15/08/2022: Dear Shannon!!!! Heartfelt Is One Of The First Fics I Read As Soon As I Gave In The Urge

15/08/2022: dear shannon!!!! heartfelt is one of the first fics i read as soon as i gave in the urge to read about top gun maverick and it’s been such an incredible ride so far. (i sent a couple of anon compliments since the first chapter was out, but now i have this new blog to really pour out all the love directly and just scream about my favorite paragraphs and what not). i went into this for the jake x reader of it all but you really got rooster out here trying to steal heart again, i really wasn’t expecting to be so tempted to change sides, and YOU ALMOST GOT ME!!! (i’m a sucker for exes to lovers idk and i’ve been reading a lot of rooster fics so i might be a little bias right now) but i’m still team jake over here for this character. anyways!!! this chapter is one of my favorites!!! i think you closed their relationship really well and leave her ready for the future with hangman!!! i love it, it’s perfect!!!

“You fight the urge to sneak up on him from behind and slide your hands down the front of his chest around to his back and press your body against his. It’s odd, acknowledging that the urge is still there, even after the events of last night. You’ll always care for him though. That urge might always exist.” THAT URGE MIGHT ALWAYS EXIST?????? break my heart, throw it off a cliff…

“Maybe your love for him will always eclipse your disappointment.” oh this one hits deep.

“Since when are you the purveyor of spontaneity and surprise?”

“He hums. “Seeing you again reminded me how nice surprises really are.” this line!!!!!! how dare he!!!! how dare you!!!! butterflies on my stomach!!!! jake stand up!!!!! do something!!!!

“You’d released Bradley. You should feel lighter, but you don’t. Something is still tugging at your chest and in that moment you realize it was never Bradley pulling the invisible string. It’s been Jake this entire time.” AND THIS BROUGHT ME RIGHT BACK TO JAKE!!! BEAUTIFUL!!! yep!! he’s it for her!!! go get him!!!

the way you wrote the yearning for the previous relationship with rooster was incredible!!! the feelings were so vivid!!!! you’re really good at setting a scene and them taking us there and making us experience everything. i can’t wait to for the future last parts, i already miss the interactions with jake!!!

HEARTFIRST {pt. VIII}

– In which a trip down to the San Diego Naval base to visit an old friend turns out to be more than a simple reunion, as the reader finds herself in the presence of an infuriating, cocky blonde and an old flame she thought had long fizzled out. –

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Contains: Bi!Natasha | Reader is old friends with Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Reader has a past with Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw” | Reader has a lot of feelings about Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Warnings: more angst this time around ya'll, explicit language

A/N: Part eight! I low-key love this part & I really hope y'all do too! My apologies, in advance :) Tag-list is at the bottom, go ahead and send me a message or reply to this post if you'd like to be added for future parts of this story. Most importantly, I hope you enjoy! Also hope you forgive me for the angst here lol <3 If you'd like to go back and read part 1, you can do that here. Or, read part 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or 5. Or 6. Or 7. Also, check out my playlists for the dynamic of each guy & reader, you can do that here: Hangman x Reader & Rooster x Reader

...

The walk across base was longer than you anticipated. Not by distance, though. The air hangar where Bradley holed up after training wasn’t actually that far from the common rooms. The weight of your heart that dropped and landed somewhere between your chest and stomach makes every step ache, though, your feet heavy as you cross the street towards the large metal building. Natasha told you where to find him after you sent a text labeled “urgent” her way as you stormed away from Jake. Part of you wishes that you didn’t, wishes you would have thought about it for half a second before walking out on him. He looked hurt, after all, but you had to see Bradley. Foolish as it was, you had to make sure he’s okay. He might not even want to see you, might have nothing to say to you – you’re not even sure you can stand to see him after last night. Regardless, you had to try and figure it out. You can’t leave without knowing.

It’s a quiet evening on base, the tension palpable in the air, the silence washing over you as you stumble out of the impending night and into the air hangar. The scent of oil and jet fuel fills your nose, your stomach churning in an unconscious response. A familiar tune plays faintly in the hangar, echoing off the metal walls, and you hum along quietly to yourself as you pad across the concrete floors in search of Bradley.

You cross behind the small jet sitting in the middle of the hangar, admiring its glory, stopping briefly in front of an open electrical panel. Bradley’s soft humming mixes with yours, pulling your attention from the plane. You step away and continue making your way around, your eyes landing on him. Bradley sits at his work bench on the opposite side of the hangar, tinkering with tools you can’t name. He rarely looked up while working, getting lost in the tools and parts, a fine line settling between his brows as he pieces together the puzzle he’d made for himself. You sigh, taking in the sight of him from behind: his broad shoulders strained underneath his black t-shirt as he works, his light brown hair flecked with gold as the setting sun casts him in the few remaining minutes of light. You fight the urge to sneak up on him from behind and slide your hands down the front of his chest around to his back and press your body against his. It’s odd, acknowledging that the urge is still there, even after the events of last night. You’ll always care for him though. That urge might always exist.

Looking over your shoulder out the garage door, you spy the sun halfway through its descent in the sky, painting the base in a golden orange hue, shadows stretching over the concrete outside. It’s something to behold. You breathe in and let your eyes fall shut for a moment. Birds call to one another in the darkening sky, inviting one another home for the evening, returning to their beds for the night. You consider for a moment calling Bradley away from his work, asking him to return home with you, but you remain in your spot, knowing he won’t return your call. So, why do you secretly hope he does? You don’t want him to come with you, do you? You’re upset with him, aren’t you? Maybe not. Maybe your love for him will always eclipse your disappointment. You came here to check in on him, after all. Or, was that really all? Maybe you’re hoping for more and maybe that’s foolish, especially with Jake on the other side of the door.

“I know you’re there,” Bradley says, breaking the silence. You turn back and find him spun around in his seat, wiping his hands on a stained white towel, his eyes intent on you. He doesn’t smile. Neither do you.

“You caught me,” you reply, holding your hands up in innocence. He cracks a small smile at your gesture and your heart pulls at your chest. “What are you working on?”

Bradley sighs, rising from his seat and tossing the rag onto the workbench. His brows knit together as he looks from his tools to you. He shrugs and tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “You want to talk about the electrical panel of an old F-15?”

“Well, I thought we might ease into the other stuff…”

“I didn’t think you’d come looking for me.”

“Why’s that?”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to see me after last night.”

“I admit, it’s a little harder to recognize you without that blonde woman all over you.” The words feel like venom on your tongue and you watch them cut him, his lips flattening into a thin line. Restraint is difficult for you today, it seems. You sigh, not quite regretting the words, but not proud of them, either.

“Okay, I deserve that.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, crossing and then uncrossing his arms in the same breath. He sighs, running a hand roughly along his jawline. The action is familiar to you, a physical manifestation of his discontent. “You’re mad. I get it, I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“I can never stay mad at you, Bradley, that’s the problem.” It’s quiet for a moment, crickets chirping loudly in the distant night. You watch as Bradley’s face softens as he takes in your words, a wave of relief washing over him. You’re not finished, though. Taking a breath, you gain the courage to continue. “Why’d you do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bradley,” you breathe, shaking your head. “You have to be honest with me. I mean, we have to be honest with each other now. Please.”

He sucks in a breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. “She works there – at the Hard Deck. We’ve flirted a handful of times over the years and she came onto me last night. I didn’t push her away because I was scared.”

“Scared?”

He nods. “And upset.”

You look at him as he reconnects his eyes with yours, confusion apparent in your gaze.

Sighing, he continues. “Scared to get close to you again because of this mission. I don’t know what’s gonna happen out there. If I get picked, I don’t know if I’ll come back.”

You choke on your breath, the air hitching in your throat. The gravity of the situation hits you, knocking at your chest, but you remain standing in your place, curious to hear him out. He watches you intently, his eyes softening as he sees the realization hit you.

“Upset because,” he begins, “because I saw you with Hangman.”

“Bradley, I-”

“Not just last night. I saw you the first night, kissing him, before you knew I was here. You looked happy, care-free. I hadn’t seen you like that in a long time, so I left you alone. I thought, maybe, I could let you be happy, you know, let you have your fun. And then we ran into each other the next night and I then knew I couldn’t.”

You’re not sure what to say, but thankfully Bradley continues on.

“And then he kept looking at you.”

“Hangman?”

Bradley just nods.

“And that bothered you?”

“Still does… but then you smile back at him,” he says, “and I know I’m just fucking everything up and pushing you away, pushing you into him, but I don’t know what to do.”

A tinge of pain strikes your chest hearing him reference exactly what Hangman said to him earlier in the day. He’d clearly taken it to heart, just as you suspected. A feeling of guilt follows, knowing you heard everything.

You take a step into him, curious to see if he’ll move. To your surprise, he does, taking a step towards you, too. Your heart thumps loudly against your chest as you pull him in for an embrace, wrapping your arms around his middle, your hand rubbing his back, working to soothe him. He relaxes under your touch, exhaling a heavy breath. Your head fits perfectly under the curve of his chin, his head resting in the soft nest of your hair.

“You don’t have to know what to do, Bradley. But you have to know what you want.”

Silence feels the space between you, the song playing from the radio in the corner of the room seeming to grow in volume. He hums something low, his chest vibrating against you. The song is familiar, one you know he loves. Bradley starts to sway, his right hand staying in its place behind your back while the left skims your skin as he moves to lace his fingers through yours, holding your arms up at a loose ninety degree angle. You shake your head as he sings along quietly to the music. You look up at him, but he’s already looking at you, his expression soft, his eyes on your lips.

“I want to dance,” he sighs. “I love this song.”

“I meant about us, Bradley.”

“I know.” He spins slowly as the chorus of the song hits, pulling you closer to him. “Right now, I want us to dance.”

“And what about later?” you press, steadying yourself against his chest.

“Do we have to have a plan?”

You nod. “A good plan prevents mishaps.”

“They also are the killer of spontaneity and surprise.”

“Since when are you the purveyor of spontaneity and surprise?”

He hums. “Seeing you again reminded me how nice surprises really are.”

“Bradley,” you whisper, shaking your head as he continues to sway along to the music. Looking up at him, into those enchanting brown eyes as he speaks such magic, you could choose to stay here with him forever. The sun is almost set now, shadows of the night casting across his face, highlighting the faded scars marking his left cheek. You reach up with your free hand and run your fingers across them.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, interrupting your private thoughts. “What do you want?” He spins you out of his grasp as the song fades out. For a moment, your fingers slip through his, but he catches you just in time, twirling you back into him. This time, he wraps his arms around you as your back is pressed against his front. He hugs your waist, dipping his head to rest in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against the exposed skin underneath your ear. Lost in a haze of him, your eyes fall shut as you breathe him in.

“I want things to be different this time,” you begin. “But I can’t change it by myself.”

He sighs, “I can’t change the job, you know that. I don’t know how much I can change.”

You open your eyes now, your gaze landing on the far corner of the room with no real focus, your eyes blurry. Your stomach flips at his words, the sting no different than when he said them the first time two years ago.

Swallowing hard, you open your mouth to say something, but you’re cut off by Bradley’s gentle gasp.

“What’s this?” he asks, lifting his head from your neck to brush his fingers through your hair, pushing the strands aside to get a better look. Your heart drops into your stomach, your breath catching in your throat.

“Nothing,” you lie. Flinching, you lift your hand to your neck, covering the mark Jake gave you last night. You’d totally forgotten.

“What was that thing you said about honesty earlier?” He releases his grip on your waist and you spin around to face him, sighing.

“It’s from last night,” you admit. “From Jake.”

Bradley sucks in a breath. You think about explaining everything, telling him that what happened with Jake didn’t go any farther than this mark on your skin. Something stops you, though. What’s happening between you and Jake doesn’t involve Bradley. That was a decision you made and though it might have started in spite of Bradley, that didn’t mean he was entitled to know. After all, you’re here with Bradley, not Jake. You’re asking him to change, not Jake. Shouldn’t that be enough?

“What does he want?” Bradley asks, breaking the silence.

You look up at him. “I don’t know. I came to you.”

“What if I can’t give you what you want?”

“Then I think I should give you your sweatshirt back.”

He shakes his head. “Keep it.” His voice is soft as he speaks, as if the undeniable truth of the fate of the two of you is just starting to hit him. “Just don’t light it on fire this time, hmm?” He raises an eyebrow, his lips lifting into a half-smile.

