him, rocking her against him soaking up the comfort of belonging to one another.

Her heart once again felt full.

She knew they would not part again. He was hers just as much as she was his.

She would never lose him ever again.

[mynameismckenziemae]

I Love You Two

Part 5

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley Bradshaw x OFC x Jake Seresin.

Summary: The guilt and worry eats you alive as the boys are deployed. Jake admits something you hadn’t expected when he returns.

Warnings: Adults (18+) only! MDNI! A little smut, acceptable (is that a thing?) cheating, m/m kissing and touching.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

The tears begin to stream from your eyes when Jake’s breathing evens out behind you.

Tonight was a mistake. Instead of curbing your appetite for Bradley, it’s made you that much hungrier. Worst yet, your feelings for Jake somehow deepened for him allowing this indulgence.

It takes hours for your racing mind to fall asleep and you don’t stir until Jake is gently shaking you awake.

“Morning,” he murmurs as you open your tear-swollen eyes, “were you crying, sweetheart?”

The concern on his face breaks your heart.

“Yeah,” you croak as a fresh round of tears prickle at your tired eyes, “I-I’m gonna miss you.”

It’s not a lie; you are going to miss him.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” he kisses your forehead, “but it shouldn’t be more than a week and a half, two tops.”

You nod.

“We were told we won’t have access to our phones but I’ll get ahold of you as soon as I’m back, okay?” He continues when you nod again, “I love you, Liv.”

Your heart skips a beat just as your stomach sinks.

“I love you too,” you force yourself to smile as you reply softly. It turns genuine at his own grin.

It’s true, you do love him.

But you love Bradley too.

“See you soon,” he presses a chaste kiss to your lips before heading to the door.

The sob that’s been choking you escapes when you hear his truck turn over in the driveway.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

There’s a ‘miss you already’ text from Jake but nothing from Bradley when you wake up a few hours later. Your head pounds from the interrupted sleep and dehydration as you text back but it comes back as undelivered. Already unreachable.

The following days pass in a haze. Not only are you sick with guilt, you’re worried. Uncle Ice can’t offer you much when you visit at lunch, just keeps telling you there isn’t any news yet. You pick up shifts at the Hard Deck to keep your mind off things but it doesn’t help either. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you can’t do anything besides think about what’s going to happen when they return.

Twelve endless days later, you get a text from Ice after you get home. He hadn’t been in his office at lunch and you’d been wondering if his absence was related to the mission.

Uncle 🧊: Just got word, they’re all back on the carrier.

Relief washes over you.

Liv: Thanks for the update. Everyone okay?

Uncle 🧊: Yeah. Rooster and Mav both had to eject. They’re bruised and beaten up but in one piece.

Your stomach rolls at the news. But Ice wouldn’t lie to you; if he says they’re okay, they’re okay.

Liv: Thank God.

Uncle 🧊: Agreed. Don’t make plans Friday night.

You smile; that’s his way of telling you when they’ll be back.

Liv: I won’t. Thanks for the update. Love you.

Uncle 🧊: Love you too, kiddo. Get some sleep tonight, you need it.

Liv: Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?

Uncle 🧊: No comment.

Liv: 🖕

You can’t help but laugh.

But you don’t sleep again that night, instead tossing and turning before coming to the conclusion that you need to end things with Jake and distance yourself from Bradley.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

Friday afternoon rolls around and you get a text from Jake as expected, but your stomach drops at what it reads.

Jake: Should be stateside around 5. Can I come over? We need to talk.

Liv: Sure. I’ll be home.

Jake: K, see you then.

Liv: Okay.

He doesn’t respond.

He knows. Bradley must’ve let it slip that you said you loved him.

You manage to hold off the tears until you get in your car and cry the entire way home.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

There’s a knock at the door a little after 6, and your broken heart still flutters.

Jake looks like he hasn’t slept in days, yet he still manages to look good.

“Hey,” you murmur, letting him in.

“Hey,” he pauses as he passes by you like he’s about to kiss you, but he thinks better of it. A fresh round of tears spring to your eyes.

He sighs as he sits on the couch across from you, rubbing his hands over his face.

“What’s-“ you start.

“I cheated on you,” he interrupts, his voice thick as tears fill his eyes.

His words twist the knife already lodged in your heart.

“What?” You whisper, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

“It-I-fuck,” he stutters uncharacteristically, running his hand through his hair. “I-“

“Liv!” Bradley pounds on the door, startling you both, “don’t listen to him! It’s my fault!”

You look to Jake in confusion as you rise but he just hangs his head.

“What’s going on?” You ask as you open the door, gasping when you see Bradley. His face is intact, but there’s a gash on his neck and deep purple bruising from his harness is visible where his collar is pulled down from the weight of his sunglasses. “Oh God, Roo.”

He gently halts your hand before you can touch him, grimacing as if the action pains him. “I’m fine, Liv, thanks to Jake. What did he tell you?”

“That-“

Jake interrupts again, “I told her the truth; that I cheated on her.”

“He didn’t,” Bradley shakes his head, “it was me.”

“No-“

“Yes, it-“

“Stop,” you cut them both off. “Start from the beginning. I don’t care who, I just want to know what happened. Tell me the truth.”

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

2 days prior.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, this is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seat belts, return the tray tables to their locked and upright positions, and prepare for landing,” Jake’s smiling voice comes through the comm.

His mom’s laughter, his dad playing the piano, your little gasps before he made you cum…those were the sweetest sounds Bradley’s ever heard, but Jake’s voice is right up there now too; he just saved his life. “Hey, Hangman, you look good.”

“I am good, Rooster. I'm very good. I'll see you back on deck,” Jake flashes them a grin before flying off.

The rough landing back on the carrier takes his breath away; already banged up from ejecting. But he’s alive.

There’s something deeper than gratitude in the look that passes between the two of them as Jake shakes his hand once he’s out of the jet.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of cognitive tests, x-rays, written and verbal reports, and a not-very-pleasant verbal lashing from Cyclone.

Bradley’s physically and mentally exhausted as he walks back to the bunks, wanting nothing more than to flop into bed and pine for you until he falls asleep. But the cheers that greet him as he walks into his and Bob’s room are deafening.

He smiles through the pain of the harsh back slaps, trying not to cringe too much when he gets squeezed on the shoulder in congratulations.

“Just a little,” Bradley warns as he’s handed a solo cup of smuggled booze. “I’m on pain meds.”

Phoenix rolls her eyes but doesn’t give him more than 2 fingers' worth of the smuggled booze.

“To Hangman,” Bradley swallows the lump that formed in his throat as he meets those green eyes across the small room. For everything; for healing your heart when he broke it, for bringing the joy back into your life, for kicking his ass into gear when he wasn’t pulling his weight in the squad, for allowing him to be a part of your life after he fucked it up, “for saving my life.”

Jake gives him a small smile in return, nodding once before they all take a swig.

The hours pass in a alcohol induced blur and suddenly, Jake and Bradley are the only 2 awake.

“Damnit Nat,” Bradley sighs dramatically, as he sways, spotting Natasha on his bed. “Floor it is, I guess.”

“You can’t sleep on the floor after today,” Jake yawns before he scoffs, as if the thought offends him, “you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. C’mon, you can sleep in Javy’s bed.”

“Where’s he gonna sleep?” Bradley asks, brow furrowed, almost falling when he follows where Jake’s pointing to Javy’s sleeping form on the floor. “Oh.”

“Let’s go,” Jake guides Bradley over the rest of the slumbering bodies to walk 2 doors down.

“I really thought I was a goner,” Bradley says softly, leaning back against the bunk when they make it there. “It was sort of peaceful,” he swallows thickly, “I was gonna get to see my mom and dad again. But then I thought of Liv-not like that…I mean like, how sad she would be if she lost her best friend and then…you were there.”

Jake gives him another small smile, uncharacteristically quiet.

Bradley laughs as he pushes off the frame of the bed. “You were there,” he cups Jake’s face in both hands, “You saved me, Jake.”

It’s meant to be a quick, ‘thanks for saving my life,’ peck between friends. Nothing more.

Jake tenses at the touch of Bradley’s lips.

“Shit, I’m so-“ Bradley starts as he pulls away but before he can, Jake’s fisting his shirt to tug him back.

They both groan as their mouths meet again in a rough, demanding kiss. Months of unresolved sexual tension are released between their tangling tongues and nipping teeth as Bradley backs Jake up against the wall.

“Fuck,” Jake pulls off Bradley's lips with a groan as his hand slides up his thigh before palming his hard cock roughly. His head falls back against the wall with a thud as Bradley’s mustache runs over his neck.

“God Jake,” Bradley breathes into his ear, “I want you so bad. Seeing you and Liv…”

It’s like they were doused with a bucket of cold water, both freezing at the sound of your name.

The horror is evident on Jake’s face as Bradley pulls back slowly, “Jake, wait-“

“I’m gonna be sick,” Jake pushes past him to the bathroom, making Bradley cringe at the sound of him emptying his stomach.

“You okay?” Bradley’s vision darkens as he bumps his bruised shoulder against the door frame of the bathroom.

“Fine,” Jake lies, voice thick, “too much to drink. Just-just go to sleep, Bradshaw.”

Bradley stumbles to the bottom bunk with every intention to talk about it in the morning.

But Jake’s gone when he gets up and avoids him entirely until they touch dry land.

“Hangm-Jake!” Bradley calls as Jake heads to the parking lot, “Let me talk to Liv, it was my fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” Jake replies, looking at the ground, “I gotta tell her the truth.”

“The truth is, we were drunk and I kissed you,” Bradley replies lowly, not to be overheard. “Please, just let me talk-“

“Bradshaw!” Cyclone yells from his office as he flips through the stack in his hands, “I don’t have your mission report here. I need that before you go.”

“Just wait for me,” Bradley pleads, unzipping his duffel to look for the report he knows he handed in.

“Lt. Bradshaw!”

“Fuck,” Bradley mutters as he looks up to Jake getting in his truck. “Coming, sir!”

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

You’re almost….relieved at the truth.

“It was my fault,” Bradley says with a sigh as he sits on the other end of the couch from Jake, “I-we were both drinking and it was just meant to be… like a peck on the lips as a thank you and-“

“And I turned it into more,” Jake finishes his sentence. “Stop lying for me, Bradley. I appreciate it, but stop. Please.”

Your mind is racing as you look between them.

Jake turned it into something more? Is he…

“Jake, do you-I mean, are you…into men?” You ask gently.

“I…” he swallows, still refusing to look at either of you, “I think I might be? But I’m also into women, obviously. Like, I’ve been attracted to guys before but never acted on it. Never felt the need to…act on it. Until now.”

Bradley looks just as distraught as Jake sounds.

Jake takes a deep breath and his shoulders shake as he exhales, finally looking up at you. “I fucked up, Liv, and I’m so sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, God knows I don’t deserve it. But I want you to know, I meant it when I said I love you.”

Tears again fill your eyes as you nod.

“But I can’t lie and say I don’t have feelings for Bradley too,” he stands. His voice cracks as he looks at him, and so does another piece of your heart, “I tried to ignore it for so long, but it all came rushing to the surface when we kissed. It’s not Bradley’s fault either. It was innocent and I turned it into more.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bradley shakes his head as he stands with a wince, “innocent or not, drunk or sober, or that I have feelings for you too. I shouldn’t have kissed you in the first place.”

“You both have feelings for each other?” You ask as you rise too, continuing when they both nod, “And you both have feelings for me still?”

“I’ve never stopped,” Bradley replies hoarsely, “I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Jake nods. “My feelings for you haven’t changed, Liv. I love you so much.”

“Okay,” you whisper, heart about to beat right out of your chest, “then show me. Together.”

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

A/N: sorry for the delay! I get horribly unmotivated on the weekends and just have been feeling blah lately. What did you think? Anyone see that coming?

Special thanks to @blindedbythelightt for the help with this one!

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I LOVE hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than anything.

Please let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) my taglist…and if I forgot to add you-it wasn’t intentional, just remind me and I’ll get you added.

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[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - "Pour Toujours"

Masterpost Read on AO3 - Sous Le Ciel de Paris

Author's note: This will be the last chapter of the main story, but it's longer than the others :). I will add an epilogue when I can get around to it, and I might continue doing drabbles when I have the time because I love them so much. For now, thank you so much to everyone who has read and supported this little AU throughout this Olympic season. It's been a lot of fun, and I hope you've fallen in love with these versions of the characters as much as I have.

Let's get on with some much needed damage control!

---

Believe it or not, John knows he fucked up. And he knows he fucked up bad. 

So he doesn’t really expect anyone to pick up when he calls Marge the day after the equestrian team was scheduled to land back stateside. He called Gale twice last night and got no answer. He knows he deserves that. 

He also knows he deserves the irritated “What do you want” when Marge answers her phone, but he’s shocked to hear someone’s voice on the other end of the line at all. 

“I fucked up,” he stammers out. 

She laughs mirthlessly. “Oh you figured that out did you?”

He tries desperately to explain what happened even though he knows it sounds weak. Even though he knows it doesn’t even begin to make up for the heartbreak he caused Gale. The heartbreak he caused himself. He tries to explain the way things ended in Paris, that he panicked, that he couldn’t think or breathe, that he felt paralyzed by the way everything crashed down around him and he was out of energy to hold it up. He tries to tell her, “It wasn’t just Gale. I wasn’t talking to anyone, Marge.”

That’s when she stops him, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s fed up with him and his stupidity or because those were the words that made her believe him. He knows the equestrians continued hanging out with the gymnasts long after he left. He’s glad for that, really. He’s happy that this ragtag bunch of Olympians found a lasting friendship with each other that would survive with or without him. He is. But he also wonders if they talked about him. He wonders what they said.

He wonders if he was simply the villain in this story, or if anyone came to his defense. He doesn’t know which possibility hurts more. 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” she tells him. She’s angry, but he hears sympathy in her voice, and that gives him the smallest bit of hope for fixing the mess he left in his wake. 