“I promise,” you reply, wrapping your arms around him. He looks taken aback, but he doesn’t stop you, wrapping his arms around you, too. His arms are strong around your waist and you breathe him in deeply, working to commit the smell of his cologne to memory. For a moment you think about kissing him, one last time, but you know you can’t. You shouldn’t. It’s bittersweet, this moment. But for once, you feel in control, saying what you need. This decision isn’t just his, it’s yours, too.

“So is this goodbye, then?”

You look up at him, admiring the cutting edge of his jaw from below before your eyes find his.

“It’s ‘see you later’, Bradshaw,” you say, swallowing hard to hold back the tears threatening to escape. “After the mission at the Hard Deck – your friends are my friends now, remember?”

He laughs lightly, nodding. “I’ll look forward to it.”

The feeling of his lips on your cheek are the last thing Bradley leaves you with. As much as you wanted to stay, you couldn’t. He offered to drive you back to your room, but you couldn’t drag out your goodbye any longer. You untangled yourself from him and shared one last embrace before you left the hangar and wandered out into the cold night.

You’d released Bradley. You should feel lighter, but you don’t. Something is still tugging at your chest and in that moment you realize it was never Bradley pulling the invisible string. It’s been Jake this entire time.

Natasha was right: you had to see him through. You had to know what he wanted – why he came to see you earlier – but it’s anyone’s guess if he’ll see you now. Not likely after you left him for Bradley, after you accused him of being the villain. Sighing, you turn your head up to the dark sky and breathe in the night, the scent of salt water and damp sand filling your lungs, cleansing you from the inside out.

...

Tag List: @arianna-bradshaw @n3ssm0nique @blue-aconite @supernaturaldawning @revolution-starter @saramaple @bittergomez @coco-loco-nut @unluckymonaghan @jointherebellion215 @supernaturalstuff83 @kkrenae @littlebear423 @shadeds-library @malums-trash-can @maggiedanikka @rintheemolion @tallrock35 @thebeautifullydamnedone @slyther1nserpent

A/N: Well, here it is, the long(??)-anticipated part 8! I'm honestly really curious to see what y'all think of this and where the story is going...What do we think of Bradley? Of reader? Of Jake? So many things! Also sorry it's kind of bittersweet, but that's kind of my favorite thing ever, sooo. Anywho, I hope y'all enjoy this -- your love on this fic and your kind words mean literally the world to me and these fics are all I can give in return <3333

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fic recs august 2022 Top gun top gun maverick jake seresin rooster bradley bradshaw hangman my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing went a little crazy over the rooster moments here not gonna lie you almost got me this is one of the first fics i read after i watched top gun maverick and it brings me so much joy (even tho this part hurt a little) heartfirst will always be special to me team jake

(christmas) baby please come home

summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw and his girlfriend throw a christmas party, complete with a christmas tree, copious amounts of champagne, blended friend groups, and the true meaning of the word home

OR what do you do when your boyfriend gets deployed over christmas and he get you two christmas presents?

pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 11.8k

warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content

part of @notroosterbradshaw ‘s hello december challenge

masterlist and playlist

It was obvious that you knew how to throw a party.

Furthermore, it was obvious that none of your and Bradley’s friends - baring Max, but only because he had professional help - would ever be able to pull off a party of the same caliber as your Christmas party.

Subconsciously, you wanted your friends to be jealous of you and impressed with how well you and Bradley had pulled things off. It was, admittedly, such a vain and shallow thought - no, desire to want to be the best at this. At throwing parties.

The Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack was currently echoing throughout the downstairs on the Sonos, the twinkling jazz giving off a whimsical, yet sophisticated vibe, the Christmas tree looked stunning in the living room where it was covered in nearly three thousand white lights and countless ornaments, and the food that you and Bradley - but mainly Bradley - had spent all morning and last night preparing was laid out on festive serving dishes, complete with seasonally appropriate plates and napkins, perfectly folded in their napkin rings.

You had scoured San Diego county for the most gorgeous garland possible to serve as the centerpiece on the dining room table, the berries and pine cones in it perfectly matching the plates and napkins and serving dishes. You had vacuumed the hardwood floor twice and washed it once before everyone came over and knew you would do so again once everyone left, if only so you could casually say it’s fine, you can keep your shoes on, we’re washing the floor tomorrow anyway. The candles weren’t overpowering, there was soft lighting all throughout the house, and you’d somehow wrangled a recipe for the cookies Bradley’s mom used to make from Sarah Kazansky and hadn't even burnt them.

Because you wanted people to talk about it - the party. And to say did you see their bathroom? It was so clean, there weren’t any water spots on the faucet. The beef tenderloin appetizers were delicious, they had to have gotten the meat someplace special? No, definitely not Vons, maybe some local butcher in La Jolla? Aren’t they such a sweet couple? Such a good pair.

Because it had to be perfect.

All of it.

Because this was Bradley’s Christmas. His only Christmas that year. Nothing could go amiss. And you wanted everyone to be jealous of it, so much so that tonight would be equal to if not better than how they celebrated the actual holiday with their own families - in their own homes - on Christmas Day.

Because they weren’t going to be spending the holiday on a drafty aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific far from home like Bradley was.

And Bradley deserved the entire world and all the happiness he could possibly have. The way his face had lit up when you’d first suggested the party after he’d gotten his orders at the beginning of November would stick with you for months. You’d told him that everything would be perfect, that you would pack enough Christmas spirit and love and gifts and food into one evening that it would take the sting out of being away from home - being away from you - at Christmas. Even if for just one night.

The guests had all arrived, some promptly and some not-so-promptly, with you and Bradley greeting them all, telling them to help themselves to all the food and drinks they wanted. Apparently, Max had a surprise for later that you prayed was not him putting on a Santa suit. But the conversation and drinks were flowing with ease, despite the blending of your two friend groups for the first time.

It was a good party.

Except right now, it was your turn to be the jealous one.

You watched, enviously, as one of your work friends leaned against the kitchen island with a glass of prosecco in her hand, while the other gripped Jake Seresin’s bicep. The jealousy wasn’t because of Jake or any attention he may have been giving her, mind you.

(Because no, no - while you may no longer have had an intense hatred for Bradley’s nemesis cum friend, you still didn’t actively seek out his presence and you definitely didn’t want his attention - not for anything other than a great party as he left your - no, Bradley’s house later that night.)

No - you were jealous of her dress. Her gorgeous, deep garnet, midi-length, sleeveless dress. That looked absolutely stunning on her, though a touch too fancy for a Christmas party in South Park. She looked gorgeous, beautiful - statuesque.

You absentmindedly fixed the bow on your wrap dress. Your long sleeved, silk wrap dress - that also did plenty to hide any unwanted lines or bumps around your stomach. And your arms.

Weeks ago, back when the party was but a pipe dream, you’d been eyeing this absolutely adorable, sleeveless, mini-dress for the event. Like your friend’s dress, it probably erred on the side of slightly too fancy for a house party, but it had been so pretty and so perfect. It had sat in your cart online for at least two weeks - you just wanted to see if it would go on sale before you finally pulled the trigger.

Until Thanksgiving.

When you saw how unflattering your arms looked in the black cashmere tank you’d brought for dinner to your parents’ house. You thanked your past self for having the forethought to pack a cardigan, which didn’t come off until hours later after all your aunts and uncles and cousins had left and you were snuggled up in Bradley’s arms.

Maybe you should try the HIIT classes on your Peloton instead of all those beginner rides you were still doing with Cody? Or get arm weights? The girls who worked out in the front two rows of your pilates class swore by them. They barely needed any input from the instructor - they just knew how to move their bodies that way. Or maybe you could ask your parents for a higher Class Pass subscription for Christmas? It would give you something to focus on while Bradley was gone.

You hadn’t been this self conscious at the gala back in October and that dress was far more daring than anything you’d ever worn before; practically open back, with a risqué slit and a deep v neckline, to say nothing of what you had worn just for Bradley later that night.

So, why now? Why tonight when you were supposed to be enjoying this time with your boyfriend and all your friends before the holidays? Why tonight, when everything else was going so right, were you being bogged down by this insecurity in your own home - no, no, it was Bradley’s home, not yours.

Was it because he was leaving? And you didn’t want one of his last images of you for three months to be your arms in a too tight dress? Because that was so shallow and silly and ridiculous.

But what if it was true? Bradley was so pretty and handsome and charming and sweet, what if there was someone else on that boat that also thought he was pretty and handsome and charming and sweet? And you’d seen all the other aviators and naval personnel at that gala, they were stunning. What if Bradley thought that too - no, no, no. You weren’t going to focus on that for one of your last nights with him.

Bradley loved you, Bradley proved how much he loved you every single day, Bradley catered to your every whim about this party with the biggest smile on his face.

Bradley loved you.

You were just being ridiculous and shallow and over dramatic and spiraling before he left. Bradley loved you, Bradley loved you. He loved you. He - was wrapping his arms around your waist.

“How’s it going?” His voice rumbled in your ear and you leaned back against him.

God, he was so strong and soft and warm and smelled so pretty all the time. You were going to miss him so much. You felt him fiddle with the bow tying your burgundy dress together and ducked your head.

“Good, just came to get a drink.” Which you had been doing - about three minutes ago. “And wanted to make sure everyone in here was all set.”

Bradley hummed and swayed you back and forth in his arms. “Look at you, hostess with the mostess - or however that goes. You want me to make you another drink?”

You nodded. “Please.”

You both had decided to set up the bar in the kitchen, while keeping the food in the dining room and the dessert in the sitting room for later. Hours ago, before you had even hopped in the shower, the bar had been painstakingly set up and organized. Now, it needed some work. You cursed yourself for not checking on it earlier in the evening - you couldn’t believe your guests had been serving themselves from this all night.

The glasses were no longer in neat rows, organized by type, the bowl with the limes was running dangerously low, and the caps to the liquor bottles and the champagne corks were scattered across the table. Without a second thought, you started organizing everything before Bradley could even get you a fresh glass.

You could tell he wanted to say something, but - at least for that moment - he just rubbed your back and then poured you another glass of champagne, making sure to put the bottle back properly. Meanwhile, you scooped up the stray corks and foil and other bottle caps and threw them in the garbage underneath the sink. You had enough time, maybe you could pop those dirty wine glasses in the empty dishwasher? Wait - there was a puddle of condensation underneath an open bottle of champagne. You frowned. Clearly, someone hadn’t put it back in the bucket. Who would do that? Didn’t they know to put it back exactly where -

“- You good?”

Bradley’s voice was so soft and reassuring and you couldn’t believe you’d soon be going without hearing it for months. Unable to wait another second, you wrapped your arms around him in a hug, which he eagerly returned and you nuzzled his chest. Bradley’s shirt for the party was an exceptionally soft flannel in a solid navy color that you’d found on sale. He hated buying himself clothes, even more so spending a lot of money on them, but he always liked whatever you picked out for him.

Maybe you could buy him some new clothes while he was gone? By now, you knew what he liked and didn’t like - right down to the colors and fabric types. He needed some new undershirts - and socks. You nuzzled your face into his chest. He felt so warm and soft and smelled so good. You had to buy a travel sized bottle of his cologne before he left.

“You sure you’re okay, kid?” he asked again.

“Just a little overwhelmed - and kinda tired.” You pulled your head back to look at him, but the two of you still kept your arms around the other.

“Well,” Bradley started, “to be fair, you did do like all the work for this party, think it’s valid to be a little tired, sweetheart.”

“What? No?” You were offended on his behalf. “Bubs, you made all the food and -”

“- Yeah, but you helped with the food and did all the work getting the house ready.”

You cocked your head, considering this. “I mean, I did. Didn’t I?” Bradley chuckled. “Okay, fine - I’m tired. But it’s a good tired, I think?”

“A good tired, huh?” His thumbs were making the most soothing circles on your hips.

“You should’ve just led with that last one.” He kissed your temple and ran his hands up and down the silk fabric covering your arms. “Would’ve known exactly what you were talking about then.”

You lightly shoved his chest and then pulled him back in for a hug. “I’m also gonna miss you a lot…”

That was the crux of it. You were going to miss him so much you thought your heart was going to burst. And enjoying all the Christmas festivities tonight - on the second Saturday in December - made it all the more apparent that Bradley wasn’t going to be with you over the holidays. He wouldn’t be with you again until March.

You two had gotten through plenty of training missions, short diplomatic visits, and off-sites - on your end - over the last eight months. But this was Bradley’s first, real deployment.

God, if only Emily Simpson could see you now. You and Bradley had both been so cocky, so confident back in October at the gala about how effortlessly you handled the time spent apart. But you hadn’t been staring down a three month long deployment back then.

Three months was a long time. Six pay cycles, at least twelve trips to the grocery, four off-sites, the entirety of Q1, five nail appointments, twenty four pilates classes, and if he knocked you up that very night, it could be the entirety of a first trimester of pregnancy. Not that you wanted to be pregnant - at least not for a while. Like quite a while. It was just a way to compare time. You didn’t want to be pregnant.

Three months, three months, three months.

And then he’d come home to you. To you and your life together.

That’s why the party had to be perfect. Because it would remind Bradley of home and all he had to look forward to when he came back in three months.

“I’m gonna miss you, too. Never really had someone to miss before on one of these - not like this.”

And then he kissed you - quick, little butterfly kisses that soon turned bolder and more daring, especially considering there were five or so other people milling about the kitchen. Bradley’s tongue licked your bottom lip, eventually coaxing your mouth open. He tasted like the old fashioned you saw him drinking earlier. You slid your arms up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and fiddled with the ends of his soft hair.

The sounds of the party disappeared around you - you could no longer hear Frank Sinatra singing Jingle Bells, Jake and Georgie talking in the corner, or Javy getting drinks for him and his girlfriend to your right.

All you could focus on was Bradley. And how warm and soft and strong he felt in your arms and how -

“- Fuck’s sake, Bradshaw. Do you want us to leave or…”

You turned around to face Jake and Georgie, the latter of whom looked beyond embarrassed, and leaned back against Bradley’s chest. Shit - you’d forgotten you had an audience, especially Jake and Javy.

“Sorry…” You felt warm all over at getting caught. Normally, you and Bradley weren’t big on PDA, but you’d been needy lately - both of you had been.

Further down to your right, Javy just chuckled. “Give ‘em a break. You’d be the same if you could hold someone down long enough.” Bradley laughed, while Jake turned beat red.

While him and Javy started chirping at each other, Bradley took your hand and led you out of the kitchen, past all the guests congregating in the dining room and over towards the sitting room.

“Here, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

There were only a couple people in this part of the house - Caroline and Max, Bob and Callie, and Natasha and Rory, the latter of whom had gone with her to the gala back in October. They were a relatively quiet crowd and looked to be captivated by a story Max was telling. But then again, people were always captivated by Max.

“…so I say to Garoppolo, ‘you really wanna get the shit beaten out of you for the second time this week?’ Because a guy who folds in front of the fucking Broncos’ defensive line is not one I think can handle being humiliated like this on - aww, if it isn’t Bradley-Boy and our lovely hostess. Come here and give me a kiss, sweetheart.” You chuckled and started over towards Max. “No, not you, darling. I meant Bradley-Boy.”

With giggles and jeers, everyone turned towards Bradley, who was definitely blushing. But ever the dutiful host, he trudged over towards Max and planted a sloppy kiss on his forehead.

You had met Max over a year ago via your best friend from college, Caroline. Bradley, on the other hand, had met Max in late March at Mission Beach, right before the two of you had started going out.

Since moving back to California, Bradley had taken up surfing again and relished his weekend mornings out in the chilly Pacific. It had taken a couple weeks for the guys to realize they were both regulars and get past the initial head nod greeting, but after that they got on like a house on fire. Despite Max being a typical nepotism baby, VC-firm-bro type and Bradley the outgoing, naval man, they were each other’s best friend.

And to be perfectly honest, you thought they may have been a little in love with each other.

Who knows, maybe you would have been at Bradley and Max’s holiday party if you hadn’t met him in April.

“All good now, peaches?” Bradley teased and then turned to everyone else in their little group. “Just so you know, the story ends with Jimmy G challenging Maxi-Pad to a closest to the pin contest and Max shanking his tee shot.”

You laughed and wrapped your free arm back around Bradley’s waist. “Was this how you planned to cheer me up?”

“Oh, god. What’d you do now, Rooster?” Natasha teased.

“Can I call you ‘Rooster?’” Max asked, much to Caroline’s delight.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Bradley said and then turned towards Natasha. “And nothing, just trying to do everything so can to make sure my girl has a lovely evening.” Everyone let out various sighs and swoons, except Nat and Max, who feigned gagging. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He grabbed your free hand again and brought you over to the upright piano in the corner, next to where Callie and Bob were lounging on the loveseat. You desperately hoped Bradley was going to play for you - maybe even some Christmas carols. He had such a natural talent for it, even beyond his usual Hard Deck repertoire of that damn Jerry Lee Lewis song. He could play Debussy, Ravel, Schumann - anything, really. You figured he’d start off with Jingle Bells or something like that, but he surprised you with something new.

Bradley’s fingers twinkled out the opening notes to Linus and Lucy and you, and the others in the sitting room, couldn’t help but laugh. He had been right - this did cheer you up. You had always loved the Peanuts.

Growing up, you’d gone to the Charles Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa too many times to count. It became your favorite place during your parents’ divorce and you always begged your dad to take you whenever you were having a bad day. But then, when the divorce had been finalized and you, your dad and brother eventually moved down to Berkeley, you didn’t get the opportunity to go as often. But your love for the cartoon characters never died and you had the sneaking suspicion that Bradley had learned the song for you - this was the first time you’d ever heard him play it.

You took a hearty sip of your champagne and leaned your arms on the top of the piano, eventually resting your cheek against your fist. Your cheeks hurt from the massive smile stretching across your face as you looked fondly at Bradley. He was concentrating so hard, his tongue was peeking out of his mouth. And his long, graceful fingers were flying across the keys.

You couldn’t imagine how long it took him to learn this if he was already off book. Did you mention his fingers? His hands? God, they were beautiful. Strong and long and corded - was that the right word? You recalled it from those regency romance novels you had hidden on your Kindle. God, you loved him so much. So fucking much. You’d never loved a person this much before - oh, you were going to miss him so much.

“You two are just like Lucy and Schroeder,” Callie cooed, snapping you out of your thoughts and causing Bradley to fumble a couple of notes. He also was blushing, which was sweet.

A couple more people filtered into the sitting room, drawn in by the music, and soon people were throwing out requests for Bradley to play while others chatted in the background. He took Pete’s suggestion of Jingle Bells and soon played a jazzy version of the song.

While Bradley played, the older man came up to you to chat. Penny couldn’t make it to the party, which was admittedly a bit of a disappointment, but she was hoping to stop by later once things wound down a bit at the Hard Deck.

“Hell of a party, kid.” He toasted you with his beer.

“Thanks, I just wanted to do something nice for Bradley.”

“Pretty sure you could’ve gotten a pizza and he would’ve been happy.”

You considered that. “True, but that hardly sounds fun - plus, this way I could get a new outfit.”

Pete smiled and you both glanced over towards the piano for a moment as Bradley got Natasha and Bob to sing along with him. It was nice seeing them all carefree and happy and just lighter. Bradley glanced over his shoulder at you and winked.

“It’s nice seeing him like this,” Pete said. “Hell, last Christmas it was like pulling teeth to get the kid over to Penny’s for Christmas Eve and to see him get a tree and have people over at his place is just - it makes me really happy. Sorry if that’s corny or -”

“- No,” you reassured him, “well, maybe a little. But corny is good sometimes. Especially around the holidays.”

“You guys gonna do gifts tomorrow or…”

You shook your head. “Nah, we’re gonna do them tonight after everyone leaves.”

Pete took a sip of his beer and nodded. “The kid wouldn’t stop talking about your gift, I swear he told everyone on base.”

You felt yourself heat up and glanced over at Bradley again. “Really?” Pete nodded. “I’m nervous now, we promised we were only doing one present, so I hope he likes mine...”

“He will,” Pete sounded certain. “You think you guys will do this at your place every year? Maybe start a new tradition?”

That was a lovely thought. Celebrating Christmas with Bradley for the next x amount of years. Plus, doing this before Christmas would give everyone the opportunity to get together before the actual holidays.

“Oh, I’d love to,” you gushed, “but it’s Bradley’s call. It’s his house - what?”

Pete cut you off with a look. “Come on, by now you know it’s your house as much as Bradley’s…”

Oh, gosh. You hoped so - one day, at least. The two of you barely spent a night apart, baring whenever one of you was away for work. You barely considered your apartment your home anymore. Instead, it was on the couch in Bradley’s living room, watching TV. Or cooking breakfast together on the weekends and watching Sunday Morning at the kitchen table. Laying beside him in bed at night, his big arms wrapped around you, as you whispered how much you loved each other. You had never felt this way before Bradley, like another person was home.

And you wanted to be home all the time.

You could feel the heat creep up your neck, the warmth only amplified by Bradley’s soothing voice singing Let It Snow.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Pete apologized, “I just wanted you to know that I can see how much you guys care about each other. And he’s my kid - at the end of the day, I just want him to be happy.” He laid a reassuring hand on your shoulder and you ducked your head before nodding.

Back when you had first met him, you had imagined that gaining Pete’s approval was how you would have felt had Bradley’s parents been alive to give it to you. You thought about them often - more often than you’d ever let Bradley think - and especially as of late. Would they have liked you? Would they have gotten along with your parents? From what you’d been told, they would have made amazing grandparents. Maybe Bradley would even have had more siblings? Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“He makes me really happy, too,” you whispered. Pete pulled you in for a hug and then the two of you just watched Bradley playing for a few moments while the party continued around you two.

“I’m gonna get another beer, you want anything?” Pete asked.

You just shook your head. “Nah, I’m good for now, but thanks again for coming. It means a lot to both of us.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, just make sure the kid doesn’t drink too much. He always gets a little chatty…” And then Pete set off towards the kitchen, leaving you alone, but only for a moment until you heard Max’s voice in the hallway.

“Caro, darling, will you help me with something outside…” You crept over towards him, curious to see what he was up to and why he needed Caro’s help.

Caroline didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’m not giving you a handjob, darling.”

“Oh, please don’t,” you drawled, alerting them both to your presence, “Mr. Harrington already thinks we’re delinquents, can’t have him thinking we associate with them, too,” you said referring to your - no, Bradley’s neighbor.

Mr. Harrington hadn’t exactly called you and Bradley delinquents - rather, he had called you a fresh young lady after you had unknowingly flipped him off at an intersection in another neighborhood, only to find out that he was the crotchety old man that lived next door to Bradley. He had been waiting for you in the driveway when you’d gotten home a few minutes later, demanding to talk to Bradley about you. But the old man hadn’t stood a chance with you and Bradley had just stood on the porch with a proud smile on his face as you gave him a piece of your mind. Since then, he’d just pass silent judgment whenever he saw you outside.

Max held up two fingers. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Scout’s honor.”

“It’s three fingers, dumbass.”

He breezed past you and started towards the door, gesturing for Caroline to follow him. “Good thing I was never a Boy Scout then…”

“Please, Max. Just tell me if you’re going to -”

“- Secrets, secrets are only fun unless you don’t share with anyone -”

“- That’s not even how it goes!”

Max shrugged and grabbed Caroline’s hand, pulling her close to his side. “It’ll be fun, we promise! Plus, maybe Max won’t even come back to the party…”

Oh, he was definitely doing the Santa thing. But at this point, maybe it would be fun and memorable? And maybe you were just drunk enough to let it happen.

“Fine, fine. As long as Max doesn’t come back to the party, you can do whatever you have planned -”

Max cut you off with a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, love. Now, Caro! Your assistance, please!”

You waved them off towards the front door and made your way back to the sitting room where Bradley was taking requests for his next song.

His eyes were scanning the room for whom you realized was you and a great, big smile spread across his face. “Nah, I got one already. Just needed my girl in here for this.” You chuckled and walked over towards the piano. “Figured we had to end on a high note, plus I heard a rumor Santa’s coming…”

There were hoots and hollers throughout the room, which didn’t let up even as Bradley played the first notes of the song he apparently needed you for assistance.

“I’ll sing the first few lines, but then you gotta take over, alright, sweetheart?”

You sat next to him on the narrow bench and giggled, not quite knowing what he had up his sleeve, but more than ready to go along for the ride. “You got it, rocketman.”

Bradley pecked you on the lips and then turned to the room as he played.

“I really can’t stay…baby, it’s cold outside…I’ve got to go ‘way…baby, it’s cold outside…”

Oh god.