“He won’t answer me.” Texts. Calls. Nothing. 

“I know.”

Bucky nods and bites at his lip nervously. Of course Gale tells Marge about it. She probably knows every single thing that happened. She’s probably the one that had to pick up the pieces, listen to Gale wonder whether or not he should keep trying or simply let Bucky go. 

“Can you tell me where to find him?”

“You did to him exactly what he told you he was afraid of,” she accuses, instead of answering him. The frustration rises in her voice once again, and Bucky knows all he can do is sit there and hear it. He’ll take the blows, because they’re entirely his to take. He knows he deserves worse. 

“You let him get close to you,” Marge admonishes him. “You let him love you. God, John, he was so in love with you. Then when things got a little hard, you asked him for sex one more time and then you fucking left. You left, just like he was so worried you would, and you told him you’d call. But you didn’t. You just fucking disappeared. Do you know what that did to him?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Because he knows. He knows. And it breaks his heart to think of Gale hurting and confused and blindsided like that. It breaks his heart to know he caused it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, but it comes out so quiet he doesn’t know if she hears him. 

“He was sitting there, wondering what he did wrong, John. Wondering why he wasn’t good enough. Not understanding why you left. Not understanding if any of it was fucking real.” Marge scoffs. “I saw you together. Even I thought you would be good for him. And then you fucked it all up in the blink of an eye.”

“I know,” Bucky says, stronger this time. He wonders if Marge can hear the way his voice is thick with regret, tight with pain, the way it shakes because he wants nothing more than to put the pieces back together like they were before he blew it all up in their faces. “I hate myself for it, Marge. I never meant to hurt him, I was just so… fuck. I… I love him, Marge. You have to believe me. I love him.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Why?

That question rings in Bucky’s ears, resounding through his empty apartment like a ghost knocking on his walls. Why did he do it?

Why?

He sighs and puts his head in his hand, because he’s trying to work through it himself. He’s been trying to work through it ever since he left, and he keeps coming up short because there’s just so much. Too much to put together into any coherent explanation. Too much to sort through in his anxious angry brain. And none of it is an excuse and yet all of it is a reason. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to try to explain, but before he can, Marge cuts him off. “Don’t answer that.” She sounds as defeated as he does, sad and angry and hurt. Tired. He wonders how much damage control she’s had to run in the last week. It makes him feel sick. “I’m so pissed at you,” she all but growls. “But I understand, too.”

Understand?

How can she understand when he barely does?

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut against tears that are threatening to break free. He has never in his life been a crying type, but he’s barely been sleeping. He’s eating like shit, his knee is killing him with every move he makes, and his anxiety is at a peak. He misses Gale so much, and he’s filled with so much regret that it threatens to tear him in half, and he thinks that might be better than sitting here in this depressed sludge of his mind for one more moment.

He takes a deep breath in a pathetic attempt to control the nervous energy coursing through him. He glances at the medal boxes just sitting on his kitchen table. He hasn’t figured out where to display them, yet, so they sit there and taunt him with the globally celebrated feats that he might never be capable of again. Sure, they called him the greatest male gymnast of all time. But if he goes out now, like this, he’ll be nothing but a washed up has-been who stood on top of the world stage for one golden moment. 

Beside one of the boxes is a photograph – a legitimate, printed photograph. The one of him and Gale on that last good night before his rings final, when they sat cuddled together on his bed in the Village with their friends gathered in celebration. They each have a medal around their necks, Gale’s arm wrapped around him, holding him close. They look so happy. Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever been that happy in his entire life. 

Curt, in dramatic fashion, had the photo printed when he came home after closing, and he left it here for Bucky to stare at, in hopes it would remind him of what he needed to do. 

It worked.

“Where can I find him?” Bucky asks again. He presses his fingers to his lips and sniffs quietly, hoping she can’t hear it. “Please, Marge. I need to find him.”

Marge hesitates for a long moment, and Bucky fully expects her to hang up on him. He wouldn’t blame her. But then she sighs. He can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes, gathering all her mental strength. “I’m going to help you for one reason and one reason only,” she states. “He has never been as happy as he was with you. So I’ll give you one chance to get your head out of your goddamn ass.”

She gives him an address that he scrambles to write down, not even giving him a chance to repeat it back, like she’s decided that if he didn’t bother to listen carefully enough the first time then he’s not worth the trouble after all. He’s about to thank her profusely when she says, “Come today or not at all.” And she hangs up. 

He calls Curt immediately.

Curtis Biddick is the only person that Bucky has interacted with since coming home other than their coach and their team doctor. And that’s because Curt didn’t give him a choice. Because Curt knows he’s a goddamn self-destructive idiot that needs to be defused every hour on the hour so he doesn’t implode his own life. He stayed in Paris through closing, even though he did offer to go home with Bucky (to which Bucky said “fuck no” because he was not about to take this time away from his best friend). 

Curt texted and called him every day all the way from France, reminding him to eat or ice or heat or drink water. He sent him random shit to try to make him laugh, asked how he was doing, if he’d checked in with his therapist (to which he said no and Curt forced him to schedule an appointment right there and then). And if Bucky didn’t answer his calls, he’d call their coach to see if Bucky was in the gym. If he was, he’d insist on talking to him, and if he wasn’t he’d tell their coach to drop by Bucky’s apartment.

Bucky doesn’t think he deserves that kind of concern either, and he told Curt as much. But Curt looked like he wanted to slap him in the face through their facetime call, and he told Bucky that he may be stupid, but he still deserves someone to care about him.

His therapist says the same thing. 

Bucky can’t really comprehend that. He doesn’t see where in this equation he deserves any kindness. 

Even so, Curt was the one to confront Bucky about what he did to Gale. He was the one to tell him how much it destroyed the young equestrian, leaving him adrift and despondent. “He wasn’t the same the rest of the week,” he said. “Tried to hide it I think, but Benny said he was a wreck every night. Had to be dragged outta the room some days. Lost interest in a lotta things that he was used to doin’ with you, literally anything in the Village.” 

Curt was the one to emphasize the fact that everyone else was there to pick up the pieces of Bucky’s mess when he couldn’t be bothered. And he was the one to yell and rage at Bucky and tell him he was being ridiculous and selfish and flat out stupid. When he arrived home, the first thing he did was stop by Bucky’s apartment, thrust that photograph at him, and say, “John Clarence Egan, quit the goddamn pouting and call your boyfriend right fucking now.” 

So Bucky did. He called Gale right there while Curt watched. Gale just didn’t pick up. 

And why would he? Why should he? After days of nothing, in what world would Gale be won over by a single phone call? Bucky may not really know what to do about this whole love thing, but he knows it doesn’t come cheap. 

So now, even though he doesn’t owe Bucky a thing and Bucky probably owes him his life in exchange, Curt agrees to drop everything and drive Bucky the hour and a half to the address Marge gave him since the doctor wouldn't clear him to drive. “You don’t deserve me,” Curt tells him when he shows up at Bucky’s door for about the fifth time in two days. Bucky wholeheartedly agrees, and then Curt pulls him into a tight hug, and Bucky thinks maybe things will be okay. 

He keeps zoning out on the way there, thinking about all of it. The event finals, the sprain, the doctor telling him he might be done. He thinks about Gale’s face when Bucky said he was leaving, the way it fell even as he tried not to show how much those words hurt. He thinks about Gale trying to make light of the situation, and Bucky just… didn’t. He thinks about Gale texting him with less and less frequency because Bucky couldn’t dig himself out of his hole. The guilt hangs over him like a storm cloud. 

He thinks about Gale, and their time together in Paris, like a montage in a romance movie set to sappy music. Meeting him on the plane, seeing that beautiful blonde haired angel glance over at him so shyly. He thinks about the way they fell into each other’s lives like they were always meant to be there, like they were made for one another. He thinks about nights spent walking together under the beautiful Paris sky. Taking silly pictures and videos everywhere they went. Standing with his arms wrapped around Gale on top of the Eiffel Tower, looking out over a city of lights. 

He thinks about Gale’s arms around him, the feeling of his soft hair rubbing against his cheek when he buried his face in Bucky’s neck. He thinks about the sound of Gale’s heartbeat as they lay together in bed, little moments where nothing mattered but the two of them. He thinks about Gale’s little half smiles, and the times he let himself laugh so freely because of something stupid Bucky said. He thinks about the way he’d look at Bucky like he was an amusing puzzle he had to figure out, but also like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever set eyes on.

He thinks about Gale until it makes him want to cry again, because what on Earth has he done?

“You were right, Curt,” he says out of nowhere when they’re about 15 minutes out. “I think I made the biggest mistake of my life.” 

Curt reaches over to pat his knee. He tells him that all they can do is try. 

Bucky knows that none of it can justify what he did, but he was a complete mess after event finals. 

“It’s time to start thinking about what comes next, John,” the doctor told him that day in Paris, after he won gold on rings. He won gold, and in the same breath he fucked up his knee again. He was told his career might be over. Again.

“What do you mean?” he asked, even though he knew full well what she meant and it made him feel physically sick, the world tilting off-kilter around him, the ground simply falling out from beneath his feet.

“We have to see what the damage is, but we have to prepare for the possibility that your knee may never be strong enough to be competitive again. I’m sorry, John.”

Bucky felt like he was wading through quicksand after that, a ticking time bomb strapped to his back, weighing him down, counting down the seconds until self-destruction, except he didn’t know when that would be. He was getting kicked out of the Village anyways, since his events were over. The doctor told him he needed an MRI when he got back to the states, and he couldn’t stand waiting for it. He couldn’t stand the idea of trying to keep up with the energy of Paris when he couldn’t even walk and this possibility of an end was looming over him everywhere he went. 

He felt hollow.

Broken.

Scared.

He doesn’t like to feel scared. He doesn’t like to feel broken. He needed that MRI asap because he thought it was the only thing that could stop making him feel those things. 

Looking around the Village that day, he saw all the athletes celebrating and walking and running and biking and laughing… and he was stumbling his way back to his building alone, on crutches, trying not to fall apart. His swollen knee throbbed with every hobbled step. 

Who is he, if he isn’t a gymnast? What’s left for him to do?

The pain made him feel sick and the anxiety made him feel sick and the world swirling around him with the bright colors of the Paris Olympics made him feel sick. And then there was Gale. He wanted to see Gale, needed to see Gale. But his brain was all fucked at that point and he couldn’t think straight and he was so damn angry at everything.

At life. At the sport. At the doctors. At these other gymnasts and athletes who didn’t have to face a premature end to their careers for the second time. But mostly, he was angry at himself. He hated himself more than anything else.

What is he worth, if he’s not a gymnast? To the world? To other people?

To Gale?

So many people before only wanted him for his body or for his fame. So they could say they slept with World Champion gymnast John Egan, or that they went out with an Olympic medalist, like it gave them bragging rights to fuck an athlete that they didn’t actually bother to get to know. Like he was nothing more than a name and a piece of ass with a sweet smile and a few medals on his wall. 

He went along with it for a while. And over time, he started to believe that maybe that was all he was worth after all. Maybe he didn’t get that happy ending. Maybe he was married to his sport and everything else had to be secondary. Maybe he wasn’t worth getting to know. Maybe he didn’t deserve someone good, someone who loved him for him. 

Maybe he deserved all the bullshit he got. 

But that’s the thing: he knows Gale isn’t like that. He knows what Gale gave him was real and whole and for all the right reasons. He knows Gale cared about him in a way that no one else ever did. He knows it in his bones, better than he’s known anything in his entire life. Gale is the absolute antithesis of everything and everyone that spent years tearing Bucky down, and for the first time in Bucky’s life, he actually felt like he might get a happy ending after all. 

But after finals, Bucky was so lost in his own twisted mind, his own past, his own pain, that it didn’t matter what, rationally, he knew to be true.

As far as he could tell, if he wasn’t a gymnast, he wasn’t anything. 

It broke his heart to tell Gale he was leaving. It broke his heart to say goodbye. He had to walk away as fast as he could so Gale wouldn’t see him cry, hear the quiet sob that wrenched its way out of his chest. Because he didn’t want to leave. It was the last thing he wanted. But he’d already decided he had to.

When he made it home, he went to the gym once a day to see the kids there, talk to his coach, and check in with the doctor. Other than those few hours, he didn’t talk to a single person. He went quiet, just slipped away into the darkness. All his friends were still in Paris, living it up without him anyway. He answered Curt’s texts when he could stand the guilt, picked up the phone because he knew Curt would just send their coach to bang on his door if he didn’t. 

He stared at his phone every time he got a message from Gale, and he couldn’t bring himself to answer. 

And even now, he doesn’t know why. Everything just hurt too damn much and nothing made sense and maybe, somewhere, he really, legitimately thought Gale would be better off without him. He thought he didn’t deserve someone as beautiful and lovely as Gale Cleven. Because the truth is, not calling Gale hurt more than calling him would have, but maybe he deserved the hurt. 

He stayed alone in his apartment for most of the day every day. It’s a walk-up – not exactly easy to get in and out of on crutches. He ordered takeout for dinner every night because he couldn’t be bothered to cook and didn’t want to deal with the hassle of going out, and he didn’t eat much other than that. Mostly, he moped around, agonizing over his past and his future and debating over whether or not he should call Gale or if he’d fucked it up too bad at that point. All he wanted was to fall asleep in Gale’s arms, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. 

He slept a lot anyways, avoiding the life that tried to continue on around him. 

He got drunk one night as he watched the Olympics on TV and scrolled social media. Looking at all the posts about his re-injury and all the posts about his disappearance. All the posts wondering what happened and all the posts agonizing over a suspected “Clegan” breakup. He woke up sick the next morning. Didn’t do that again because, if nothing else, he refused to dip back into the way he went off the rails after losing his sister.

His sister. Who would be so disappointed in him, if she could see what had transpired in the last several days. His sister, whose death he still blames himself for. The only person other than Curt who ever knew how to ground him. Who made him so afraid of losing people he loved, so afraid that the people he loved would leave.

He also knows she’d smack him and tell him to get his act together. 

The day of closing ceremonies, he got his MRI results back. A full MCL tear. Getting that news helped Bucky to think clearly for the first time since he came home. It provided perspective on the situation, gave him something solid to wrap his head around after days of everything floating about as a “what if, what then.”

An MCL tear. Of the outcomes that were possible, this one is among the most manageable. The team doctor remains concerned that his knee may never be stable enough to compete. But she also told him that, if he lets his knee heal and sticks with a strict recovery regimen, it’s possible he’ll come back as strong as ever. Not guaranteed, but possible. 

Having that news gave him something to focus on, something to hope for. It helped get his feet back on solid ground, shoved breath back into his lungs. It finally slowed the way his head had been spinning like a nausea-inducing carnival ride ever since he left Paris.

During closing ceremonies, he pulled out the Team USA outfit and put it on – that badass racing jacket that he’d really been looking forward to wearing as he walked with Gale and his friends into the Stade de France. He took a picture of himself in it to post on social media, saying he may be at home, but he’s still celebrating his country with pride. He even managed to watch the ceremony on TV, and he saw his friends walk out into the stadium in the exact same outfit. His whole team was there – Curt, Croz, Alex, Brady – along with Benny, Marge… and Gale. 

He froze, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen, when he saw Gale walk out, the camera focused right on him. He looked like an angel as he smiled and laughed, his hair messily styled and his eyes bright. That racing jacket fit him perfectly, and Bucky knew they would’ve been the hottest couple in that whole stadium if he’d stayed. 

He wishes he’d stayed. 

The whole world fell in love with Gale Cleven this summer, but not a single person fell as hard as Bucky did. 

Bucky thought about texting Gale, telling him he looked great and he was glad to see him having fun. But then he realized how long it had been, how long he’d spent not texting because he couldn’t get his shit together. And he realized that Gale looked legitimately happy out there without him, and maybe it was better for Bucky just to… not. Better for everyone to move on.

And then Curt came home and absolutely fumed at him over his stupidity. He told Bucky that Gale was heartbroken, that even though he made the best of the ceremony, he wanted nothing more than for Bucky to text. That he wanted nothing more than to make sure he was okay. That as much as he was hurt, he was so goddamn worried, too. And that bit of information made Bucky shatter again.

He fucked it all up, and he is painfully aware of all of it. He regrets every second. Not that any of it is an excuse. But that’s what happened.

“Bucky?” 

Bucky realizes that Curt is saying his name, and he blinks and shakes his head, trying to snap out of it. He realizes that he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Curt’s car, gripping his good knee so tightly with his fingers that his knuckles are bright white. He looks at Curt.

“We’re here,” Curt says. He motions forward, through the windshield, and Bucky follows his gaze. 

They’re parked in front of a massive horse barn with a sign out front that reads Harding Eventing. Underneath, in smaller lettering, it says A U.S. Equestrian Facility. Lush green fields stretch out across the Earth on all sides, lined with black wooden double fences. To their left is another barn structure with windows lining the walls from end to end. The doors are wide open to reveal an indoor arena, a few horses and riders working inside. Beyond that is a perfectly maintained outdoor arena, enclosed by a low white fence with a blue judge’s box at the far end. Behind where they’ve parked the car, there’s a cross country course that stretches out further than Bucky can see.

The farm is buzzing with activity, horses being ridden around the grounds or walked in and out of the barn, grounds staff doing maintenance work on fences or gardens, people shuttling equipment inside from the trailers that had yet to be fully unpacked after arriving home from the airport yesterday. Bucky spots Kenny, carrying a covered dressage saddle inside that he presumes is Gale’s. 

Bucky opens the passenger side door and steps out onto the gravel driveway, taking it all in with a deep breath that smells like hay and sweet grain. Curt comes around from the other side and hands him his crutches.

“John Egan,” a vaguely familiar – and very displeased – voice calls. “The heartbreaker.”

Bucky looks up in time to see Neil Harding sauntering over to them from the indoor ring, a scowl on his face. Bucky tries to hold his head high and stand up straight, but the crutches make it difficult. He doesn’t smile in greeting, because he’s sure Chick knows everything.

He would be right. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kick you off my property right now,” Chick says. He stops in front of Bucky, standing tall with his arms crossed over his chest in a way Bucky can’t. It makes Bucky feel small for once in his life. Chick glances at his brace and crutches, but there’s not a lick of sympathy on his face. Not that he was expecting any. 

“Marge told me to come,” he replies.

Chick works his jaw as he stares at him, then glances at Curt. “Gale’s not here. You’re gonna have to wait.”

Bucky frowns. “Where is he?”

Chick motions to the woods beyond the edge of the farm property. “Somewhere out there. Been gone all morning.” He narrows his eyes at Bucky, his voice pitching low. “That’s what he does, you know. When he’s upset.” 

Bucky nods, because Gale told him that before. Told him that when he can’t stand the world anymore, when everything hurts too much, he takes his horse, and he goes out into the wild unknown. Just like he did as a kid growing up in the mountains. Just him and his horse and the Earth beneath their feet. No worries. No pain. Just the breath in his lungs and the sounds of the woods.

He’s been out there all day because of Bucky.

“How long has he been gone?”

Harding checks his watch. It’s 1pm. “About five hours now.”

Oh. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Harding shakes his head and shrugs. “Never know with him. You can ask Marge. She might have an idea.” He points into the barn and watches as Bucky and Curt make their way towards it. “John?” He says. Bucky turns back around, resting his weight on one crutch. “I’ll let him decide, because I know how much he loved you. But know that if I had it my way, you wouldn’t step foot on this property again.”

Bucky nods tersely, meeting Chick’s gaze. He’ll fight for Gale as much as he can, but in the end, if Gale doesn’t want him, he’ll go. No matter how much it hurts. 

He turns to go into the barn. 

Marge is standing against the door of one of the stalls in the middle of the long aisleway, chatting with someone on the other side. She looks up when she hears the tell-tale clomping of Bucky’s crutches on the rubber-matted floor, and she walks down the aisle to meet them halfway. She offers him a weak smile, and he feels relieved to have someone here not acting like they hate him, even though he wouldn’t blame her if she did. 

“Hey, Marge!” Curt says excitedly, walking up behind Bucky. “Long time no see.” As in, a couple days. 

Marge smiles a bit brighter at Curt and pulls him in for a hug. Then she glances over at Bucky, and she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Come here,” she says. He swallows and frowns, looking at her skeptically, but she holds her arms out, waiting, and he hops forward. Awkwardly, he wraps one arm around her while trying not to hit her with the crutch. She doesn’t seem to care, though. She hugs him tight and whispers in his ear, “I’m pissed at you. But are you doing okay?”

“Could be better,” he whispers back, and she rubs his upper back comfortingly before letting him go. 

When she steps away, Bucky realizes that Benny has stepped out of the stall she’d been standing next to, and he’s watching Marge hug him with distaste. Bucky nods to him. “Benny.”

Benny glares back, looking like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. Or like he wants to generally stab John in the neck. Who can really say. Instead, he looks at Curt. “Hey! What’s up, man?”

I deserve that, Bucky thinks.

Marge takes pity on him, though and pulls him aside so Benny and Curt can talk. “Gale’s been out all day,” she tells him. “Brooding.”

“I know,” Bucky says quietly. “Chick told me.” Then a terrifying thought pops into his head. “How do you know if he’s safe?”

For half a second, the entire planet is going up in flames around him. If he loses one more person he loves because he was caught up in his own shit…

Marge puts a hand on his shoulder, though, seeing his panic. She pulls out her phone and opens an app, waving it at Bucky. “We have a ride tracker. We turn it on when one of us goes out on the trails. It tells me his location, and it senses if he falls or something so I can get him help.”

“Has that ever happened?” Bucky asks nervously. 

“Once,” Marge shrugs. “He was fine, though. Fell off into the creek and broke a rib.” That… doesn’t make Bucky feel better. Marge points to Gale’s location on the app. “He’s heading home. I’d say 30 minutes, an hour at most, if he doesn’t decide to wander off somewhere else.”

—

Marge is kind enough to show Bucky around the immediate farm area – the barn and the indoor and outdoor arenas where they train and host the occasional event or dressage show. She even takes him into the tack room. “Basically that whole corner is Gale’s,” she says, motioning to a collection of saddle and bridle racks bolted into the wall in three-high columns. There’s two dressage saddles, two jump saddles, and even a western saddle. One of the racks sits empty, awaiting Gale’s return. Next to a cabinet full of saddle pads, polo wraps, and support boots, there’s an assortment of ribbons hanging on the wall, ranging in color and size, many of them pretty blue first places. 

“Whoa.” Bucky looks around, eyes wide at the amount of no doubt expensive equipment, meticulously organized and near spotless. “I didn’t know he had all this.”

“Not that you deserve to know,” Marge says behind him. “But Chick took Gale in when we were in college. Gave him a place to live in exchange for farm work. Horses to learn on. Prospects to train. Everything he could need to succeed. We all ride here, but the place belongs to the two of them.”

Bucky runs a hand across one of the dressage saddles, which he recognizes from that day Gale rode for him. “I’m glad he has someone like that.” A father figure. Someone to learn from and go to for help, someone who can show him the way after he spent so long fearing his own father and having to figure this life out on his own. No wonder Chick looked like he wanted Bucky’s head on a pike. 

As he looks at all of the ribbons on the wall, Bucky notices that, stuck to the cabinet of saddle pads and wraps beside him, there’s a number of photographs. All of them include Gale and one horse or another. One picture, newly taped up in the middle, is from Paris: Gale, Whiskey… and John. Together. Gale has a medal around his neck, and he’s laughing as Whiskey tries to play with it and Bucky kisses him on the cheek. It was taken by Kenny right after Gale's final jumping round. 

Bucky lightly rubs a thumb over the photo, and Marge watches him, but she doesn’t say a word about it. Gale’s only been back for a day. And yet he chose to stick this up there, where he can see it every time he gets his tack. Even after what Bucky did to him. 

Bucky feels so guilty, and at the same time, he feels butterflies in his stomach. 

When he steps back again, Marge starts to ask if he wants to see the beginning of the cross-country course, but then she looks at his crutches and thinks better of it. She asks if he needs to sit, but he says no even though his knee is killing him. 

So instead she takes him to Whiskey’s stall, which is marked with a brass plate engraved with the name “Hundred Proof.” There’s two pretty Olympic ribbons hanging on the outer wall along with a framed photo of Gale and Whiskey in front of Versailles. Someone, presumably Marge, taped two cut-out paper Olympic medals beside the ribbons, since Gale’s actual medals are no doubt being kept somewhere safe. 

The mare seems to recognize Bucky, the only other living thing here that doesn’t hate his guts right now, and he’s grateful for it. She stretches her head through the open top half of her stall door and nuzzles his arm, making him laugh and apologize for not bringing muffins this time. 

“Gale didn’t take her out with him?” he asks.

Marge shakes her head. “They all get a couple weeks off after the games. And Gale never takes her out in the woods for too long anyway. He wishes he could, but he can’t risk her getting hurt out there.”

Bucky tries to reach his hand up to scratch the mare’s nose without losing his balance on the crutches. When it’s just a bit too precarious, he carefully leans one of his crutches against the wall so he has free motion with one arm. Whiskey bumps his shoulder, as if to say, What the fuck did you do?

Bucky smiles sadly and closes his eyes as he pets the side of her face. “I’m sorry, girl,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.” He thinks about Gale, and the way he always goes to the horses when he’s upset. The way he tells them everything.

He wonders how much Whiskey knows, how much he’s told her, how many tears have been cried into that soft mane because of him. Or was Bucky not worth Gale’s tears?

Everyone keeps saying Gale was heartbroken when he left. Is that true?

Marge lets him stand there for a good while, just petting this horse that he at one point hoped would be a permanent fixture in his life. Gale once told him that horses are the best therapy, that they can absorb everything you’re feeling and just leech the pain away by their presence alone. It does make Bucky feel better, even as he feels the guilt enveloping him. I’m sorry, he thinks, over and over and over.

Then Marge tells him, “He’s back.”

They leave Whiskey’s stall and walk back out to the front of the barn, where sure enough, Bucky can see a horse and rider coming up the path from the woods beyond the outdoor ring. At first glance, he wouldn’t have known it was Gale, but as they come closer, a silhouette becoming real, he realizes he knows the set of those shoulders, the motion of those hips as the horse walks towards them.

Gale isn’t on a massive warmblood decked out in English tack. And he’s not dressed in the riding clothes Bucky is used to seeing him in – the tight riding pants and polo shirt cinched with a belt. Shiny black tall boots and a sleek Charles Owen helmet. Instead, he’s on a smaller gray horse in western tack with a saddle bag strapped to the back of the saddle, a water bottle jammed into the front pocket. He’s dressed in faded jeans, brown cowboy boots, and a white t-shirt that clings to his sweaty upper body. A  black cowboy hat hides his face in shadow.

In any other circumstance, Bucky would be absolutely drooling over this look.

Even through the shadow, though, he can see the way Gale’s eyes narrow, the way he hesitates when he sees him standing there with Marge. He can see the moment the surprise shifts to anger. When he hops down off the horse and pulls the reins over her head, Bucky waves awkwardly anyways. 

Gale looks at Marge. “You could’ve asked.”

She crosses her arms defensively. “You disappeared for the entire morning. He called.”

He looks at Bucky. “You called her?”

Bucky nods and opens his mouth to say something, but Gale puts a hand up to stop him. “I don’t wanna hear it, John.”