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

Hours later, after all your guests had left, fuller and far drunker than they’d been when they’d arrived, you and Bradley were tidying up the living room. The dishwasher was rumbling in the kitchen, the first of many loads you’d have to do tonight and tomorrow, but it was drowned out by the music still playing on the Sonos, while the extra food had been put away in the fridge.

From your spot across the room where you were fluffing the couch cushions, you glanced over towards Bradley. He sat, leaning against the chaise lounge, and idly sipped from a bottle of champagne that he kept putting down on the floor - though on a coaster, mind you. His hair was perfectly tousled and messy and he had a pleased smile on his face as he stared at the Christmas tree in front of him. His right hand was absentmindedly running up and down his thigh, just begging for you to ride it.

You joined him on the floor and he wordlessly passed the bottle of champagne to you before throwing his arm around your shoulders.

“You did good, kid,” he said suddenly.

A smile lit up your face. “Really?” Brady chuckled at your earnestness. “You’re not just saying that because this is like the first halfway decent party you’ve ever -”

“- Hey! I’ve been to plenty of decent parties! But I think - I think that this might be the best one yet.”

As a reward for his sweetness, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You think everyone got along? I only overheard one argument between Caro and Jake.” And it had been over the latest cryptocurrency scandal of all things.

“Yeah, but to be fair, I think trauma bonding over your singing really brought everyone together.”

You were not as bad as Bradley had said - at the very least, you could carry a tune. Granted, you wouldn’t be on the Voice anytime soon, but if you were an SNL cast member and needed to sing for a sketch, you might be okay. And no one really focused on the actual singing during Baby It’s Cold Outside - it wasn’t exactly the paragon of Christmas songs or social norms.

But it was just about the perfect duet, in that it was a crowd pleaser, a little slutty, and campy as hell. And as it so happened, you had been feeling a little slutty with all the champagne you had drunk throughout the evening. Plus, with Bradley on the keys and no one else sober enough to make fun of your less than stellar singing skills, you had been a glutton for attention. You had used your champagne coupe as a microphone and had only spilled a couple drops - at first.

“- But baby, it's cold outside -”

“ - This welcome has been -”

“ - How lucky that you dropped in -”

“ - So nice and warm -”

“ - Look out the window at that storm -”

“ - My sister will be suspicious -”

“ - Gosh, your lips look delicious -” Bradley kissed your proffered hand and you shimmied around the piano bench, eventually draping yourself over his shoulders while he continued playing.

Would you regret it in the morning? Probably. Did the song have a weird history? Yes. But it was your goddamn Christmas party! And you had wanted to have fun and fawn over your boyfriend. It had also been a good distraction from what you had correctly assumed was Max planning to crash the party as Santa with a sleigh full of presents for everyone. But Max was richer than Croesus; he could afford it.

“Come on, Bradshaw. How’s she been this year? Naughty or nice?”

You shot Bradley a glance, curious as to what his answer would be. But he just smiled wryly and toasted Max with his drink before taking a sip.

You closed the distance between the two of you and whispered in his ear, “Clever boy…”

He grabbed your ass, thankfully out of sight of your guests. “My smart girl…”

“Is that what you want me to be tonight?”

Frankly, you had been shocked Bradley hadn’t kicked everyone out then and there.

But now you were cozy and tired in all the best ways and had Bradley to yourself for the rest of the evening. You burrowed your face into his chest and pressed a couple kisses to the column of his neck, suddenly desperate to touch him. It seemed Bradley was of the same mindset and carefully settled you on his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling you closer and you shifted your attention to his lips.

Somehow, the two of you wound up laying on the floor at the edge of the Christmas tree. The soft lights made Bradley’s brown eyes appear like pools of chocolate and you flushed. He groaned as you rolled your hips against his lap, already feeling the bulge forming in his jeans. Shit - were you going to fuck underneath the Christmas tree? Like properly fuck on the floor underneath the Christmas tree.

You started grinding against him, desperate to be closer, and then kissed along his neck in the hopes of leaving a reminder of this night for him. You peered up at the Christmas tree, lost in the beauty of the moment, when you suddenly noticed something.

The presents.

The presents under the tree.

The three presents under the tree.

Except…

There were only supposed to be two presents under the tree. One from each of you. You had been very clear about that right after Thanksgiving. Had even set a price limit.

Fuck. Oh, no. No, no, no. You pulled back and Bradley chased your lips with his own.

“Bubs! We said one present each!”

He shrugged underneath you and kept rubbing his hands in soothing circles on your hips. “It’s nothing - well, it’s not nothing. But it’s just something I’ve been thinking about for a while and I figured this would be a good time.”

“But - but I only got you one!”

Oh god - oh god. You ruined it. You ruined Bradley’s Christmas. You knew you should’ve gotten him that Otis Redding vinyl, too. But a Theragun? What had you been thinking? That was such a dumb gift. So impersonal, so boring, so basic. It was on three different gift guides from the Strategist for fuck’s sake. You figured it would be good for his back while he was deployed, you knew it had been giving him a lot of trouble lately. But now that Bradley had given you two gifts? In two separate boxes?

You didn’t think the ornament you’d gotten him counted as a separate gift. Tacking it onto the box was just something your family had always done.

Clearly noticing the panic on your face, Bradley sat up slightly. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s -”

“- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I knew I should’ve had a back up present for you-”

He said your name firmly and you looked up at him. “- You didn’t ruin anything, alright? Hey, why don’t you open it first and then we can talk about it, okay?”

“Okay…”

You reached out for the present like it was going to explode, barely even taking notice of how nicely it had been wrapped. (Granted, you were still you, so you did actually notice, but probably would have fawned over the quaint wrapping paper and grosgrain ribbon a bit more had you not already been wigging out.) Next to you, Bradley bit his lip as he watched you peel through the paper. Why was he so nervous? He always gave you the best presents.

At first, there was nothing but a small gift box. It wasn’t terribly heavy. And it definitely wasn’t jewelry. Mainly because any of the jewelry you actually would have liked was definitely not within the spending limit, which Bradley knew. But also, it just didn’t feel like jewelry. It couldn’t have been an ornament, he wouldn’t have been this nervous.

So, what the fuck was it?

You slid your finger underneath the flap of the box and popped the lid open. But then there was the tissue paper. Goddamnit, Bradley! Why was he so good at wrapping presents! You glanced up at him only to see that he was blushing. Properly blushing. Like pink neck, pink cheeks - hell, even the tips of his ears were pink - blushing.

Unable to take the suspense a moment longer, you dove into the tissue paper to find -

“- A key?” Your fingers gently picked up the offending object, only belatedly noticing that the key fob matched your favorite work tote bag.

Bradley nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask you to move in with me for ages, it’s just we had so much time until it would become an issue, but then I got deployed and I know your lease will just about be up by the time I get back in the spring. So, I figured now would be a good time to ask if you wanted to move in with me? But if you think it’s too soon, I can totally wait. However long it takes for you to be comfortable with it is fine with me - I just want to have my life with you.”

“Bubs…” your voice was thick. “I uhh -”

“- I always want to come home to you - if you’ll have me?”

Oh god, oh god, oh god. You let out a disbelieving laugh. You would have Bradley Bradshaw in any way you could get him. He was your home.

You wiped away a wayward tear. “Bradley, this is - this is so unbelievably perfect. Yes, yes, I will move with you.”

He surged forward to kiss you and you temporarily forgot all your previous worries because Bradley wanted to move in with you. He wanted to share furniture and go grocery shopping for food that would go in the same fridge. He wanted to wake up beside you every single morning and come home to you every single evening and go to sleep beside you every single night. He wanted everything. And that’s what you wanted to give him.

“God, I love you so much.”

You never got tired of hearing him say that. “I love you, too. Sorry I made such a big deal about the presents…”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just put it in with the other gift, I get how it could have thrown you off.”

He was being nice and not pushing it for the moment, which you really appreciated. “Say, why don’t you open your gift from me and then I’ll open your other one?”

You crawled over towards the other two presents under the tree and gave the one that said to; rocketman to Bradley, while you took the other one with your name on it. It was decently sized and relatively light. The thing with Bradley that always made you nervous was that he gave the best presents.

For your birthday, he had not only organized a trip for the two of you out to Catalina Island, but he had also learned how to fucking sail Penny’s boat, so he could be the one to take you there himself. He had been so excited and had looked so cute in his white linen pants and navy blue button down and you swore you had never been more attracted to him.

And then, for your six month anniversary, he had somehow gotten you two into Addison out in Carmel Valley for dinner and then followed that up with a trip to the drive-in to see a special showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Though to be fair, neither of you had paid as much attention to the movie as you had been too busy necking each other in the backseat of the Bronco.

In short, he was a prince among men. Well, except when he wasn’t. But that wasn’t often. So, you were excited, but wary to open his gift, knowing nothing could possibly top the house key.

You tore through the wrapping paper to find another box similar to the one from earlier, except this one was heavier. Beneath the tissue paper laid a thick white envelope and an apron in a Liberty pattern. Your smile grew as you opened the envelope and saw that Bradley had gifted you cooking lessons for the next three months.

“Bubs.” You nudged his shoulder. “This is perfect, thank you. The apron is super cute, too.”

Bradley chuckled. “Now you can stop wearing mine and hopefully stop burning risotto -”

“- It was one time!”

“Yeah and you almost burned down your apartment.” You made a face and he made one right back before turning serious. “But I thought it would be nice, something for you to do while I’m gone.”

You kissed his cheek. “I’m excited and I’m gonna make you the best dinner you’ve ever had when you come home to me, alright?”

“It’s a date.”

“Perfect, now open yours!” You pushed the present towards him.

Bradley was one of those people that opened presents like they were going to save the wrapping paper, which meant he did it slowly and purposefully. This normally didn’t bother you, but you were already a little on edge from earlier and had to sit on your hands to stop you from ripping the paper off yourself.

First, he took off the little ornament you had affixed to the package. Harkening back to your first date, you had gotten him a Saturn V Rocket ornament to add to the tree, giving your rocketman something to aspire to.

He shook his head. “I’ll get there one day, sweetheart…” he said fondly. “Now let’s see what we have here.”

The nerves settled in your stomach again and you barely let him unwrap the present before you jumped on him with an explanation.

“Wait, is this one of those -”

“ - It’s a Theragun. I know I make fun of you for having a sore back and being old a lot, but I thought this could help when you’re deployed and I’m not around to tend to your every need,” you teased.

Bradley conceded a nod. “You do give good back massages…” You preened. “But I get these ads on my Instagram all the time, so this is perfect, thank you.”

“I figured it wasn’t something you’d buy for yourself and it’ll come in hand -”

“- I bet it’s a wicked strong vibrator - owww!”

“Bradley!” You giggled. Holy shit, you hadn’t even thought of that. There were like five different speeds on that thing and six different attachments. Fuck. “In that case, maybe I should keep it…”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He slid the box behind his back and you crawled over to steal it away from him.

But before you could wrap your arms around him, Bradley pulled you into his lap and eventually the Theragun was pushed away and the two of you were sprawled out on the floor making out like a bunch of horny teenagers again.

Goddamn - you really were gonna fuck underneath the Christmas tree, weren’t you? Now that would be the perfect memory for Bradley to take with him. Festive and fun and spontaneous.

His hands felt sinful as they crept up your thighs. It was like he was mapping out the slowest route to his destination, especially as they cupped your ass and ground your body against his. Suddenly, you let out a hiss as your elbow hit the hardwood floor, but quickly reassured Bradley that you were okay once he stopped to check in with you.

He whispered your name. “I need you so badly.”

“- Fuck, me too. Want you to take me right here -”

“- Owww,” Bradley let out a groan against your lips.

You immediately pulled back, concern lacing your features. “Shit, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just - I don’t think we should do this on the floor?”

“But it’s very spur of the moment?” You glanced around the living room, past the Christmas tree and the wrapping paper from your respective presents. “What about the couch?”

“We just got it dry-cleaned - again.”

You sat further back on his lap and Bradley propped himself up on his elbows. Your wrap dress draped prettily over your bare thighs. “We can put a towel down?”

“Isn’t it upstairs?”

You made a face. “I could go get it? Or we could break out a new one?”

“Then I might as well come upstairs with you -”

“- But I want it to be spontaneous!”

He rolled his hips and you sighed. “We can be spontaneous upstairs…”

“Yeah, but…” You could feel the tears starting to form and your throat closing up.

Bradley tried to get in your line of sight after you ducked your head. “Hey, what is it? It’s alright.”