Bucky feels the little bit of hope that had been holding his heart together crack apart again. “Gale, I-”

“John, please.”

He hears the pain in Gale’s voice, and it kills him. He stands there, watching as this man he’s in love with walks right on past without a second glance, leading the little gray horse towards the barn. “Wait, can you…” But Gale won’t hear it, just keeps on walking. 

“Gale, please.”

Nothing. 

“I love you!” Bucky blurts out into the peaceful quiet of the farm, because if nothing else, he at least needs to speak that into the world. Gale stops, the mare halting beside him. Bucky goes on. “I love you so fucking much, Gale. And I-”

Gale takes his hat off and whips around. His face is angrier than Bucky’s ever seen in the few weeks they’ve known each other, and he points the hat at Bucky. “Don’t say that, John,” he warns. The mare jumps a bit beside him at the sudden motion, and the few people nearby try to act like they’re not watching them. Watching this train wreck, wondering what’s about to happen. “You don’t get to come here and say that to me. You don’t.”

“Gale,” Marge says calmly, stepping towards him. 

Gale turns on her, still full of anger. But something in his expression fades into pure hurt. “Why did you let him come here?”

Marge reaches out and pushes away the hat that he’s pointing at her, and Bucky watches him deflate the littlest bit. Gale takes a deep breath as he puts the hat back on his head, and he puts his hand on the mare’s shoulder. He mutters an apology to her and strokes her neck, calming her down.

“Cause you’re both idiots,” Marge tells him. She looks at Bucky when she says it, too. “You’re both being stupid. I know he hurt you, Gale. I’m mad as hell at him for it. But he was hurting, too, and you know that.”

Bucky… didn’t expect that. At all.

“He left,” Gale says quietly. He won’t look at Bucky. He won’t even look at Marge. He looks only at his horse.

Marge puts a hand on his shoulder. “He came back.”

“He threw me out like a piece of trash. Like he never gave a damn about me at all.”

Bucky might actually cry right now. He takes a deep breath and swallows against the lump in his throat to keep it from happening.

“I think you should hear him out,” Marge suggests. “Please?”

Gale glances back over at Bucky, who shuffles his feet and winces when he trips on a piece of gravel, sending a burst of pain through his knee that he’s momentarily worried will cause the tears to fall. Gale’s mouth does a weird thing where it kind of wants to smile at Bucky’s clumsiness, but he won’t let it, forcing it to frown instead. “Fine. It’ll have to wait until I get Lucy taken care of, though.”

Bucky nods hurriedly. “That’s fine,” he insists, cringing at the way his voice goes all high and desperate.

Gale nods once, turns on his heel, and starts heading for the barn again. Bucky scrambles to follow, tripping over the gravel on his crutches, and if Gale notices, he just keeps right on going without so much as looking over his shoulder to see if Bucky’s okay. Marge reaches out to steady him instead. “I’m gonna go meet Benny and Curt in the ring.” She points to the outdoor, where Benny is walking around in a circle on a horse that Bucky doesn’t recognize, chatting with Curt, who stands in the middle. “Don’t… say anything stupid.”

Bucky holds back a scoff. He’s the king of saying something stupid.

By the time he finally manages to hobble into the barn, Gale already has the gray mare, Lucy, hooked up to the cross-ties in the wash stall at the end of the aisle, bridle replaced with a leather halter. He’s heaving the saddle onto a saddle rack attached to the wall outside the wash stall. The saddle bags lay in a pile on the floor beneath it, empty water bottle discarded and tipped over on the rubber matting.  

Bucky leans against the wall, peering into the wide open wash stall with its temperature-controlled hose, overhead heating lamp, and cabinets full of supplies. These horses really are living in luxury. He looks at Gale again, taking in this rugged western cowboy version of him. “Didn’t know you still rode western, too.”

“Mmm,” Gale nods as he runs his hands all over Lucy’s body, checking for anything abnormal. “More comfortable for long rides.”

“You really just… go out there for hours at a time?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you need food? Water?”

Gale motions to the saddle bags. “Snacks. Horse treats. Water. First aid. We take a lot of breaks, too. Wade in the creek to cool off.”

Bucky stares at Gale’s hat, which is admittedly a really great look on him. “Shouldn’t you wear a helmet?”

Gale doesn’t so much as glance at him. “You don’t get to lecture me about safety.”

He walks around Lucy to grab the hose and adjust the water temperature. He sprays his hand first, waiting for it to get cold enough in this summer heat. Then he aims the stream of water at the mare, washing off the sweat and the dirt from the trails. He ignores Bucky as he does so, working his way down one side from Lucy’s neck to her back to her hind end. Then he moves to the other side to do the same. Bucky watches his every move.

“So, who’s this?” He asks.

Gale finally glances over at him, if only for a second, and it makes Bucky’s breath catch when those pretty eyes meet his. “Her name is Lucy. Lucy In The Sky. She’s an off-track thoroughbred. Little side project for me.”

“Side project?”

Gale frowns, like Bucky is a pesky fly that won’t leave him alone. He really doesn’t want to be dealing with him right now, but he doesn’t have a good reason not to answer questions about the horse, at least. He sighs as he wets a rag and starts using it to wipe the sweat off Lucy’s face, which she wholeheartedly protests against by throwing her head up higher in the air. He shushes her and gently guides her nose back down as he wipes around her ears. “She came through a local rescue after she came off the track last year. I’m entering her in the Thoroughbred Makeover in October. A competition for retraining retired racehorses. We’re doing eventing, but she’s been good with western tack, too. Been taking advantage of that I guess.” 

Before Bucky can say anything, he goes on. And that’s okay. Bucky’s heart feels light when he sees the way Gale smiles a little bit, playfully rubbing at Lucy’s nose the same way he does with Whiskey. “She’ll never be Olympic level. She’s already seven years old and needs too much work. But she’s a good girl. Sound mind. Adaptable. That’s why I take her on the trails. She’ll go far for the right person.”

“Not you?” Bucky asks. 

Gale shrugs. “We’ll see. Thinking of selling her. A lot of the makeover horses are trained to sell. But I don’t know if I can bring myself to.” Not after Apollo, goes unsaid. 

Bucky holds tight to the sound of Gale’s voice, feeling calm and safe just listening to him talk even though he knows, if he doesn’t manage to make this right, it might be the last time he ever hears that beautiful sound. They continue in silence after that, Gale using a sweat scraper to get all the excess water off the mare while Bucky stands there and bites his tongue. Finally, unable to hold it in anymore, he sighs and says, “Gale, I-”

“Not yet,” Gale cuts him off.

Bucky nods and bites down on the inside of his cheek, trying not to bounce or twitch with the anxiety running through him.

It’s another ten minutes before Gale so much as speaks to him. Kenny comes by and asks if Gale wants him to take Lucy to her stall, but he shakes his head. “Can you get Whiskey ready for the farrier?” he asks instead. Kenny nods. Then he waves awkwardly to Bucky, who awkwardly waves back, and he slips away without making eye contact. Because apparently everyone here knows that something bad happened last week in Paris. 

Gale walks Lucy back to her stall without another word, and Bucky follows. It’s the stall next to Whiskey’s, where Kenny is picking the other horse’s hooves out, and the two mares nuzzle each other as Lucy walks past. Once inside Lucy’s stall, Gale grabs some colorful bell boots that he straps over her hooves to protect her shoes, then sprays her all over with the bottle of fly spray hanging on the door. 

With one final scratch on the forehead, Gale tells Lucy to be good, closes the door, and he walks away again, putting a hand out to signal that Bucky should wait. He comes back a minute later with Lucy’s saddle and a small bucket of water. After he sets the bucket on the floor, he smoothly flips up another saddle rack by Lucy’s stall and slides the saddle onto it. A western saddle is a whole different beast from the English saddles Bucky saw in Paris. Bigger and more ornate, with patterns carved and stitched into the smooth leather. 

Gale looks at Bucky as he points to the tack box in front of the stall. “Can you open that up and grab the saddle soap sitting in the tray?”

Bucky nods, glad to be helpful, and does as he’s asked. When he opens the box, there’s a small tray laying across the top filled with various treats, grooming supplies, clippers, and whatever else Bucky can’t identify. Beneath it is all sorts of equipment. Lead ropes, a folded saddle pad, rolled up polo wraps, a grooming kit, a collection of various medical supplies for both horse and rider, a helmet. It takes a second to locate the little jar of saddle soap in the tray, but he does. He hands it to Gale, who unscrews the lid to reveal a small sponge, which he dunks in the water bucket before rubbing it around in the soap. He sets to work scrubbing the saddle.

“I threw some jolly ranchers in there this morning,” he says. “You can give them each one if they’re not melted.”

Bucky can’t hide his amusement, not that Gale’s looking at him. Muffins. Sour patch kids. Now jolly ranchers. Gale adds, “Whiskey likes green. Lucy likes red.” Because of course they have favorite flavors. 

Gale reaches a hand towards him, making a grabbing motion. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Color?”

“Blue.”

Bucky searches for the candy in the tray, picking out the correct colors and unwrapping them. He drops the blue one in Gale’s waiting hand. Both mares stick their heads out of their stalls when they hear the crinkling, and Bucky smiles as they pluck them out of his palm, lips twitching. First Lucy, then Whiskey, who shoves him in the shoulder again after she’s done. Kenny chastises her as he clips a lead rope to her halter. Bucky thinks he sees Gale smile the littlest bit, too. 

The groom opens the stall door and leads Whiskey out, down the aisle to the other end of the barn, and Bucky just stands there quietly on his crutches, watching Gale work. After a minute, Gale pauses, shifting the candy to one side of his mouth and biting down until it breaks in half. He looks back up at Bucky and motions to the box in exasperation. “You can sit down, Bucky. I know you’re in pain. I can see it all over your face.”

Bucky doesn’t know if he should smile or frown, but he nods. He closes the box and sits down, sighing in relief now that he can get the crutches out from under his arms and rest his legs – one in pain because it’s ruined, the other in pain from compensating.

He thinks about the fact that Gale just called him “Bucky,” not “John.” He wonders if that means anything.

They’re silent for a while again before Gale says, “I trusted you, John.” He doesn’t look up from the saddle, but his hand slows down as he says it, like admitting that fact takes up too much bandwidth in his brain.

“I-”

“No.” Gale puts a hand up. He scrubs at the saddle hard with the other, making soapy water dribble down across the leather. “I’m gonna talk this time. And you’re gonna listen.”

Bucky nods, shutting his mouth.

“I trusted you. I don’t take that lightly. I told you I wasn’t a fling kinda guy. I told you I didn’t just wanna mess around. I told you everything, John. Maybe I was naive to do that. But I… I thought we had something. I thought…” he shakes his head, and the hand holding the sponge drops away from the saddle. He lets the sponge fall into the bucket of water as he stands up straight again, hands on his hips. He takes the cowboy hat off his head and sets it on the box next to Bucky, and he wipes his arm across his sweaty forehead. 

He looks Bucky in the eye. “You said you were in love with me on national television. And then you left. You fuckin’ ghosted me. Do you know how much that hurt?”

“I know,” John says, his voice rushed and tight, panic rising up in him again as he’s faced with the very real possibility that he broke this beyond repair.

“You ended up being exactly who I wanted to avoid,” Gale says sadly, and that… that is a knife to the heart.

Bucky shakes his head, biting his lip as he takes a quivering breath. He reaches a hand out before he thinks better of it, and it drops lamely back into his lap. “No,” he says. “No. I’m not. At least, I swear I don’t want to be. Buck, I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how… God, it was the biggest mistake of my life, leaving you that way. I knew it when I left, but I felt like I had to. I have felt awful every single day, but…”

He runs a hand over his face, frustrated at the way his eyes feel wet again and his face feels hot. He looks at Gale desperately, and Gale stares back, waiting. So Bucky takes a deep breath, and he tells him everything.

He tells him about the doctor in Paris. About the potential for his career to be over. He tells him everything that was going through his mind then, the fear and the worry and the dread and the self-hatred. Self-deprecating words pounding around in his brain, screaming at him that everything was over. He tells him about going home, feeling sick with anger and regret, and the misery he felt every time he so much as thought about Paris or the Olympics. He tells him how he ghosted everyone, hiding away in his apartment. He tells Gale how he thought about him every single day, wondering if he should call or if it was too late. He tells him about Curt finally trying to talk some sense into him.

He tells him how much all of it hurt, and he couldn’t process any of it anymore. Couldn’t hold himself up. Couldn’t live under the expectations and the pity of a sport so focused on John Egan and his comeback. He couldn’t cope with the fear of losing Gale, along with everything and everyone else, so he pushed him away instead. 

“I’m not… the most emotionally well-rounded,” he admits meekly at the end. “I… I blew it all up, huh? That’s what I do, Gale. I self-destruct. Ask Curt, he’s been dealin’ with me for years.”

Some of the fight has gone out of Gale’s stance in the time it took for Bucky to beg and plead and sort through all the fucked up emotions he’s been feeling in the last week. Bucky feels like he’s been talking for hours; he doesn’t know how long it’s actually been. A good ten minutes at least. “I wanted to be there for you,” Gale says. “I loved you.”

Bucky nods and rubs a hand over his face. He tries not to get stuck on the word “loved,” past tense. Not present. “I know. Now. I couldn’t really understand that before.”

“I was a wreck after you left.”

Bucky looks up at that, and he feels a wave of emotions crash into him when he sees the pained expression on Gale’s face. Pity and sadness and betrayal. But also love.

“The others held me up. I tried to have a good time, and I did. But I… I was a mess. Couldn’t think straight. Marge and Benny probably had to pull me up off the ground a few times. Whiskey probably got sick of me cryin’ on her.” Gale looks embarrassed to admit it, and it pains Bucky to hear it. But he’s glad that Gale is telling him, in a way. “And even then,” Gale chuckles, shaking his head as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Even then, I just kept worryin’ about you. Hopin’ you were okay. All alone here.”

Regret sinks deeper into Bucky’s chest. He knows he should’ve called. Should’ve at least told Gale he was alright.

Except he wasn’t. Neither of them were. 

Because the moment they met, they became parts of a whole. And Bucky went and ripped them apart in a way that would never let them be whole on their own again.

Bucky scoots over on the tack box, dragging his crutches around to lean them against the wall of the stall beside him. Gale hesitates, but he grabs his hat, puts it back on, and sits down. Their shoulders press together. They can hear each other’s breathing. Uncertain. They both stare at the floor below, avoiding eye contact again. “I really, really didn’t mean to hurt you,” Bucky says quietly.

“You told me you didn’t know how to do this,” Gale recalls. “Relationships.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Bucky insists. He never thought it was an excuse, even when he couldn’t get his head on straight. 

“No,” Gale agrees. “But you have to learn somehow.”

Bucky glances over at Gale’s knee, where his hand is resting, palm up, waiting. He looks up at Gale’s face – the way he’s biting nervously at his lower lip like he’s the one that needs forgiving – then back at his hand. Carefully, Bucky twines their fingers together, and he closes his eyes in pure, unfiltered relief at the feeling of Gale.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he thinks aloud. 

Gale shrugs. “That’s not for you to decide.” Then he admits, “I missed you at closing. We all did. Even other athletes kept askin’ me about you.”

“Looked like you were having fun.” All the athletes seemed psyched for the celebrations at the end of the Games, decked out in their closing ceremony uniforms, many of them wearing their medals. All the countries were hanging out and having their picture-perfect moment together in the Stade de France, celebrating each other with breathtaking musical and dance performances to wow the world. It was a whole massive party over there, Paris style. Bucky is still disappointed that he made himself miss it, but he isn’t sure if being there would have been better or not.

Would Gale and his friends and the magic of Paris have pulled him out of his little mental storm cloud? If he’d stayed?

Gale shrugs. “It was fun. We had a great time.” Then he looks at Bucky, and Bucky looks back. Blue on blue. “I still wished you were there every second.”

“I wished I was, too.”

Gale swallows and nods, letting that sit. Then he motions to Bucky’s screwed up knee with his free hand. “What’s the verdict?”

“MCL tear.” Bucky presses lightly on the joint, feeling the sharp twinge of pain. “Shouldn’t need surgery this time.” He sees the question in Gale’s eyes when he says that, and he smiles weakly, but it doesn’t hold. “If I’m lucky, and if I behave myself, it’ll probably heal well enough to keep competing. Big ifs, but I’m gonna give it all I’ve got.”

“Give it enough time to heal this time,” Gale advises. 

Bucky nods. “I plan to. I’ve got four years this time instead of one.”

Gale hesitates, flicking his eyes away, then back to Bucky, away again. “I want you in LA with me,” he finally says. “We’ve both got more medals to win.”

Bucky’s heart swells, and he smiles, for real this time. “I want that, too.”

When Gale’s eyes find his once more, he squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Can you say it again?” 

Bucky furrows his brow. “Say what?”

“That…” Gale bites his lip. “That you…”

Bucky’s smile goes crooked in that cute, dorky way that Gale first fell in love with. He reaches his free hand up to take Gale’s hat off his head, so he can see those perfect blue eyes. Then he strokes back the strands of sweaty hair stuck to Gale’s forehead, and he rubs his thumb across his jaw. “Gale Cleven,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I love you. I love you so much. Je t’aime pour toujours.”

Gale quirks an eyebrow, surprised at the french. “Pour toujours? That’s a long time.”

Bucky squeezes his hand. “I will love you for as long as you let me. If you’ll take me back.” 

Gale’s eyes flutter closed, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. When he opens his eyes again, Bucky knows for certain that everything is going to be okay. Gale’s fingers play with the soft curls behind his ear, and he looks at him like no one has ever looked at Bucky before – with deep, dedicated love. “For forever?” he asks. 

Bucky nods. “Pour toujours,” he repeats. His pronunciation is a bit off, even though Gale can tell he spent a long time practicing, and that makes Gale smile.

“Ever the drama queen,” he teases.

“I mean it, doll,” Bucky insists. He leans in and kisses Gale gently, softly. With love and care. A promise. Everything that the kiss before he left Paris wasn’t. When he pulls away, he says, “Meeting you on that plane was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Gale rests his forehead against Bucky’s, then he untangles their fingers and stands up. Bucky watches, worried for a moment, but Gale extends his hand towards him. Bucky takes it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Gale steadies him, making sure his knee is okay, and then he closes any remaining distance between them. He wraps his arms around Bucky, nuzzling against his neck like the shape of it was made just for him. Bucky’s hands instinctively move down to hold Gale’s waist, like they belong there. And they both just rest against each other, holding each other up. Putting each other back together, right in the middle of one of US Equestrian’s greatest training barns.

The summer heat is suffocating, and it smells like hay and grain. Gale is sweaty against him. Birds chirp in the overhead rafters. Lucy is stretching her head out as far as she can over her stall door in an attempt to nuzzle at Bucky’s hair, and she knocks his crutches over in the process, momentarily scaring them all. Bucky can hear voices and the clip-clop of hooves as Curt, Benny, and his horse walk back into the barn. But he and Gale stay right where they are, and Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you, too,” Gale whispers against Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m still mad at you, just so you know. But I love you so much it hurts.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and buries his nose in Gale’s soft hair. “It doesn’t have to hurt anymore. I’m here. I’m not leaving. I promise.” 

He wants to stand here and hang on tight forever. 

Pour toujours.

And for the first time, he really, fully believes that forever with Gale Cleven is exactly what he wants. Not only that, but it’s something he deserves. It’s something they both deserve. And it’s something that they can have, if they choose.

Paris was only their beginning. This, right here, is the start of their future.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Could you do, "They told me you left." With captain syverson, please? ❤️

of course babe! xo

You heard a deep, gruff sounding Southern accent drawl out your name, causing you to spin around on your heels, turning to face the man the voice belonged to. You raised an eyebrow upon realizing it was Luke Syverson, the last person you ever expected to see here. "They told me you left. Yesterday morning, actually," you said softly, your eyes fixated on him, committing his face to memory in case this impromptu reunion is the last of its kind. "I did, sort of," Luke nodded, taking his sunglasses off and resting them atop his head. He looked around outside, frowning as he noticed the expression on your face, "I figured you'd be happy to see me though." "I would be under any normal circumstances, but the fact that you're not on the plane to Iraq right now tells me either something is wrong, or you didn't get medical clearance to go back over." "Something is wrong, I'll give ya that much." "Care on sharing it with the rest of the class, Luke? Or just gonna keep it to yourself and let me guess?" Luke's lips curled up into a mischievous grin. He shook his head with laughter as he looked at you, his blue eyes meeting your gaze for a split second before breaking contact. He shrugged his large, burly shoulders before continuing. "I mean, it's not like anyone's gonna die over it serious. Just...I needed to tell ya something." "I'm listening." "Look, Sugar, I like you. I don't tend to like too many people, I'm sure everyone's told ya. But, I like you. I don't go handin' out nicknames to just anyone. I've been callin' ya Sugar for months now. Don't ya think that means somethin'?" "It means you like me enough to give me a pet name, so what? My best friend and I call each other "babe" all the time." Luke let out a frustrated, strangled sounding groan as he shook his head again. He held out his large hands in front of him, gesturing for you to stop for a moment so he could recollect his thoughts. "Let me try again, ok? I like ya, Sugar. I want to see where things go for us. I managed to extend my leave by a few weeks. I'm not needed over there just yet, and when I found out, the first thing I wanted to do was see ya, see that pretty lil' face of yours and hold ya close, that kinda thing. That's not how I normally am with people, you know?" "Luke, are you trying to ask me out?" "Trying and not succeeding, yeah." "Yes." "Yes?" Luke raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Sugar, I'm not following ya." "Yes, I'll go out with you, Luke," you said with a laugh, shaking your head as you wrapped your arms around his neck, gently pulling him down for a kiss. Luke wrapped his strong arms around you tightly, his lips finding yours in a hungry, passionate kiss. His beard tickled your lip as your tongues became entangled with one another, the fiery heat between the two of you burning brighter and hotter with every passing second. You'd been wanting this, longing for it and dreaming of it for weeks since you were introduced to him by a mutual friend at a barbecue earlier this summer.

Luke had come home on leave, and not having a family to come home to, his high school best friend, who had married your own best friend while Luke was deployed overseas, had invited the two of you over for dinner one night. Drinks were shared, stories told, and sparks flew instantly. Luke, to his credit, had been nervous about starting anything with someone, unsure how long of a stay stateside he'd get to have before being called back. However, the chemistry between you both was too much for anyone to deny. You'd let him go, not wanting to create issues for him while he was away, but knowing that you'd spend every day waiting for a friendly teasing email from him, signed off with a flirty little salutation at the end. Now, however, Luke was yours. You had a few weeks to prepare yourself before seeing him off, but, you knew that you'd savour every moment together - making it impossible this time for either of you to leave without needing to say goodbye.

[hyperfixiation-station]

The Filler Fics Pt.1

Beach Day Pt.1- Travel

Part 2

TW: Canon divergence, military inaccuracies, mentions of injuries/hospitals Inspired by @shyravenns art Summary: This is the first of many sitcom-style filler fics. Yk, the ones where they go to the beach, or go to the store, etc, etc. I am open to suggestions, as I don't really watch sitcoms, so please comment or request or DM me ideas!! This one is, of course, a beach-day fic that I have spilt into 2 parts. this is the getting there portions, pt.2 will be the beach :) WC:1080

It had been a long few months. The threat of global annihilation, the hunt for Makarov, Soap getting shot, it was just a lot, and they all needed a break.

Price had watched Gaz and Ghost spend night after sleepless night at Soap’s bedside, refusing to do anything until the Scotsman woke up. And he had been right there with them, although Ghost wouldn’t talk to him, the Lt. still pissed that Price’s actions, or rather inactions, may have gotten Soap killed. Price couldn't blame him. It’s not like he hadn’t been fixated on that one moment, mentally berating himself for stopping Soap from killing Makarov in the first place. He would have gotten in a shit-load of trouble for it, but anything would have been better than…well, he didn’t even want to think it.

The team couldn’t take another loss so soon after Roach’s death. Price knew that. Knew that if Soap didn’t make it his team would fall apart. And it would be his fault. 

Thankfully, Soap was alright. He’d woken up a little disoriented, with no recollection of the week leading up to his…head wound. Other than some faint ringing in his ear and occasionally bouts of dizziness, he was alright, much to the relief of his squad members. However tensions were still running high. Just because the Scotsman was awake and talking didn’t mean the very real fear that his friends had felt over the past few weeks had vanished.  

There were nights Price found himself studying Soap, watching the rise and fall of his chest proving he was alive. He’d seen Ghost reach up from his bunk and grab the Scot’s wrist, checking for a pulse after waking from what Price assumed was a nightmare. Things got a little better once Soap didn’t have to wear gauze over the wound anymore, but the scar was still an ugly reminder of what had almost happened.  

Soap was constantly mother-henned now, not allowed to do training, having meals brought to him, never going anywhere by himself. It was starting to piss him off, and Price could see it. Tensions were running high, and it was only a matter of time before someone snapped. 

“Give the boys some time off, time away from the battlefield. Time to recuperate and settle back in. They’ll be okay.” Laswell told him at their bi-weekly meeting they hadn’t had in 3 months. Price booked 4 flights and a week-long stay at a beach-house off the Coast of California that same night.

However, the flight left in 5 hours and he still hadn’t told his men. He moves through the base, heading towards the rec room that he knew they hang out at, hoping they are all in one spot. 

Aaaaand bingo!

 Ghost is sprawled out on the couch, Soap sitting on the floor, leaning against his thigh, with Gaz in the armchair opposite, watching some stupid show on the little TV they have. Price can’t help but stare at the long, inch wide streak where Soap’s hair hadn’t quite grown back, a grim reminder of how close he came to losing one of his men. His eyes are drawn from Soap's skull by Gaz’s laughter, the man's head tilted back, shoulders shaking at something that was said on the T.V. 

The show cuts to commercial, and Price figures it’s as good a time as any to cut in. 

“Alright boys, pack your bags. We’re going stateside.” All three of them look up at Price in varying degrees of confusion, “Laswell decided after Soap's near-death experience we all needed a little R&R, so we’re heading to the beach.” 

“Ah’ll finally get tae see that ‘impeccable bronze’, eh Lt?” Soap nudges Ghost, a grin splitting his face.

“We’ll see Johnny.” 

“The beach, captain?” 

“Yes Gaz, the beach. You got complaints, go talk to Laswell.” 

“Hey, no complaints here sir! Just makin’ sure.”

“Good. Because we leave in an hour so you don’t have time to complain anyway.” 

“An hour??”

“No time f’r y’r beauty regime, Gaz.” 

“Ah shaddup, just cause you’re jel-”

“Boys! Get to going!” 

“Aye sir!” Price shakes his head as he watches them file out, Gaz and Ghost subconsciously sandwiching Soap in between them. The Scot shoves Gaz, his shoulders shaking as the shorter man lets out an angry squawk.  Things have been tense, sure, but he can’t help his smile as his boys walk off, alive and well. 

Ghost hates flying. Well, sort of. Military transport ain’t bad in his opinion, but when he has to fly commercial? With civilians? And screaming babies? He hates it. Hates it hates it hates it. 

He's dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, a black surgical mask adorning his face. HE may have gotten comfortable with his team seeing his face, but the rest of the pubic had not lived through numerous near death experiences alongside him, and thus did not get that honor. Covid had at least helped with the stares, nowadays no one really batted an eyes at him, which did, surprisingly, ease his discomfort.