You sniffled. “I just want you to have some good memories before you leave and be spontaneous - especially since during the party I was pretty stressed and uptight -” The last word came out bitterly, but Bradley didn’t let you finish your sentence.

“- Hey, none of that, alright? I knew you were a little stressed, but just chalked it up to the party. What’s really going on, sweetheart?”

You wanted to tell him. That you were going to miss him and wanted him to be able to think of the two of you doing all these fun and exciting and wonderful things before he left. That you didn’t want him to think of you crying and puffy eyed and sad. That you didn’t want him to think of you having sex in your bed, like any other night, but how you couldn’t even make it upstairs because you needed each other so much, so desperately and had to make due with the living room floor.

Just say you were tired. Just say you were tired.

But when Bradley took your hand and threaded your fingers together and started drawing circles across your palm, the tears came. And came and came and didn’t stop. You rubbed at your eyes with your free hand and repositioned yourself to lay beside him.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, come here.” Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders and let you rest your head on his chest. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, honey.”

Once the tears slightly abated, you took in a deep breath to ground yourself. “I wanted everything to be perfect for you since you’re not going to be home for Christmas and all this stuff went wrong -”

“- Sweetheart, baby, no, no. It didn’t go wrong, everything went really really right.”

“Really?” you whispered.

Bradley chuckled. “Yeah, best Christmas I’ve had since - fuck, I can’t remember when. Come here.” He wrapped his arms around you.

“I know it was dumb to be worried about it - and to let myself get upset over it - but I think I was just so focused on the party and the presents and making everything perfect because I don’t want to think too much about you leaving.” You sniffled. “And I feel like that makes me seem childish or like I can’t handle this - your job, I mean. But I’m really just going to miss you, so fucking much. And I’ve never felt like this before.”

The look in Bradley’s eyes after you unloaded all that made you feel ten times lighter and you regretted not saying anything earlier.

“Sweetheart…” He tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’s definitely not dumb to be worried about stuff like that and I know you can handle all of this - I’m not worried in that respect. I just want you to know how much I appreciated every single thing you’ve done for me these last couple weeks trying to make sure I had a good Christmas. And I know it’s cliche to say, but it’s the goddamn truth - I don’t care what we do for Christmas as long as I get to spend it at home with you, alright?”

Your heart soared and you felt the tears forming again at his words. I don’t care what we do for Christmas as long as I get to spend it at home with you. Because in the end, that was all that really mattered. You just kept your reply simple. “Alright, rocketman.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You kissed him again. “I love you so much, bubs.”

“Even though I’m old and don’t think we should fuck on the living room floor?”

You chuckled at his attempt to bring some levity into an otherwise heavy conversation. “Yes, Bradley. I love you even though you wouldn’t let me fuck you on the living room floor…”

This time, Bradley pulled you closer, so your body was spread out on top of him and kissed you, licking your bottom lip before opening your mouth up to him. His hands snuck underneath the skirt of your silk dress, skirting the edge of your panties. You sighed. His hands were calloused and a little rough, but they still touched you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Hold up, I never said I wouldn’t let you, I just said I don’t think - hey!” Bradley tried to fend off your tickle attack, but could only get a few words out between his giggles. “Stop, you know I’m old!”

Your ridiculously handsome, thirty-six year old, naval aviator boyfriend was giggling on the floor of your house because your were tickling his sides. If only you could show this version of Bradley to the Navy - maybe then they wouldn’t take him away from you at Christmas. Stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin.

“Also, are you still upset that I got you two presents? Because if you are, can I just make you come once tonight? Level the field.”

You giggled. “Shut up.” Your kiss cut off any reply he had been about to give and you licked his bottom lip, coaxing open his mouth.

“Uh, uh, uh.” You paused and tilted your head slightly to look Bradley in the eye. “Now, what did Santa ask earlier, huh? You been naughty or nice this year?”

There were two ways in which this could play out - with two different, though ultimately satisfying results. One would play out relatively quickly - and the other would ensure you were occupied all night.

“Nice?”

Bradley clicked his tongue. “Don’t know about that…”

“Why not? Haven’t I been good?” You pouted, completely exaggerated, which Bradley picked up on in an instant.

“Good girls don’t typically have to ask if they’ve been good…”

“Maybe I don’t want to be good tonight…”

Bradley sucked in a breath as you snuck your hand underneath his shirt and teased the waistband of his jeans. His skin was hot to the touch beneath your fingers as you unbuttoned his shirt. You leaned forward to press little butterfly kisses to his neck and gradually made your way down past the little tufts of hair on his chest.

“Please touch me, sweetheart. Please.”

There was a carnal need inside you to mark his skin. To give him proof of your love and need for him, so that he could look at the marks in the mirror until they faded. A kiss across his neck, a soft bite on his shoulder, another on his bicep by his tattoo. You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine. And I want everyone to know.

“God, Bradley. You’re so beautiful,” you whispered against his skin. “So beautiful and all mine.”

Bradley let out a whine as your teeth grazed against the sensitive flesh on his neck. “Fuck, I love you.”

His hands inched up your thighs, getting closer to the throbbing heat between your legs. Maybe it was the festive spirit, the fact that Bradley had asked you to move in with him, or that he was shipping out in 28 hours for three months, but you were pathetically wet already. Desperate and needy and as naughty as he had joked earlier.

“I can feel the heat pouring off you, sweetheart.”

“Can we go - ahhh - can we go upstairs, please?”

He pulled back slightly. “What happened to fucking on the living room floor?” he teased.

“Don’t want to fuck up your old man back anymore - Bradley!” you cried out as he smacked your ass.

“Old man, huh?” His smile was sinful and you were putty in his hands.

You widened your eyes, trying to appear contrite. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen - Bradley!” He cut you off again, but this time because he was tickling your sides and your giggles made it impossible to speak. “Ta-take me upstairs, bubs - please. Don’t - don’t want you to hold back.”

“Now how could I refuse that?”

Gradually, the two of you made your way upstairs to the bedroom, though with a couple of breaks in between for Bradley to press you up against the walls and on the staircase. You’d have bruises tomorrow, you were sure. But you wanted them to last - to be something to remember this night by for the weeks and months to come.

You landed heavily on the bed, bouncing slightly, and peered up at Bradley. His bare chest was rising and falling steadily with each breath he took as he looked you over, like he was trying to memorize you.

Without breaking eye contact, you rose to your knees and pulled at the pretty little bow tying your wrap dress. Hours ago, you’d felt self conscious about your body in front of everyone else, but at that moment you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. Bradley’s eyes widened as he took in the way you slowly pushed the silk dress off your shoulders, leaving you only in your burgundy bra and panties. It wasn’t exactly a matching set, but the colors matched and that was enough for the two of you that night.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Bradley lunged forward, causing you to fall back against the pillows and you wrapped your legs around his hips with a gleeful cry, which he promptly cut off with his lips.

After spending ample time just kissing you and running his hands up and down your body, Bradley lavished attention on your breasts, licking and biting and sucking on them like a man possessed. Your nipples were peaked to attention, thanks to the slight chill in the bedroom and his thorough ministrations. With one hand, he paid special attention to the skin just below your nipple, rubbing his middle finger along the tender flesh while thumbing at the raised bud. Meanwhile, his other hand kept trekking downward towards your clit.

“Oh god!” you cried out against his lips as he slid his fingers inside you and crooked them just right.

“So fucking wet, sweetheart.”

Fuck. You could feel yourself clenching around him, desperate for something more. You were needy for him that night. Needy to have your boyfriend all to yourself. To give yourself to him completely. Your orgasm was well and truly building up inside you, but you wanted to come on his cock first. There would be plenty more opportunities that night to come apart in other ways.

You’d work him all through the night if you had to just to get your fix before he left. The thought made you desperate.

“Bu-bubs, please. I need more - need your cock inside me.” You pulled him closer, grazing your thighs against his throbbing cock.

Bradley groaned. “Such a needy fucking thing, bucking against my fingers like that, huh?” You whined. “But I’m gonna fuck you nice and slow, yeah. Make sure you savor it.”

It sounded fucking sinful the way your cunt was sucking in Bradley’s fingers. He’d begun scissoring them inside you so as to not have to remove them just yet.

More. More. More. You chanted the words mindlessly in your head. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Finally, he pulled out his fingers and shamelessly dried them off on your breasts. “You ready?” You nodded frantically. “Don’t think either of us is gonna last long.”

No, you didn’t think so either. But you didn’t want to prolong this. You needed to be close to him and to know he was real and good and yours. At least for tonight.

Knowing each other as you did, you raised your hips slightly, letting Bradley to slip inside you. You both moaned, you loving the stretch and him loving the tight warmth. You wrapped your arm around his neck, bringing his lips closer to yours, but not daring to lean in those final few centimeters to touch, and instead just breathed against each other.

“Fuck,” you rasped against his lips, “I love you.”

“Love you so much.” He snapped his hips against yours and you cried out. “Gonna miss you.”

You ducked your head to swipe your lips across the scar on his neck. “Can’t wait for you to come home to me.”

Home. Home. Home. Bradley wouldn’t just be coming back to San Diego in three months: he would be coming home - to you. And to this great, big, beautiful house he wanted to share with you. And to the life he wanted to share with you.

He groaned your name. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Can’t believe it’s happening.”

Tears pricked your eyes and you bridged the gap to kiss him. “Bubs, I’m so close, please.”

“Tell me how to get you there? I wanna wait for you.”

If he kept saying things like that, you wouldn’t be too far behind. Without breaking eye contact, you brought Bradley’s hand down to your clit and he played with the sensitive nub. You keened against his hand, which was coupled with a particularly deep thrust of his cock. You felt that coil in your belly finally unraveling.

“‘M close, feels so good. Again…”

He repeated the action again and again, telling you how gorgeous you were as you took his cock and how much he loved you and needed you and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Because for tonight you were.

With a strangled cry of his name, you came and true to his word, Bradley followed shortly after. Fuck. He felt so good. He made you feel so good, so full, so loved.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me.” He peppered kisses up and down your neck and across your cheeks, before settling on your lips. The two of you sat there like that for a few moments, trying to even out your breathing and be as close together as possible.

But eventually Bradley had to pull out and you whimpered at the loss. He settled you back against the pillows and then started cleaning you up with the towel in his nightstand. Before he got to your still leaking cunt, he scooped up some of your cum with his fingers and brought it to your lips.

“Open.” You did so without a second thought and cleaned off his fingers, getting high off the taste of the two of you mixed together. “Good girl.”

Then you let yourself get settled underneath the covers. You could go to the bathroom in a few minutes because right now you wanted to be with Bradley. Your bodies were both hot and sticky underneath the white sheets, but you couldn’t think of anywhere else you wanted to be than in his arms.

Bradley nuzzled your hand, eventually pressing a kiss to your palm. “It’s not too long, just three months.”

“Three months without you.” Kiss. “Without your singing.” Kiss. “Your cooking.” Kiss. “Your smile and your silly little mustache.” Kiss. Kiss. “Three months without you, rocketman.”

Your eyes were swimming with tears, but they were properly dripping down Bradley’s cheeks.

“But we still have tonight.”

You still had tonight. And you’d be in each other’s arms till the morning light.

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

Two weeks later, as you sat in your childhood bedroom on Christmas Eve, you were at once hit with a startling realization: it wasn’t your home anymore. It hadn’t been in years, really. Not since you’d officially moved out after college. But that fact had never been so apparent until you were waiting for the Facetime call to connect to Bradley.

Your home was in San Diego with your friends and your job. Your home was with your boyfriend, snuggled up on the couch watching TV, perusing the aisles of the farmer’s market, watching him surf, and cooking dinner together. Your home was with Bradley.

And you just wanted to be home - you just wanted Bradley.

You had put on a brave face during Christmas Eve celebrations with your family - at least with your extended family. You had sung carols at church, helped Mary and your dad prep and lay out all the traditional Christmas Eve dishes, organized the Yankee Swap with your brother and Lauren, and had a few too many cocktails with your cousins. But as the last of your grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins had left and your dad had turned on NBC for the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, you had lost it.

Properly, honestly, well and truly lost it. As in fat tears streaming down your face, snot clogging your nose, remnants of your mascara rimmed around your eyes lost it.