He shifts in line, sandwiched between Gaz and Soap as they wait to board. Soap is turned slightly, placing the scar on the side of his head directly in Ghost's line of sight. Gods he wishes he could look anywhere else. But its to no avail. No matter how many time Johnny had reassured him he was 'okay', Ghost couldn't get the image of his teammate, his brother-in-arms, his friend unconscious in his own blood, out of his head. He just couldn't.

Yeah, sure, he should have told the court-mandated therapist about that, but the she wouldn't have signed off on him going back to service and then where would he be? That right, no-

"Ghost!" He's snapped out of his reverie by Price, who is giving him the look. Whatever. Price should know by now that he wasn't gonna spill his guts to anyone, much less someone with the power to kick him off the team.

He hands his ticket to the attendant, mumbling a 'thank yo' before following along after Johnny, hands shoved in his pockets. Johnny takes the window seat, so he takes the aisle, condemning Gaz to the middle. Besides, he was the only one that would fit there anyways.

The plane takes off and, as if on cue, a baby starts screaming in the front. Ghost sighs and slouches in his seat. This was going to be a looooong flight.

Let me know what you think:))

[that-one-random-writer]

Rowdy Romance

Masterlist | A Southern Jake Series Here

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x (Southern!F)Reader

Part 2

Summary: You are visiting with a friend and find yourself alone in the Hard Deck. You're both what he was expecting and not.

Warnings: Cursing, flirting, mentions of shotgun, bull riding, and one hunting reference to killing and preparing a deer. Word count: 1,291

The Hard Deck was full. The sun had dipped down below the water line. Your vacation had slowed down. Your friend had made plans with her husband. She was visiting while her husband was stateside.

He had been on deployment for the last year. You had come with her for moral support when you both would have to leave without him.

You found yourself at the beach during the day and spending your nights out sight seeing alone. You can't blame her for spending all her time with her husband.

The couple had just a few more months until he would be back home before being restationed. You weren't excited because she would be moving back out to wherever he was stationed, but at the same time you are excited for her.

You found yourself at the bar that all the locals raved about. Each store owner, that you had spoke to that day, all said that Friday nights were spent at the hard deck. You were at the bar sitting in one of the bar stools. A few locals, and khaki uniformed men had offered you a drink.

There was no interest. Daddy had always said "if he can't skin a deer then how is he gonna feed you when the government crumbles?" Old Southerners still remember the great depression and hold the doomsday prepping dear to their hearts.

You had noticed the sign and kept your phone off the bar. It laid in your back pocket of your dazzled jeans. They had rhinestones in the shape of bull heads. You had an old, tight wife beater top on that cropped a little above your belly button. You looked very out of place in San Diego. You caught a few eyes for that very reason.

The next pair to land on you leaned his arm against the wood beam. "You're from my neck of the woods. Miss, How'd you find yourself up here in California?" His drawl thick.

Your eyes caught sight of the mystery man looking up slowly. His khaki uniform definitely added a nice touch to the voice he carried. "I'm here for a friend of mine." You didn't go into too much detail.

"Well I'll have to thank your friend for sending an angel my way. Can I buy you a round as a welcome to California?" You smiled softly. "Jack on the rock." He smirked. "Your daddy must carry a shot gun wherever he goes for an order like that." He chuckled. "Yes sir, it's on the rack in his truck, or in his hands."

"Penny, can I get two jack on the rocks please?" She smiled. "Sure thing, hangman" your lips curl up. "Hangman... is that what your called round here" His classic smirk finds it's way toward you. "Yes ma'am. That's my call sign."

A small giggle erupts. "I'm not even gonna ask." His smirk still showing. "It's better that you dont." You break the touch barrier slapping his arm softly. "Honey don't say that. You'll make me want to know." Your Laughs strike between your words.

He grabs the two glasses from Penny. "Thank you, Miss Penny." You call out as she goes to the next customer. She smiles and waves as a you're welcome. "Come on, we're gonna go out by the beach." You follow him.

"I told you not to bet him dumbass." Pheonix chuckled at coyote. "Rooster had spent five minutes trying to serenade her, and the new guy tried buying her a drink too." Pheonix popped up. "Thanks for the piña coloda, FNG" pointing to the Fucking New Guy. Coyote continued. "She had walls up to the roof. There's no way he could have got her in 5 minutes flat."

Pheonix laughed resting her chin on her knuckles. "He just did." She scrunched her nose up. "He is an asshole but he is good at picking up women." She flicked a straw wrapper at Rooster chuckling at him. They all began playing pool, and the guys keeping a check on hangman judging his game, making bets on if you would end up going home with him by the end of the night.

Your eyes followed the shoreline, meeting up to the stars. Lights lined the edge of the patio. You stood at the rail leaning in to smell the saltwater, and hear the waves crashing. "Your Jack." He handed your drink to you. "So you know my name, what's yours?" You took a sip of your drink, and tell him your name. "But you can call me, Minnie. That's what they call me back home." You smile brightly.

"Where does that come from?" He leaned against the rail next to you. "Oh no no, if you want to know mine then you have to tell me yours, hangman." Eyebrow arched searching his eyes for a back story. He chuckled and flashed a genuine smile. "Well, I'm a pilot and we get call signs. They call me Hangman, but the 'a's are blank so you can fill them how you like. Thats how I got it." He looked down finishing the innuendo. You laugh wickedly.

"Hungman, How many California girls has that really worked on? How did you actually get that name?" His head shook, chuckling. "Okay, okay, my friends say I hang them out to dry in the sky. They are exaggerating, they're fine. I got their backs. What about you, Minnie?" He looks out to the ocean then back to your eyes.

"My family owns a farms in Texas. When I was about three, I walked around the farm in nothing but a diaper and Minnie hat. They called me 'Minnie', and it stuck." You giggled at the memories of the picture with chickens crowding around you with your Minnie hat on. "Texas? You around the Rusk area?" You nodded. "We're out in Lufkin."

"No way, my family has a pretty big cattle ranch out in Rusk. Small world." Your eyes widen. "The Seresin cattle ranch?" He almost spits out the sip he had just taken. "Umm," he chuckled through the next few words. "Yeah, that's it." He met your eyes again. "My family moved their farm to Lufkin about six years ago, we go to the rodeos and see your family there every year. I've been bucked off jóse a few times. We have had dinner over at their house. They mentioned they had a son in the navy. I'm guessing your Jake..." You trail your words.

"That's me." He chuckles, thinking about you riding on Jóse the bull. "Your momma is so proud of you. Your daddy is too." You smile thinking about how much his momma had to say about her baby jake. "She never got around to show me a picture, but she was very adamant that you are handsome and single." You took your stare back to the water to keep the burn of the cheeks down. "One of them is right.. " You trailed.

He placed a hand at the small of your back leaning against the rail with his other arm. Your bare skin tingling where his hand was. "Both of them are." He smirked while glancing down your curves. "I'm guessing these California girls ain't amounting to what you thought they'd be." He spoke slowly while playing with the hem of your shirt. "No ma'am, they are not." Your eyes met his, and you rounded into his arms and placed your hand on his shoulder.

He leaned up, allowing him to pull you closer to him, his arms wrapped around you. Your southern drawl thickened. "Well, I guess you better find yourself a cowgirl." Your Eyebrow raised, and a smirk crossed your lips. "I think I found one."

No permissions to share the story as your own. Do not repost to any site. Don't steal from aspiring authors that makes you a 'C U Next Tuesday'!

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (March 24-30, 2024)

A coworker asked tonight me how Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire measured up to Godzilla Minus One, and I responded, "Almost as good, but in a completely different way." If you like monsters (and if you're following me I have to assume you do), see it, no questions asked. There's about a million of them and they're all delightful. The franchise has long struggled to recapture the specific charms of the Showa era, and I think this comes closer than any of them. (It's the climactic tag-team battle... also Mothra returning to knock some sense into Godzilla). Pure junk food, but you can't just watch Oppenheimer all the time.

Godzilla x Kong tore up the box office this weekend, performing well above expectations. Its $80 million opening Stateside was the second-best of the Monsterverse (after Godzilla). It added another $114 million internationally for the best overall opening of the (still-young) year. China was a big part of that with $44 million; giant monster movies are among the few Hollywood imports that still play well there. With a $135 million budget, lowest of the Monsterverse by a wide margin, it's a matter of when, not if, Legendary announces the next one.

The Oxford English Dictionary has added an entry for tokusatsu, defined as "A genre of Japanese film or television entertainment characterized by the use of practical special effects, usually featuring giant monsters, transforming robots, and masked and costumed superheroes." It's part of a group of 23 freshly-acknowledged Japanese loan words; unclear if the timing is coincidental. Oh, and if you're curious, they added kaiju in 2018. As someone who remembers when the only English-speakers who used either word were in fandom, it's pretty wild to see.

French company Extralucid Films will release Gappa on Blu-ray in June. The impressive-sounding bonus features are naturally all in French, but there's one that transcends language: 17 minutes of extra monster footage. The U.S. version of Gappa, Monster from a Prehistoric Planet, only has about 7 minutes worth of shots absent from the Japanese version, so I'm pretty curious about the other 10. It's also the first time this footage has been released in HD (Tokyo Shock blew it in 2020).

Season 2 of Chibi Godzilla Raids Again is indeed receiving official English subtitles, starting the same day as the Japanese premiere, April 10. Godzilla Battle Line also added a hilariously busted joint Chibi Godzilla-Chibi Mechagodzilla unit, along with a Destoroyah variant. (Maybe Godzilla x Kong units are next month?)

A new Monsterverse movie means new books to buy. The prequel comic Godzilla x Kong: The Hunted is out already (not recommended), but officially you'll have to wait until April 23 for the novelization and May 14 for the art book. Chalk that up to the late release date change, maybe. Unofficially, people are already getting the novelization from Amazon, because they're a monopoly that can afford to pay the fines from publishers for breaking street date. The audiobook version also released on the same day as the film. I don't have intel on what it adds and changes yet; adding everything from the film itself to Wikizilla is all I can handle right now.

The San Francisco Giants are offering a Godzilla VIP Experience on May 17, a long-overdue acknowledgement of the savior of their city. Tickets are almost gone, though I think it's a shame that the promotion is opt-in to begin; what happened to giving these tchotchkes out to the first thousand fans? Well, figures that they'd make getting merch of the Minus One Godzilla in the States a hassle.

[ohtobeleah]

Hangman would have seen you and Rooster hugging tho. Jealousy, jealousy?

For those who haven’t been following along—This is just a really fun series I’ve been concepting. The Masterlist is here.

Oh for sure he did! And he wasn't going to not bring it up the second he had a chance to either. Jake Sersin had seen his wife in the arms of Bradley Bradshaw out the front of the Hard Deck. He’d seen a few seconds of what could only be described as a friendly encounter with an acquaintance. A nice acquaintance at that. But there was never any malice intention or underlying feelings. But what did Jake know? Only what he could see and what he saw was his wife in the arms of another man. Someone other than himself.

“You know I saw you and Hawk at the Hard Deck Bradshaw.” His muscles hurt but he’d never admit it. Up, down, up, down. Right on cue every time. “Care to explain why you’re all over my wife?” Rooster cast a shadow down over Hangman. His body eclipsed the sun that beamed down on his back. Smirking, Rooster couldn’t help but to chuckle. Did he smell jealousy? Perhaps.

“Picturing me thick as thieves with your ex-wife not sitting right with you Hangman?” Rooster teased as he watched Hangman doing his push ups after Maverick had got tone on him, Phoenix and Bob. Crouching down as he let his forearms rest on his thigh. “We were just having a chat, nothing more to it man.”

“What happened between you two anyway?” Bob, the Weapon Systems Officer is questioned between his staggered push ups. “Lieutenant Commander Seresin seems nice, don’t really know why she’d go for a guy as egotistical as you to begin with Bagman.”

“You’ll never be able to love me more than you love flying.” Scrambling around the house as you threw things into the open luggage bag. You’d been called for a last minute assignment. “You're reckless and careless, you act like you don’t have someone waiting for you to come home!” Jake had only just gotten home, his first air to air kill confirmed mere minutes after he’d set foot stateside. “I can’t take this anymore, I can’t breathe Jake! I can't—“ And it was safe to say you weren’t taking the news well at all.

“It’s my job! when you married me that was the deal! A package!” Jake Seresin was missing a vital point in your argument. He couldn’t understand why you were so upset. He was home, he was alive. But it was the thought of losing him to his own selfishness that had finally eaten away at you enough to break you.

“But it’s not just a job Hangman!” You never really used his call sign, so to hear you say it with such venom made his heart break. “It’s the way you do your job!! You fly like every last training session is your last! Every mission, every task is your last. Everyone says the same damn thing too! You don’t play well with others, you don’t fit on the goddamn team so why the hell should I expect them to risk their lives to save your sorry arse if something were to happen?”

“Y/n—baby.” It was hard to have a counter argument prepared when Jake didn’t think he’d done anything wrong to begin with. Trying to keep you from leaving, his hands on either side of your shoulders. “I’m here? I’m okay! What's the problem, love?”

“The problem Jake is that they wouldn’t!” Heavy, that’s what Jake would call the atmosphere around you. He’d remember the look of hopelessness in your eyes, the love that you had for him. Immense and fierce. You loved him so much it scared you to the point where you had to leave for your own sanity. “And suddenly it’ll just be me, and I’d rather it just be me on my own accord then for you to be taken away from me because you’ve burnt all your bridges to the point no one will want to save you!”

“We just needed some time apart, and haven't really found a way back yet.” Jake really did like to downplay what he unintentionally put you through. Simply because he wasn’t ready to stop being the best of the best. He knows that confirmed air to air kill was the final straw that broke you—he could have easily let it go, but he didn’t. Unnecessarily endangering himself for the thrill of the chase. “And she is a nice person—“ Huffing as he finished his push-ups, Jake groaned as he stood to his feet. Rooster doing the same, staring each other day. “Hug my wife like that again and I’ll break every goddamn bone in your body.”