Goddamn Harry Bailey got to come home in time for Christmas! Harry got to toast to his “big brother George: the richest man in town.” Granted, George had basically just tried to kill himself, so the comparison wasn’t perfect - but still! Congressional Medal of Honor winner, Navy pilot Harry Bailey got to be home for Christmas! Why couldn’t Bradley? Fucking Navy. Fucking stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin.

At the sight of your tears, Mary had just opened up her blanket and let you burrow against her side as she rubbed your back like she used to when you were a kid, while your dad had gotten you a cup of Sleepytime Tea. Eventually, once you had calmed down enough and they had said all the right words to soothe your heartache, you had kissed your dad and Mary goodnight - Mary had hugged you a bit tighter than usual - and they both had told you to give Bradley their best during your Facetime call.

They liked Bradley - a lot, actually. Of course, they’d given him a tough time when they first talked on the phone all those months ago, but by the time Bradley officially met them at Thanksgiving, it was like he’d known them for years. He just fit.

He loved to talk to Mary about her history classes at Berkeley and how her students were doing. He had the same sense of humor as your dad and also loved the Patriots despite their recent offensive coordinator troubles.

He just made you lighter and made things lighter. He fit.

And you could only hope that one year he’d be able to come up to Berkeley with you to celebrate for the holidays instead of being all alone on an aircraft carrier somewhere in the Pacific. Fucking Navy. Fucking stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin.

Shit! The call was finally connecting. You felt tears in your eyes as you finally got to see your beautiful boy again. Though the picture was a little grainy, Bradley was sitting in what looked like one of the quiet rooms in your office, clad in his green flight suit. And he had the most wonderful smile on his face at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, bubs,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t come out as thickly over Facetime as it did in your room.

For what felt like the longest time, but was probably only a few seconds, you stared at each other, just drinking in the other’s face. Bradley already looked tired. This was your first Facetime since he’d left two weeks ago. Normally, you talked over email - which was actually kind of fun.

Early on in your relationship during a one week special detachment, you had unironically sent him a pretty formal email to check in:

Bradley,

Hope you’re settling in well. Let me know when it would be a good time to connect via FaceTime. I can put some time on my calendar whenever you’re free. I’m heading to an off-site in Raleigh on Thursday, so I’ll be on East Coast time.

Miss you and stay safe,

It had even been from your PwC email address, which he never let you forget. But soon quasi-formal emails became your thing. They probably set off a bunch of red flags to the censor team and you had never sent one from your work email again, but it was fun. You’d even thought of a couple code words and phrases to use.

“You have a good night? How’s your dad and Mary? Tell them thanks again for the package.”

Your parents had had the idea to send everything they normally would have put in Bradley’s Christmas stocking to him on the carrier. He had emailed the three of you a picture of the package, received in perfect condition, on his bunk yesterday. You two had decided that he would open it while you were on your FaceTime call. It wasn’t anything particularly special, except for two small gifts you’d snuck in before bringing it to the post office, but you were excited and could tell Bradley was too.

You held your breath as he parsed through the Dr.Jart sheet masks, Churchill cigars, various Christmas themed candies, new electric toothbrush heads, and scratch cards until he got to the bottom of the stack where your two special presents were hidden.

“Now, what’s this?” He shot you a teasing glance as he opened the envelope.

You remained tight lipped, just glad it hadn’t been opened by Naval mail security. Bradley slid the object out of the envelope and you could see his eyes widen, even over Facetime, as he realized what it was before he promptly turned it over and glanced around even though there was no one else in the room with him.

“Shit - how’d you - how’d you take this?” He leaned back in his chair and stared at it, clearly a little in awe.

You felt your cheeks heating up. “Well, I know you have a couple on your phone, but figured an old fashioned one might be nice too - especially if you’re in a tech blackout or whatever it’s called. But do you really like it - seriously, you don’t have -”

“- No, I love it. You’re not getting this back from me.” You giggled. “But you gotta tell me how you managed to get the Polaroid in the shower with you and still get the soapy titties in the picture?”

“Can’t tell you everything, now can I?”

(Caroline had taken them for you. It truly had been a bonding experience and was honestly not half as sexy as Bradley was probably thinking. But you just smiled - more than content to keep that a secret from him.)

“Well, it is very much appreciated. So, thank you, I love it, seriously.”

You tried to peer into the box from halfway across the world. “There should be one more thing in there from me - and you don’t have to use it, but I know something similar always makes me feel like you’re right next to me…”

Bradley gingerly unwrapped the final tissue paper package only to reveal a travel sized bottle of your perfume. You giggled, watching him spritz his wrist and breathe in the scent.

“Fuck…I’ve missed that.”

You rested your cheek against your fist and just watched him. For a minute, it felt like he was right in front of you. It made you want to do something terribly cliche like hold your palm up against the screen and imagine you could feel the heat from his hand as he did the same thing back.

But instead Bradley just smiled at you and asked you all about your Christmas Eve activities.

So, you told him about sneaking outside to smoke with your cousins, drinking too much champagne, eating too much food made from your grandma’s recipes from the old country, getting an actually good gift in the Yankee Swap, and crying over Harry Bailey. And he just listened and smiled and asked questions at all the right parts and kept telling you how much he would have loved to do all that beside you next year.

And then with your remaining five minutes of calltime, Bradley told you all the goings on aboard the ship and how he and Callie and Javy were doing and about the fancy dinner and breakfast planned for tomorrow.

But then the dreaded countdown clock on the side of the screen popped up, signaling you had thirty seconds left. By then, both of you had tears in your eyes as you tried to say goodbye until your next call.

“So, we’ll talk in two weeks, okay? Should be just after New Year’s, but keep emailing me. I love reading them when I get the chance.”

You wiped a stray tear from your eye. “Of course, I’ll give you a full Christmas morning breakdown.”

Bradley chuckled, but seemed to glance at the countdown clock and sobered up. “I love you, I love you so much and I’m so happy I get to come home to you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas, bubs. Please come home.”

-----------

a/n: sorry it took me so fucking long to write again, but a girl can only be so self indulgent! merry christmas, this taglist is shit sorry!

Taglist: @sunderlust @seasonsbloom @ticklish-leafy-plant @lass-that-is-gone @katcoquette @daniellef89x @double-j @bradshawswife @hufflepuffprincesse @cloudycluster @sithbelova @mavencalorers @fav-rooster-fics @thebeautifullydamnedone @unordinare @callsignvalley @pricklepearbloom @browneyedboys @cherrycola27 @whatblogisthis216 @agentofkrypton @lcahwriter @kyliesalvatore @noellreadfiction @coyotesamachado @heartsofminds @jocsrecs @notroosterbradshaw @roosterforme @iblogtopassthetime @karateperson @nessrin @frenchtoastix @piceous21 @princessphilly @spideyngwen @mrsjobarnes @calmpunker @softspiderling @feralforfrank @fivsecondsflat @sexualparkour @greenorangevioletgrass @sexygaypalpatine @moonyscardigans @carousallie @liveholland @supernaturaldawning @melancholyy-hill @currentlybradshaw @summ3rlotus @seesaw-jk @roostereads @milestomaverick @some-lovely-day @steadfastconviction @sometimesanalice @jupitercomet @rae-gar-targaryen @oncasette @whisperofsong @call-sign-jinx @howdysebby

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fic recs 2022 Top gun top gun maverick rooster december they're soulmates bradley bradshaw my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing I LOVE DECEMBER AND I LOVE CHRISTMAS BECAUSE THAT MEANS CHRISTMAS FANFICTION I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THE TOP GUN MAVERICK CHRISTMAS CONTENT AND I’M NOT DISAPPOINTED bradley giving smart aleck a key god he’s such a romantic IT’S ABOUT THE SIMPLE GESTURES jordan i adore you this made me ugly cry in my bed i was a MESS

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

30/12/22: HOLY SHIT BOXER BOB!!! this is one of the best first chapters i've ever read, everything was do engaging and you gave us enough to want more i need to know how their date went i need to know more about bob and mickey’s relationship and the boxing and maverick and how the stories are all going to connect. i need it ALL. just so good. i think you really nailed his personality, or at least the little bit you showed of him in this chapter. all of bob’s lines were so on character but with an EDGE!!! something a little different, but that FITS!!! anyways i’m so excited for the future parts, you’re incredibly talented!!!

“Bob Floyd liked to think he was a good person.” such an engaging opening line!!!

“But there’s an unrelenting pressure that comes with being a good person. A weight that couldn’t be lifted as he exhausted himself with the idea of what exactly it means to be inherently good.” this is getting so good already!!!

“He gives up his seat on public transportation and has reusable shopping bags so he doesn’t have to use the plastic ones at the grocery store.” of course he does ❤️

“Bob Floyd was a good person. Bob Floyd was a good person until, suddenly, he wasn’t. And it could all be traced back to the first time he ever stepped foot into Sugar Plum Bakery.” the name of the bakery in contrast with the whole atmosphere you’ve created for this is so interesting.

“Hi!” You pop up suddenly, smiling brightly. There’s a smudge of flour on your cheek, stipples of it all over your apron, and Bob's almost certain there’s some in your hair too. “What can I getcha?” and i adore her already.

“You bite your lip, eyes squinting as you appear to be sizing him up. It reminds Bob of his opponents in the ring — though their eyes aren’t nearly as pretty as yours — and it almost makes him laugh.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

“Bob’s eyebrows raise slightly in agreement. “Today’s special, huh? Then I should probably get one of those, shouldn’t I?”

“It’d be sacrilegious not to,” you tease back, a smile growing on your lips.” love this piece of dialogue!!!

AND THE 20% TIP FOR A 5 SECOND CONVERSATION AND AN APPLE TART HE IS THE SWEETEST

“You hand the box to him with that bright smile and — just like every romantic comedy Bob has ever watched with his mom — his heart stutters when your fingers brush.” AND HE WATHES ROMCOMS????? 😭😭😭😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“Oh?” You turn back to the croissants, pleased with their golden brown color as you move to transfer them to a different tray to bring up front. “And what would you call him?” i also adored this description and her attention to detail in the croissant!!!

“Don’t think it was a cupcake he was hopin’ for,” she looks at you knowingly and you feel slightly flustered at her implication.

He wanted to see you?” i am a puddle on the floor!!!!

“Ball cap guy sticks out like a sore thumb against the few customers in Sugar Plum, a head taller than everyone else even as his head is tilted down to look at his phone.” 😭

AND THEN HE GENUINELY PAYS ATTENTION TO HER RAMBLING ABOUT SWEET PEAS

“That’ll be—”

“What time do you get off?” He blurts suddenly.” I LOVE THIS TROPE!!! IS IT A TROPE??? SPEAKING OVER EACH OTHER IDK BUT I LOVE IT

“You ever think about fighting, Bob?” oh… maverick is RECRUITING???

“Maybe if Bob had done that to the landlord, he’d stop making his mom cry. Maybe if Bob had done that to those preppy college boys, Mickey wouldn’t have to shrug it off with a “People tip pretty good at Charlotte’s anyway”. Maybe if he’d never taken it, and taken it, and taken it, and actually stopped to wonder if maybe he didn’t have to, they wouldn’t have had to take it either.” LOVE THIS LINE

“How much would you pay me?” smart boy!!!

“Because if Adler could come out of it all a good man, Bob could cling to that hope for himself a little longer.” BOB 😭🥺

Do Unto Otters

summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life — but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he’s already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, Bob is 6′5″ because I said so, I roasted Mav in this a bit my bad, mentions of violence, “Bob” is kind of a stupid boxer name so I changed it, no use of y/n

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 3.5k

please take this as my thank you for 1.5k! I am so so honored that you guys think my stuff is worth reading, it means the world to me. anyway enjoy! - bugs

sweeter than sugar masterlist

Continuar lendo

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i adore this fic recs Bob 2022 Top gun top gun maverick bob floyd december my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing an incredible character introduction AND analysis for bob i will support every wrongdoing that this man performs from now on bob my beloved OF COURSE HE’S GONNA FALL FOR A BAKER THIS IS PERFECT boxer au might by my new favorite thing? i’ll clean up all their bandages!!! i’ll do it!!!

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

21/09/2022: AND THEY ARE BACK!!! JUST AS HORNY AS EVER!!! AND NOW ENGAGED?????? hello??? jordan i need to know every single detail about this!!! 😭😭😭🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 the song choice that inspired this was genius, as always your writing is everything that is good in this world. here are my favorite parts:

“Bradley groaned. “- I kinda need you - like need you?” i do like my man a little pathetic and that’s okay ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“It was quiet on your side of the line and Bradley briefly thought the call had dropped until he heard you humming Afternoon Delight.

He scoffed. “Very funny…”

“My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right. Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night…” this was actually hilarious.

“Even if he was only in the building to have a quickie with his fiancée.” FIANCÉEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HE ALREADY PROPOSED IN THIS JORDAN I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PROPOSAL YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND-

“You must be Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?” Bradley nodded. “She said the commander part was important.”

Fucking brat.” bratty smart aleck you will always be famous and loved!!! i love how she gets under his skin even through OTHER PEOPLE!!!

“You snuck your hands underneath his black t-shirt. He sucked in a breath as the cool metal of your engagement ring glided across his abs and he gripped your thighs tightly in response.” engagement ring ✨✨✨✨ details ✨✨✨✨✨

“You were a dream. And you were sitting right in front of him.” tell me why i’m getting teary over smut?

“The same hands that had just been throttling the clutch of his plane as he cruised above the Mojave Desert less than an hour ago.” love this comparison.

“You get this wet talking about supply chain management?” STOPSJCHSHCHSHDHD WHY IS HE LIKE THISSSDHHSXHHSS

“You know, at first I thought I wouldn’t last long when I finally saw you, but now it seems like you’re the one who’s not gonna last, huh, sweetheart?” i think writing dirty talk might be one of life’s hardest puzzles because what works for someone might not work for someone else, and it has to fit the characters and yet you thrive every time!!!!!!!!!

“But - but you called - me…”

“Hmmm, but they don’t know that.” You keened.” LIKE????????? MY BRAIN IS SHORT CIRCUITING??!!!!!

“I just wanted to - to take care of you -”

“- Seems like I’m the one taking care of you right now…” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!

“You arched your back at his words, always loving whenever he called you smart. But you both also loved whenever he rendered you stupid. - whenever he fucked you stupid.” duality ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞

“God, he couldn't believe he was fucking the smartest, most capable girl in the world right now. Such a fucking pretty picture you painted.” oh he’s so in love with her!!!!

“After that, you just kept babbling - about what Bradley wasn’t able to follow. But you still managed to sound smart and that was all he cared about.” ABOUT WHAT BRADLEY WASN’T ABLE TO FOLLOWJDJSHCJSJFJDJDJDJD BYE

“Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.” TO ME, THIS IS POETRY!!!

“Your body slumped against the glass window before Bradley pulled you against his chest, knowing you needed to be held close right now.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You always needed to be close to him after sex and he was always there to take care of you. Whether it was telling you how good of a job you had done or petting your hair and cleaning you up - Bradley always wanted to take care of you. You were his girl, just like he was your Bradley.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒 he always wanted to take care of her!!!!! and he always did!!!!!!!!

poor receptionist definitely heard them skchsjhcjschsdjsjjd aaaaaaaa this was DELIGHTFUL!!! i’ll take anything and everything related to bradley and smart aleck at any time of any day.

skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight

Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw has a little too much adrenaline pumping through his veins after a test flight at work and needs to ask his girl for a favor...

OR office sex - just office sex, in your fancy, glass office - and bradley in his flight suit

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, vaginal fingering, public sex(ish) they fuck against a glass window, and as always with these two slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements). this entire fic is an hr nightmare

gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight

“Pick up, pick up, pick up. Come on, sweetheart, pick up.”

Bradley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and tapped his left foot on the truck-bed as he sat in some mid-afternoon San Diego traffic. The dial tone had only been droning on for - he glanced at his phone - thirteen seconds, but fuck - everything seemed like an age when he was rocking what felt like the worst semi of his life.

Because how the fuck did this still happen to him? Wasn’t getting keyed up on adrenaline something that they beat out of cadets in flight school? Bradley sure as hell thought it was -

Your voice suddenly filled the car. “- Hey, bubs.”

“Hey - err hi." Bradley cleared his throat. "Are you uhh - you busy?”

“I just finished my meetings for the day - what’s wrong?” you asked without any further preamble.

Fuck, he didn’t want you to be worried. You two normally texted during the day, sure. But a call was a little out of the ordinary. “N-nothing uhh like that. Can I swing by your office? Just kinda need -”

“- You’re scaring me -”

Bradley groaned. “- I kinda need you - like need you? I did this run at work just now and it got me a little keyed up? And fuck - I haven’t felt like this since flight school and I ran through all my soapy titty pics in my office, but nothing’s working and I can’t shake the adrenaline or whatever the -”

“- Fuck.” He could picture you moving around on your desk chair, that skirt you had on this morning riding up your thighs as you subtly rubbed them together, your legs bare but topped off with a pair of heels. “Bradley -”

God it was a miracle he was able to stay in the passing lane. He slipped one hand off the steering wheel to adjust himself. “- I need to fuck you - like now.”

It was quiet on your side of the line and Bradley briefly thought the call had dropped until he heard you humming Afternoon Delight.

He scoffed. “Very funny…”

“My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right. Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night…”

On his end of the line, Bradley groaned. It was a mix of exasperation and longing. He could picture you perfectly, sitting in your office, spinning around on your desk chair with a coy smile on your face. It was a fantasy of his that he had long wanted to play out.

And now was his chance.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes and I want you on your desk waiting for me.” And then he hung up before you could say anything in response.

-------

Sure enough, Bradley pulled up to your office some ten minutes later - if he had pushed the speed limit a little too much on the last stretch of I-5 to Del Mar then he was just lucky he hadn’t been pulled over. After having dropped you off for work a couple times when your car had been in the shop or you had forgotten something, Bradley knew where to park, but he hadn’t exactly been inside your office before. And he didn’t necessarily think it was the best first impression to be sporting a semi when he met some of your coworkers for the first time.

So, he quickly glanced around his car, desperate for something to carry to hide his problem until he found a folder of paperwork in the back seat. That could work - he’d say he needed you to sign something and that it had to be notarized by the end of the day - hence the late afternoon drive out to Del Mar.

As he approached the front doors, his phone buzzed. You’ll have to check in with Margie at the front desk once you get upstairs - I told her you were…coming

Bradley rolled his eyes. Funny girl. He nodded towards the security guard at the main entrance and was thankful he was wearing his flight suit - it simultaneously created more and fewer questions, but it did give him some legitimacy.

Even if he was only in the building to have a quickie with his fiancée.

The elevator ride to the top floor passed quickly and before Bradley knew it, he was approaching the frosted glass doors to your company’s office. He made sure the folder he grabbed out of the car was still covering his crotch area as he walked up to Margie at the front desk.

“You must be Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?” Bradley nodded. “She said the commander part was important.”

Fucking brat.

“And you’re Margie?” The older woman simpered and Bradley wouldn’t have minded chatting her up for the next few minutes - if only because he knew it would piss you off - but he really really needed you. He flashed his license, confirming his identity, and Margie printed him off a visitor’s pass. “Just got to drop these forms off for my girl to sign, could you point me in the direction of her office?”

Margie wheeled around her desk, clearly intent on showing him the way herself, but Bradley practically jumped back once she got closer. “I can go myself, just need to be uhh - pointed in the general direction?”

“Oh - of course, just down the hall, take a right, and she’s the fourth door on the left. Pretty sure she’s the only one on her team in the office today. It’s normally pretty quiet on Fridays.”

Thank fucking god. With a final nod towards Margie, Bradley headed down the hallway. The offices were all relatively dark the further he got into the bowels of the building. From your chatting about it, Bradley knew your fourth floor office consisted of floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out onto the street in the back right corner of the building - as opposed to the CAVA and Shake Shack in the front. He took a right and then counted one, two, three, four doors on the left until he saw your name prominently affixed to the wall with your job title underneath it. He groaned.

His fucking smart girl.

He knocked on the door and barely waited for your soft come in before pushing the frosted glass door open. And there you were, perched on the edge of your glass desk, just like he had requested. Your plaid, grey skirt was sitting sinfully high on your thighs and your black, heeled Mary Janes made your legs appear even longer than normal. You looked like every one of his fantasies come to life.

“Jesus, that was fast - did you fly the -”

Bradley crossed the room in two strides, before he pulled you against him. God, you felt as good as he had imagined - better even. You gasped against his lips and twined your arms around his neck, appearing as desperate for him as he was for you.

He pulled your black silk blouse out of the waistband of your skirt and grabbed your right leg to hike around his waist. His hand - that wasn’t cupping your breast through your bra - slid up your thigh and towards that sweet spot between your legs. And fuck him - you weren’t wearing any underwear. He groaned your name.

“You do that for me?” You nodded. “I need you so much, you have no idea, sweetheart. Nothing worked, I tried everything, but nothing -”

“- Bra-Bradley,” you said between sighs as he peppered you with kisses, “the door - lock the door…”

Loathe as he was to do it, he quickly pulled away from you to lock the door. When he turned around, you had sat back on the edge of your desk, legs spread open invitingly.

“God, look at you…”

You glanced down at his crotch. “And look at you, poor thing,” you said with only the slightest hint of condescension. The folder he had brought into your office was gone - he didn’t really know where, probably somewhere on the floor - so the evidence of his desire, of his need for you was obvious. “Come here.”

Bradley didn’t need to be told twice. You fiddled with the zipper on his flight suit and slowly dragged it down his body until it rested on his hips, where just the hint of his black boxer briefs was visible.

You snuck your hands underneath his black t-shirt. He sucked in a breath as the cool metal of your engagement ring glided across his abs and he gripped your thighs tightly in response. Your hands slid lower and started palming his cock over his flight suit. The satisfaction was instantaneous and he sighed. Why did your hands always feel so much better than his own?

“God, Bradley - you’re so wrecked, bubs…” You slipped your hand between the flap on his boxer briefs, pulling his cock out, and he bucked it into your hand. “You want me to suck you off?”

He shook his head tightly. “No, wanna be inside you. S’only thing that’ll help.”

With shaky fingers, Bradley started unbuttoning your black silk blouse, eventually discarding it on your desk. He moaned once he saw your pert breasts peeking out from the cups of your black lace bra. It was one of his favorites and he knew it had a matching pair of underwear that was probably neatly folded away in your tote bag.

“So gorgeous, needed this…” he babbled, mouthing at your breasts over the black lace.

Because there was nothing like having the real thing in front of him. The real breasts, the real body, the real you. That was always so goddamn responsive towards him and could talk back and soothe his aching cock with your hands and press both the sweetest and sloppiest kisses across his skin.

You were a dream. And you were sitting right in front of him.

Bradley snuck his hand behind your back to unclasp your bra and you jutted your breasts out at the action. Your nipples hardened and he palmed them, loving how soft and smooth they felt in his rough and calloused hands. The same hands that had just been throttling the clutch of his plane as he cruised above the Mojave Desert less than an hour ago.

You grabbed the back of his neck and played with the ends of his hair, pulling him towards you for a kiss and slightly sliding off the edge of your desk in the process. Meanwhile, Bradley repositioned his hands so they were now trailing up your thighs, getting closer and closer to your cunt with every passing second. He could already feel the heat pouring off you and the slick coating the silk lining of your skirt. Maybe once you took care of him, you’d let him have a taste? But for now, his fingers started coaxing your wet folds.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re soaking.” You whined and buried your face in his neck, placing butterfly kisses there. “You get this wet talking about supply chain management?”

“Kept thinking about you - trying to get off on your own - knowing you had to come all - ohhh - the way here for me to take - take care of you.”

Bradley groaned as he felt you clenching around his fingers. Your own hands were feebly grasping his arms, desperate for any sort of support.

“Almost wish there were more people in the office today.”

As he spoke, your lips trailed down his jawline, across his cheeks and neck, before they reached his ear. Your teeth nipped on the lobe and Bradley moaned.

“They’d see me come in - looking ready to take you on the conference table. Then they’d hear all your pretty little gasps and moans and cries from down the hall, wondering how they’d look you in the eye next time you gave a presentation or bent over to pick something up, knowing they heard you getting fucked against your desk all afternoon like a dirty little slut, cause we both know you can't keep quiet.”

You whimpered. “Ple-please, Bradley. Please.”

“You know, at first I thought I wouldn’t last long when I finally saw you, but now it seems like you’re the one who’s not gonna last, huh, sweetheart?”

You let out a cry as he crooked his fingers just-so. “Bubs -”

“- Shh, shh. You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want everyone to hear how much of a needy little thing you are? How you had to call me to come up here to take care of you?”