“Ex wife—Hangman, she’s your ex wife.” Bradley snickered as he pushed his aviator sunglasses up the bridge of his nose with a wicked shit eating smirk. “Hawk can do whatever, and whoever she wants.” Without so much as a glint of hesitation Jake was shoving at Roosters chest. His nostrils flaring with every intent of beating to life out of Bradley Bradshaw for even insinuating such a concept. You were his fucking wife. His.

“Hey!! Hey—!” It was only when you had come out to ask Hondo when Pete would be finishing up that you saw the confrontation going down. Jogging over, you couldn't really move all that quickly with your dress shoes on. You preferred to wear your service uniform more often than not. The tan looked good and was rather comfortable all things considered. But as you raced towards where Jake and Bradley stood puffing their chest and flaring their nostrils like baboons? A small part of you wished you’d just taken Mavericks offer on a more comfortable flight suit. Some old baggy one from the back of his collection. “Hey! Knock it off!”

At the sound of your voice, the sweet sound of fire and grace, Jake's shoulders settled a little. His anger dissipated. Stepping back and away from rooster as you caught his attention, all of it. Approaching with a huff after running across the tarmac, you took a deep breath in, hands resting on your knees as you bent over dramatically. Heart rate higher then you would have liked it to have been.

“What the hell is going on? Huh?”

“Nothing Lieutenant Commander–” It wasn't hard to catch onto the tone Jake laced your title with. It had been the same way you had called him Lieutenant not a few hours prior. With a glare unmissable and a tight jaw clenched, you turned to Rooster who stood close by. Sending him a questioning look.

“Anything to add?” It wasn't something you took pleasure in, being authoritarian. You’d much rather just keep a low profile. But sometimes, pulling the rank card was the only thing you could do to get your point across, to remind people you were still a person to take seriously. “Lieutenant Bradshaw?”

“Not a word ma'am” Rooster played into it well, bouncing off Jake's ego a little too well. “We were just discussing independence, it seems as though some of us have forgotten that free will is a thing.” It did surprise you, not in the slightest bit. Of cause they were arguing over something stupid. It was always something stupid wasnt it.

“Rooster, why don't you take a walk.” You knew from your conversation with Hondo just minutes ago he was due to be up in the air in half an hour. “Cool off, clear your head or else Mav’s gonna send you packing.” You didn't give him a chance to respond as you turned on your heels, facing Hangman once again, eyes squinting as the sun beamed down, holding your hand up to shade your eyes. “Hangman–my office.”

“Yeah I think I’m good–” Shrugging you off Jake began to walk away, the group of stunned pilots, Phoenix, bob and Rooster all let their jaws slack a little at the confrontation unfolding. You may have been his ex wife but first and foremost in this moment you were his superior. To blatantly disrespect you like he did was unheard of behavior. Watching for a brief second as Jake pushed past you, his shoulder bumping into you as he did so.

“It wasn't a suggestion, Lieutenant!” Your voice strained as you raised it to something above what you were comfortable with. “My office, now!” Pausing his trajectory without so much as looking back, Jake changed the direction he was heading. Turning as he made his way to your office. Turning back to Rooster holding the bridge of your nose. “Don’t you have better things to be doing? I’m sure Lieutenant Kazanksy is around somewhere, go annoy her!”

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

Slouched in one of the arm chairs by your desk, Jake watched as you stepped through the threshold of your office. Anger evident on your face as you stuck your tongue against your cheek. Seething. Slamming the door behind you without even flinching. It was needless to say it was very out of the ordinary for you to lose your cool like this, you would consider yourself to be a pretty easy going, level headed person. But when it came to all things Jake Seresin? Level headedness was always the first thing to go flying out the window.

“I'm sorry–”

“Cut the shit!” It stung like venom. Sitting on the edge of your desk as you ripped in. “You don't ever get to treat me with such disrespect, of all people who I thought would’ve been okay with taking a direct order, it would be you. Mr only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air to air kill.”

“I'm still getting used to the idea of you being a Commander, I slipped up, Ma’am.” Jake paused for a moment as his eyes trailed your body, biting his bottom lip gently as he pictures what might be hidden under your uniform. “I promise it won't happen again.”

“You know, I really do wonder what will be your last lie.” huffing softly in defeat you let your demeanor change. Dropping the attitude you hated having. You weren't an authoritative figure, you were simply just you. “But if you promise, I guess I'll just have to take your word won't I?” Nodding, Jake stood from his place in the chair near your desk, stepping closer as you pushed yourself a little further back on top of your desk. “What were you and Rooster really fighting about?” with your legs hanging over the side, Jake slipped in easily, one of your knees on either side of his left leg.

“You.” It came out with no hesitation as Jake let his hands linger along your hips.

“Me? I haven't done anything?” Realistically you hadn't. “How am I the problem here?”

“Please–I saw you and Bradshaw out the front of the Hard Deck.” Hangman wasn't willing to admit a lot of things, but there was one thing for sure. He was a very jealous man.

“You mean you saw me interacting with a friend, Jake you can't be serious.” Jake's grip on your hips got a little tighter as you dismissed his jealousy. Clenching his jaw as he looked at the ground. “You know we aren't together right? If I wanted to see other people I very well could.”

“Are you?” Jake finally met your gaze, his eyes just slightly glazed with what you could only describe as the beginning of tears. “Are you seeing anyone?” It was a heavier question than he ever thought it would be. To ask his wife, the love of his life if she was seeing someone new. Someone else besides him. “Because if you are, I'll respect it, just–just dont lie to me, that's all I ask.” His actions weren’t matching his words. Jake's hands slowly worked their way up your body, finding their home against your cheeks as he cupped your face in his hands. Softly, ever so gently caressing your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I'll wanna beat the ever living shit out of whoever gets to call you theirs but i'll respect your decision.” it made you chuckle, you couldn't help it. Deciding to just come clean, with honesty and your heart on your sleeve. Pulling out your dog tags that hid under your uniform. Your wedding band looped around the silver ball chain.

“I'm not seeing anyone you idiot, but i'm not seeing you either.” Jake couldn't hold back his smirk, pressing his lips against yours as he held you close to him in the palms of his hands. Your lips soft against his as he deepening the kiss with every passing second. Tongues dancing like they'd done this on an endless loop before. You’d missed this. This feeling. The feeling of being loved. Being needed. But as always, it was forever fleeting. “Jake–”

“I know I know–” With his eyes closed and his forehead resting against yours, Jake Seresin for a moment had you in his grasp again. “Professionalism in the workplace.” Pulling away with a sigh, Jake let his hands drop to your knees. “But off the clock, dinner?”

“You asked me last night.” Reminding Jake as he stood in front of you, straddling your leg. His eyes widening at your attitude, placing a hand over his heart as if you'd shot him.

“You said no last night?” Yeah, you did do that didnt you? Oh well.

“Oh and you expect me to say yes now that you know i'm single?” It struck another raw nerve, but in the best way it possible could have as Jake kissed you once again. This time with more lust, with more passion. Harder and more fierce than before his teeth clashed against yours and his hand slightly wrapped around your throat. With just enough pressure to have your core paulse. Fuck.

“Your aren't single, you're married. To me! And I'm asking my wife to have dinner with me which is a very normal and socially acceptable thing to do.” You let him squirm for a moment, watching through hooded eyes as you decided if it would be a good idea or not to have dinner together. Deciding maybe throwing a dog a bone once in a while would be a good thing, what could possibly go wrong?

“Fine–”

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

Five hours, twenty minutes and forty five seconds. That’s how long Jake Seresin had left before he’d be able to confidently stand at your door and pick you up for dinner. Although the Hard Deck was nothing special and would most likely be full of naval men and women all grabbing a bite to eat and a few drinks after a day's work. It was still special because it was with you.

“Sir, if I may?” You weren't the type of person to interrupt, you took orders accordingly and spoke when you were spoken to. “I have a concept I’d like to address—while we’re all here?” Waiting for a moment, you couldn’t help but to think Admiral Beau was about to reprimand you for interrupting the debrief. The mission parameters were so important for the pilots to understand, who the hell did you think you were interrupting.

“Make it quick—“ With his arms crossed, you let a small sigh of relief escape as you nodded softly. Handing Pete Mitchell your clipboard as you worked with the interactive map that lit up before the TopGun graduates.

Jake sat a little straighter in his chair, chewing his gum with a stare that saw directly into your soul. This was odd? You weren’t normally one to step out of line like this. You followed protocol to the fucking letter. Crossed all the T’s and dotted all the i’s. For you to interrupt during the middle of a debrief? Un fucking heard off.

“I’ve been up all night thinking this could be done better.” Your eyes were still bloodshot from all the ways you’d tried to go about this at different angle. Settling on the one you were about to present. “But, if this is the carrier and this is the airbase, and this is the target point.” Drawing a line from points A B and C with your index finger. “I propose we have the pilots fly directly from point A being the carrier to point C being the target.”

“We need the super hornets to fly over the airbase in order to disarm the enemy. Missiles will be dropped from a higher altitude—“

“What if we used something else to dismantle the enemy’s airfield, sir.”

“I’m assuming you already have an idea, Lieutenant Commander?” Maverick answered with a smirk, enjoying this just a little too much. Anyone who could twist Admiral Beaus' knickers in a knot was considered a friend. He liked you—for someone well reserved and on the quiet side you had balls.

“Tomahawks Sir, we can launch them directly from the carrier a minute or so after initial take off—giving the team the advantage of time.”

“I’m sorry—what did you say you actually do?” Fanboy didn’t mean for it to sound rude, he was just genuinely intrigued. “I think I missed the part where everyone was told what your role was.” Looking his way with a soft gaze, you tried your best to puff your chest a little. Knowing you were pretty good at your job.

“I’m an analyst—“

“A bloody good one at that.” Admiral Beau approached you from his seat at the back of the room, looking at your drawn up proposal on the interactive board. “Damn, this is—this is genius, a million dollar idea but still, genius.”

Jake couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. You were brilliant in every sense of the word. For a meeting he’d forgotten just how intelligent you truly were, how you managed to make an incredibly hard job so easy. Staring as you softly swayed side to side, accepting the praise you received from your superiors. Melting inside when your eyes met his. The smile, beaming just for you, his heart beating with such love and admiration. Admiring you from his seat in the front.

“Damn— tomahawks huh?” Jake walked with you out towards the tarmac, his first run through with the new flight path set and ready for about twenty minutes' time. Bumping your hip, his way of flirting. Bumping him back—your way of flirting. “You really think that’ll work?”

“I think it’s the safest option, unnecessary diversion from what’s essentially a straight shot just doesn’t make sense to me—“ Pausing your explanation when you noticed Jake smirking to himself. “What?”

“Nothing nothing!” He chuckled. “I just, I could listen to you all day, honestly but—how about you tell me in full detail over dinner tonight.” Jake beamed as he started jogging away, turning to run backwards as he waited for you to reply. Rooster zipping past with his helmet in his hand. Catching up to where your ex husband, Hangman stood.

Feeling overly vulnerable. You hugged yourself gently. Watching as Jake sent you a wink.

“Dinner! I’ll pick you up at seven!” It made you swoon. Trying to hide your smile as you shouted after him.

“Deal.”

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

Tags: @justanothermagicalsara @alexsisrebekah @stinkyjax @starkleila

[whohasthecards]

Injured and Alone

Jake ejects on a mission for a different deployment and gets injured, and since he's on assignment and his emergency contact is his immediate CO, Mav/Dagger Squad doesnt find out and stuff, and so they lose contact with him for a couple weeks as he recovers and Mav starts to get worried but hangman comes back in contact when Mav said he would do something abt it and he scolds hangman a bit but lets it go and hangman feels smad because Mav or the daggers didn't notice he was gone, the daggers didnt notice he was gone, and they didnt really care and he still has injuries and eventually he still hangs out but with walls, but then Ice founds out in one of the mission reports and mentions it to Mav like how's Jake, is his injuries gone? And Mav is like stitches!????? And goes on to dad Jake.

The stuff I wrote below is like a word vomit mess, I kinda want to add more to it, but here is what I have for now.

---

Jake muttered a curse as he hid behind the trees. His comms were not working properly. He could barely hear anything, and he was pretty sure the enemy was able to get into the comms. 

He was stuck on enemy territory, he was grounded, no plane, lacking supplies, he had to get out. He had to march to the nearest base or else he was done for.

He turned on his comms for one last message, “This is Hangman, I’m going dark.” Afterwards he crushed the comms and left covered in dirt as he marched forward.

—

It took days. He fought through the wilderness. Hid from enemy patrol. Eliminated–, fought against other soldiers.

There was so much blood.

—

He woke up to the sound of machines beeping around him, the smell of antiseptic in the air, and the feeling of a dry-fucking throat.

What does a guy gotta do to get some water around here?

He opened up his eyes and saw a button by his bed and slowly inched his hand forward to grab and press it. His limbs felt so heavy, must be the good meds.

But hey, at least he wasn’t handcuffed to the bed. That’s a good sign, right? Meant he wasn’t being a complete incoherent shit head, or that he wasn’t in the enemy’s hands. 

Yay, progress. 

—

“-- The Navy thanks you for your service Lieutenant Seresin,” Jake snapped back to attention as his current CO filled him in on what happened. The older man was just droning on and on, but his limbs still felt heavy and there was a constant ache in his body. At least he could still lay in his hospital bed. “We’ll do a debrief once you're discharged. However, there is one more thing before I leave, Lieutenant.” The admiral paused as if choosing his words carefully. “It is stated in your file that your emergency contact would automatically be your current CO, which is me at the moment, is there anyone you would like me to contact, son?”

Jake paused and thought back to his last posting with the Dagger Squad. How they started having group hangouts, meals, and sleepovers during their break, continued whenever one or more of them were on leave and hanging around Miramar. He thought about how he had to drag himself up to his apartment and clean his wounds, how that would take forever, and how nice it would be to have someone– No. Most of the Daggers were on deployment last time he checked, the ones who were on leave didn’t deserve to have to deal with him. Mav is a permanent instructor in Top Gun, now, they won’t have time for him.

They were all he had and they deserved better.

“No, sir.”

—

It took more than a week to get himself settled in on his dingy base housing. He was at medical, flew stateside, medical again, and all that fun stuff.

He sighed as he laid down on his freshly made bed. Everything ached, his stitches felt like they were being pulled apart, and he was pretty sure he had a headache coming in. Wonderful.

He decided to open his phone to see what he missed.

He wondered if anyone messaged him.

Not really. It seems like it’s been more than a week since someone actually messaged him. And when they did it was to respond to something he sent to them. The Daggers group chat was going strong though.

He shouldn’t be surprised, they don’t even know the mission he’s been through. They don’t even know he’s back on the west coast.

But by god did it hurt that not even one of them bothered to send something in his more than 2 weeks of radio silence.

(He knew he was being irrational, they were all adults with busy lives. Hell, one of them could have been through something like he just went through and he and the others wouldn’t know. Right?)

—

He hissed as he disinfected his stitches and wounds, slowly wrapping them up in bandages. It’s okay, he’d be faster at doing this in a couple of days.

—

He felt his stomach rumble as he stared at the boiling pot of pasta. He forgot to cook earlier, well he was too tired too, and his stomach was paying for it. Maybe he should have just shelled out money for that pizza. Heck, he forgot to buy some kind of fucking sauce for the damn thing.

He’s usually too stingy to Doordash shit, but with how fatigued he felt every time he had to move, he was considering ordering groceries to be delivered at his front step.

—

While he was curled up in bed, everything was aching, his head feeling light. He felt his phone ping and he opened up the Dagger’s groupchat seeing the group talk about something so fucking stupid. 

He couldn’t help himself.

He roasted the shit out of them.

His phone was bombarded with notifications as his squad digitally squawked back in offense.

He smiled and put his phone down, for a minute he felt normal.

—

He wasn’t physically cleared for active duty, or to fly yet. He had to go through PT, training, counseling, evaluations, bla bla bla, the whole nine yards.

It was a pain, he missed being behind a stick. Missed being fast and bursting through the clouds and just watching the sky change colors.

Instead, he had to keep his feet on the ground as he went through fucking paperwork at Top Gun.

He gets surrounded by cocky-ass rookies, but he can’t school them.

It was horrible.

He looked up when he heard a knock at his door. “Hey, kid, heard we got a new Lieutenant coming to assist on base, didn’t think it was you, buddy,” Mav said smiling gently from where he leaned on Hangman’s door frame. “When did you get here?”

Hangman smirked back on the older man, slowly leaning back on his chair as he hid a wince from his stitches pulling. “Today's my third first day back at Top Gun, pops, just doing some paperwork.”

“Surprised you’re not out there flying, scared to lose to these rookies,” Mav teased sitting in front of his desk.

“Please Mav, I’m not like you, I’m here to be a good boy and not steal any multi-millionaire jets,” Hangman smirked. “At the moment at least.” Hangman said, flicking his toothpick to the side.

Maverick huffed out a laugh, “How was your last deployment, kid? I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” Mav said, face turning serious. “Did something-?”

Hangman felt his heart clench, this is what he wanted, right? For the others to care, to notice, but why does it feel so wrong to admit-?

“Nah, Cap, I’m good, too good to be true in fact that I’m back here, now,” Hangman said leaning forward in his desk and giving Mav a disarming wink.

Mav gave him a once over, before sighing and shaking his head as he stood up. 

“Come over for dinner on Friday, some of the others are still on deployment or with their families. Heck, Bob, Fanboy, Coyote, and Bradley are on a road trip right now, they left a couple days ago, if they knew you were here they would have waited a while for you to come with them or something,” Mav said.

Jake shrugged, he knew about the road trip. He’s been back stateside for more than a week. His body would kill him if he came, though.

“Nah, it’s fine, pops, they probably already got it planned out, anyways, plus,” Hangman gave Mav a mischievous smile. “I get you all to myself for dinner, isn’t that a treat.”

Mav rolled his eyes as he walked to stand beside Jake’s chair. “Shut up, you brat, you just want to send pictures of my cooking to the squad to make them jealous,” Mav said as he ruffled his hair and slung an arm around the boy’s shoulders to pull him in a side hug. “It’s good to have you back, son.”

Jake turned his head to bury his head on the older man’s stomach for just a minute. “It’s good to be back, pops.”

—

“MmmMMm, this is the best fucking thing I’ve tasted in forever,” Jake groaned as he shovelled another bite of the steak. Mav was surprisingly talented behind the grill, and apparently the best mac and cheese was Ice’s personal recipe.

“I’m glad you like it, kid, make sure to eat your greens too,” Mav said smiling as he handed Jake the serving bowl of salad.

“Come on, Mav, let the boy enjoy his steak, he just came back from deployment,” Ice said grinning as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

Mav rolled his eyes upwards, “and people call me the irresponsible one.”

“Well, your Navy track record proceeds you.”

“As if yours is as clean as they think it is.”

“I’m better at not getting caught, also, which one of us actually remembered to do groceries this morning, love?” Ice said smirking and giving Jake a wink, making Jake remember to actually put the steak in his mouth as he watched the two banter.

It was surreal to see his Captain and the COMPACFLT in such a domestic situation.

Mav pouted and looked at Jake, “See what I have to deal with?”

Ice chuckled and gave Mav a small peck on the cheek, “You’re what I have to deal with. Forever.” Mav eyes softened at that as he intertwined their hands on the table.

“My wingman for life.”

Jake decided that he was being too nice and fake gagged, “you both our sickeningly sweet, there ain’t supposed to be anythin’ too sweet' with the steak, but you all decided to add too much sugar that ‘m growin’ cavities.” Jake said, narrowing his eyes at them.

“Too much sugar, hmm?” Ice said, raising a brow as he rested his chin on his fist. “So I suppose you don’t want the carrot cake I baked for dessert?”

Jake frowned, “Hey, hey, hey, I ain’t sayin’ that, carrot cake is good and healthy, I want some.”

Ice grinned wider, “What’s the magic word, Jacob?”

Jake rolled his eyes, “pleeaaaasseeee?” He drew out.

“Ah, ah, ah, no sass, young man,” Mav said, raising a fork at him as he stood up to presumably grab the cake.

Jake crossed his arms, “You can’t talk, Mav.”

“I can talk in my own house, kid. Remember, nobody likes a smartass.”

“Then why did Ice marry you?”

“My dashingly good looks, of course,” Mav said flashing a hollywood type smile as he grabbed the cake from the fridge.

Jake squinted, “I don’t see it.” Ice huffed out a laugh at that one as he started cutting up the cake. Jake perked up as Ice put down a big slice for him.

“Thank you, Admiral Kazansky,” Jake said, shoveling the cake in his mouth.

“What did I say about calling me admiral in my own home, son?”

“Not to do it because it makes you feel old, Ice.”

“Good job, now by the way, how are you Jake? Have your injuries healed nicely, or are they still sore?” Ice asks, for the first time looking at Jake seriously dead in the eye.

Jake froze and he felt ice go down his spine as he paused looking up at Ice wide eyed. He thought he got away with it, but of course, this is fucking Iceman, the commander of the Pacific fleet.

“Injuries? What injuries? Jake?” Mav said looking confused as he looked back and forth between the two.

Ice frowned at Mav, “You didn’t know? He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what, out with it, you two,” Mav sternly said.

Jake forced himself to give a small chuckle, “It’s nothing, pops, just a bit of a scuffle in my last deployment, nothing serious.”

He was in the sick-bay for more than a week.

Mav narrowed his eyes at Jake, “Uh-huh, does nothing serious cause you to be back stateside when your previous deployment was supposed to end in 3 months?”

Well, Mav didn’t make it this far for being dumb.

Jake poked down on his carrot cake, “I’m fine, pops, it’s nothin’, really.”

“Jacob Seresin, look at me.” Mav ordered, making Jake tense.

“It’s none of ya business, it’s my private file, you don’t need to know shit,” Jake growled, standing up, good mood ruined.

Jake felt his heart thump against his chest. They shouldn’t know, they can’t know. Why can’t they know? Because they’ll see you as weak. No they won’t. Yes, they will. He wanted them to be there, they can’t they won’t, stop being a bother, stop being a whiny--

“Jake, look at me,” Mav ordered again, albeit in a softer manner, Jake slowly met Mav's eyes, again. "Why didn't you tell us?" 

"I-I don't know," Jake softly admitted. 

He wanted them to find out for themselves, but he could have told them himself. He wanted them to be there sooner. And now that they know even though it's late. It was never their job to know, it was Jake’s job to communicate as a fucking adult.

“Do you really believe that we wouldn’t care?”

Jake shrugged in response. None of them noticed he wasn’t responding to messages for a couple of weeks.

Mav gave out a sigh, making Jake shrink on himself. “Is anyone helping you with taking care of your injuries, bud?”

“Nah, I’m good, pops, takes me a while, but I could figure it out on my own,” Jake said, sighing.

“You shouldn’t have too, son, come on, you need to tend to them before you go to bed, right? How about Mav will help you,” Ice said standing up. “I’ll get the first aid kit, Mav go settle Jake in the guest room.”

“That’s not necessary, sir-” Jake started, eyes wide.

“We know, but we want to help you, Jake,” Mav said gently clasping a hand on his shoulder steering him towards the room.

Jake could have fought, but he didn’t want to. He just nodded as they walked towards the room.

Mav made him sit down on the edge of the bed and ordered him to strip down to show the stitches, and Jake, too tired to argue just silently complied, unbuttoning his shirt to unveil the bandages wrapped around his torso and the patches of bruises scattered all around. 

He looked up when he heard Mav take a deep inhale of breath, seeing the pity in the old man’s eyes, making him scowl and look away. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m worried about you, Jake,” Mav said, softly. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“How’d ya know if I told someone?”

Mav gave him a look.

“My commanding officer is my emergency contact, he was the only one who needed to know,” Jake said, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, I don’t know why I’m here, I can do this on my own–”

“At ease, Lieutenant Seresin.” Ice sternly said as he came in with a very big med kit. “Let’s clean up your wounds first, then we’ll talk, alright?”

“Unless you’re really uncomfortable with us helping you,” Mav said, looking sadly at him. “We’re not gonna force you to do anything, buddy, but it would ease our old hearts to see that you’re okay.” Mav said, forcing a smile that just looked sad.

And didn’t that make Jake’s heart clench.

“Fine,” Jake muttered, shifting forward and started removing his old bandages.

Mav gently took over, asking Jake to put his arms up so that he could get to them easier. Mav slowly removed the bandages, making sure skin wasn’t pulled, maneuvering Jake, so that his boy would be as comfortable as possible.

Ice crouched down in front of Jake and showed him the assortment of antibiotic ointments and creams, Jake nodded in consent, pointing out which ones he usually used. Ice nodded as he pulled them out and slowly moved his hand closer to Jake as he worked in tandem with Mav, both of them treating Jake with so much care.

When he let them help him, he expected it to be painful and much longer than if he had done it. That’s usually what happened anyways when he had to rely on others.

He was wrong.

They were slow, but steady, steady made their actions smooth, efficient, fast.

Ice let Jake lean forward, his forehead resting on the older man’s shoulder as the man quickly ran a hand through his hair before dabbling antibiotic cream to the wounds on his back.

Jake swore he just closed his eyes for one second.

“Buddy? Come on Jake-y, wake up for a bit, then you can go back to sleep, okay,” Mav said gently, nudging his shoulder.

Jake grumbled and felt Ice chuckle as he helped the younger man sit up, again.

“Come on, little prince, hands up, please,” Mav murmured, helping Jake into a big hoodie. “Can you change into sweatpants?”

Jake nodded as he clumsily complied, afterwards he blinked and suddenly Mav and Ice were tucking him in the guest room bed. Someone turned the lights off, and the two older men were saying their goodbyes when Jake tugged on Mav’s shirt.

“Mav? I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya, I-I don’t know why exactly I didn’t,” Jake said frowning looking up with half-lidded eyes. “W-wanted ya’ll to be there, just, hard,” Jake muttered.

He felt the bed dip beside him, a calloused hand cupping his cheek, “It’s okay, little prince, I understand, we’ll talk about it more once you rest up, okay?” 

“We’ll be there for you when you wake up, son, and we’ll always be there for you when we can,” Ice said, reaching over to stroke Jake’s hair. 

That was enough for Jake to let himself rest.

—--

("I didn't finish my carrot cake," Jake muttered against Mav's chest.

"It's okay, we still have some more, and how about Ice makes you some chocolate cake tomorrow, buddy?" Mav softly said running a hand through Jake's strands, smirking as Ice scowled at him.

“Didn’t you just bitch about how Jacob here needs his greens, and now–”

“Please, Pa?” Jake said looking up. “I mean the carrot cake is delicious and I love it, so if you’re busy, I get it–”

“No, son, I can make the cake, I’ll just have to use my husband for some logistics help, okay?” Ice said, cutting off his rant as he rubbed Jake’s back.

“I-If it’s okay with you and pops, I don’t want to be a bo-”

“You’re not a bother, plus we were already planning on making chocolate cake for a while, you just gave us an excuse to move up our plans, and have an early cheat day,” Mav said, wagging his eyebrows with a wink.

“More like permanent cheat week,” Ice mattered.)

—

(“Put me down as your emergency contact, please.” Mav said as he squeezed Jake tighter, to make sure the boy won’t have to see the tears building in his eyes. “Please, son.”)

—

(Imagine what happens once the Dagger Squad finds out what happened to Jake.)