“But - but you called - me…”

“Hmmm, but they don’t know that.” You keened. Whether it was at the thought of your coworkers finding out how much of a slut you were or how Bradley’s fingers felt as he scissored them in your sopping cunt, he didn’t really care.

“I just wanted to - to take care of you -”

“- Seems like I’m the one taking care of you right now…”

“What made you - made you like this, bubs?” You rolled your hips. “Some risky flight man - maneuver? The thought of - mmmm - beating Lieutenant - Com-commander Seresin at something - ”

Fucking brat.

Bradley growled at the mention of his quasi-nemesis and pulled his fingers back. How dare you get Hangman’s rank right when you always fucked up Bradley’s?

“- Fucking brat -” he stated his previous thoughts. You whimpered.

“- And how much better you are than him?” you continued and the fingers were back. You clenched around them and he bit back a smirk. “How much - ohhh - how much smarter - fa-aster and how much bigger you - Bra-Bradley…”

He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to have you - all of you - now. Have the one name you were saying be his - not Lieutenant Commander Seresin, but Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw.

“Think you’re ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded feverishly. “Yes, yes. Need you -”

He briefly held your wrists to stop you pawing at him. “- Need who?”

“Need you - need my Bradley.” Any other time, the response would’ve made him smile, but today it wasn’t quite the answer he was looking for from you. He rubbed the tip of his cock along your entrance, teasingly, and you whimpered. “Fine, fine - need Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw to fuck me.”

His rank was said with an undercurrent of sass, but he could deal with that later when you were home.

“Good girl.” He cupped your cheek. “Now was that so hard?”

You glanced up at him with a pout. “Please, just fuck me.”

That did it. Bradley grabbed the backs of your thighs and pulled you even closer, kissing you for all you were worth. Your feet didn’t even touch the floor, they just swung back and forth.

“Hmm, but there’s much shit on your desk for me to fuck you there. Would hate to mess anything up for my smart girl...”

You arched your back at his words, always loving whenever he called you smart. But you both also loved whenever he rendered you stupid. - whenever he fucked you stupid.

“Someplace else then?” Bradley glanced around the office, ignoring the two chairs in front of your desk and the bookcases along the inner wall, before landing on the southward facing windows.

You followed his gaze and sighed. “God, can you imagine the mess? You’d have to come inside me, but I’d get to walk around the rest of the afternoon with a present.”

A present.

His cum - dripping down your thighs, dripping onto your desk chair as you talked to your boss or John from emerging markets and even as you said goodbye to Margie. He growled.

“Who’s in that office? The one next door?” He nodded towards the identical glass building to his right.

“It’s just Deloitte, but it’s Friday so none of them are working anyway.”

Bradley assumed that was a Big Four joke. “Then I guess they’ll miss it…” He set you down on your already unsteady feet and pulled the two of you over towards the window. You let out a gasp once your back hit the glass and Bradley invaded your space.

“How do you want me?” You whispered, watching his hands rove up and down your bare arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Turn around.” He didn’t give you a chance to do it yourself, he just grabbed your hips and pressed you against the glass wall. Bradley took it as a good sign - he supposed - that he couldn’t see into the office across the way - meant they couldn’t see the two of you either.

You hissed once you made contact with the glass. “It’s cold, bubs.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll warm right up.” His lips trailed up and down your neck until he found your pulse point and sucked. You whined. There’d be a mark there later, but it had all weekend to disappear.

Or not.

Without much grace, let alone any mind to the dry cleaning, Bradley bunched your skirt up past your hips, baring your ass to him and your sopping wet cunt to whomever may happen to be looking at the fourth floor, back corner office from the outside at half past three on a Friday.

He widened your stance with his feet and then dragged his right hand across your still wet folds. You whined and rubbed your ass against his crotch. “Want your cock inside me, need to feel you - please…”

And who was he to refuse when you had offered so willingly. “That’s my girl.”

Bradley pumped himself a couple times before he slid right into you. You both gasped at the sensation and it felt like the coil of frustration that had been Bradley's constant companion for the past hour or so was lessening.

“God, you feel so good - just what mhmm - what I needed,” he breathed against your ear. His hands gripped your hips tightly underneath your skirt as he thrusted into you from behind. “Why don’t you touch yourself for me, hmmm?”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, allowing him to nibble at your neck. “Where?”

Without even breaking his stride, Bradley grabbed your right hand and brought it to your clit. You gasped at the action and he coaxed your fingers to play with the little nub. Eventually, he removed his hand from yours, trusting you to do the work on your own. “Good girl.”

Now content, he brought his hand back to your hip. Your little whimpers and moans were the perfect compliment to his deep groans and pants. Plus, the thought of your breasts pressed against the glass was so fucking hot. He couldn’t believe you had agreed to this.

“Why don’t you try and tell me - what you were working on before I called? You know I always love to hear how good my girl’s being at work.”

You braced your left forearm against the glass window. “Oh? Uhhh supply chains…”

“What about ‘em? ‘M just a pilot, what do I know?”

God, he couldn't believe he was fucking the smartest, most capable girl in the world right now. Such a fucking pretty picture you painted.

“Working on a paper on ‘em. And how - how they need to be redesigned - ohhhh - to fo-cus on digitization - harder, bubs plea - ahhh.” You had to stop for a moment. “But supp-liers are worried about - oh, oh, oh dadd - please, plea -”

Bradley kept his rigorous pace, knowing he was getting close. Honestly, it didn’t take much; he was already way too keyed up. Meanwhile, you had been too preoccupied with stringing together a coherent sentence to continue playing with yourself.

“- About suppliers not being up to the technological challenges of digitization,” you finally shouted in one breath.

After that, you just kept babbling - about what Bradley wasn’t able to follow. But you still managed to sound smart and that was all he cared about.

“- Cloud networking -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.

“ - IOT -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Keen.

“- Upskilling staff -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.

"- ESG factors - "

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Keen.

Eventually, you just stopped talking and the only sounds coming from you were pitiful whimpers.

"What's ESG?" You just shook your head. "Come on, what's it mean?" Bradley bottomed out inside you with a particularly deep thrust.

"Environmentalsocialandgovernance," you cried out in one breath.

"There's my good girl..." Eventually, you just stopped talking and the only sounds coming from you were pitiful whimpers.

“You good, sweetheart?” You hummed. “Smart girl, good girl.” Bradley snaked his right hand down to your neglected clit and played with you until you cried out. “Ready to come for me?”

You whined and Bradley felt it - felt it all the way to his core. You practically vibrated with need, with want. “‘S too much, please I - I can’t.”

“Wanna come at the same time as you…”

Bradley loved simultaneous orgasms - knowing he had taken care of you as well as you had taken care of him? There was nothing hotter.

“Just gotta tell me, sweetheart.” He sunk his teeth into your shoulder. “Cause all I wanna feel is your pussy milking my cock…”

By now - after almost two and a half years together - he knew instinctively when you were ready to cum and with one final, deep thrust, his orgasm crashed through him and he spent himself inside you, painting your pussy with his cum, hoping it would spur you along.

“Oh, oh, oh, fuck - fuck -” You finally came with a cry that was definitely heard in reception. “You fill me so good, dadd - oh, Bradley.”

His cocked twitched one final time, the last streams of his cum filling you up. And he knew that when he pulled out of you, it would drip down your thighs. God, you were so perfect - everything he ever wanted. “I know, I know, such a good girl for me. Always such a good girl for me.”

Your body slumped against the glass window before Bradley pulled you against his chest, knowing you needed to be held close right now.

The two of you just stood there for a moment, panting for so long that your breathing was finally in sync. He helped you turn around to face each other and you burrowed your face in his neck. You always needed to be close to him after sex and he was always there to take care of you. Whether it was telling you how good of a job you had done or petting your hair and cleaning you up - Bradley always wanted to take care of you. You were his girl, just like he was your Bradley.

“So,” he said after a moment, “think you can sneak out a little early today?”

-------

a/n: well, that was fun? i guess? shout the fuck out to whoever this anon was that got me on this journey??

small taglist: @sunderlust @fivsecondsflat @notroosterbradshaw @seasonsbloom @cloudycluster @whisperofsong @howdysebby @softspiderling @roosterforme @rae-gar-targaryen

Tags

fic recs 2022 Top gun top gun maverick rooster september bradley bradshaw my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing bradley and smart aleck jordan you dropped this 👑 favorite horny people they never lose the spark and that’s why i love them AND THEY ARE ENGAGED!!!!!!!!!!!! poor receptionist they are shameless 🥰

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fivsecondsflat

1 year ago

IN A WORLD OF BOYS SHE’S A GENTLEMANNNNNNN 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this was so beautiful, my poor heart is weak!!! also, the fact that THEY ACTUALLY GET TO MAKE OUT IN A POOL!!! AND IT IS LIBERATING!!! absolutely loved this full circle moment!!!

It Might As Well Be Worth It For Once [h.c]

Summary: After a photo of you kissing your crush, Hazel Callahan, goes viral among students at your university, you try to navigate the backlash you receive on top of your newfound feelings for her.

Pairing: College!Hazel Callahan x College!fem!reader

Contains: reader sort of figuring out her sexuality, homophobia, explicit language, d slur, slut shaming, drinking, partying, violence, no explicit smut just heavy make-outs, scary ex-boyfriends, evil frat bros

word count: 3k

A/N: This is loosely inspired by Taylor Swift's song "Slut!" so listen if you want to set the mood!

Your first kiss with Hazel Callahan happened at a party, initiated by a simple dare. In the middle of a crowded kitchen, surrounded by sticky solo cups and cigarette smoke, you watched Hazel as she spoke. “Dare.” She stated to her brown-haired friend.

“Okay,” PJ starts and her eyes dart around the room,

“I dare you…” PJ’s eyes find you and she points her finger at your frame “to kiss her.”

“Real original, PJ,” Hazel remarks as she makes her way over to you.

At first, you didn't give it much thought, dismissing it as just a harmless dare amidst the alcohol-fueled chaos of the party. But as you followed through and Hazel's lips met yours, something in you shifted, and every sensation suddenly heightened. The taste of tequila on her tongue mixed with the smell of her sharp cologne made your head dizzy.

The kiss, though quick, left a new feeling that you couldn't forget. You were amazed at how in sync your movements were with each other, considering you barely knew Hazel. You’d seen her a couple of times in class, walking around campus in her stylish outfits, and at parties like these. She was friends with your roommate, Isabel, so she did run in the same social circle as you.

When Hazel eventually pulled away from the kiss, the absence of her touch left you wanting more. You leaned forward, instinctively chasing her lips. Embarrassment washed over you, reality kicking in, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of yourself. With the re-realization that it was just a game you were playing, you buried the feelings deep within your stomach, locking them away and deciding they should never be explored.

You found Hazel a few weeks later, outside one of the dorm buildings, returning home from another late night. That night, a couple of drinks deep, you summoned the courage to confess what had been consuming your thoughts. Her soft brown hair, her big blue eyes, her attractive scent, and how soft her lips were on yours.

Something felt different about your infatuation with Hazel, and you were dying to just be close to her again.

"I don’t know what it is about you, Hazel," you say, your back leaning against the side of the bricked building. "I’m never like this with anyone," you whisper, avoiding eye contact.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about our kiss, and I know that's ridiculous because it was just a stupid dare at a party." Hazel sensed your vulnerability in that moment. She took a step toward you and reached for your hand, gently playing with your fingers, which hung between both of you. As you rambled on, she stared and smiled at you, enjoying your attempt to express your feelings.

"Yeah?" She nodded at you, leaning in a bit closer with a cocky grin. "You liked it that much, huh?"

You avoided her gaze again, clearly growing more embarrassed.

"Well, I was never going to tell you this,” she sucked in a breath “But before the game started, I actually told PJ to dare me to kiss you. It was the only way I thought I was ever going to be able to." Her hand moved from your hand to your waist, squeezing gently, and her eyes landed on your lips. Her confession hung heavy in the air between you both.

Feeling a rush of boldness, you couldn't hold back any longer. You grabbed her by her shirt, slowly pulling her closer, and in a moment of sheer impulsiveness, you pressed your lips firmly against hers.

Your kiss deepened, the pressure between your lips gradually intensifying, the sensation giving you goosebumps. Hazel's lips were plush and inviting, just like you remembered. Her lips left yours for a moment before attaching themselves to your jaw, then your neck, sucking gently.

“Shit, Hazel.” You sighed and your back arched against the wall, already breathless.

Her hand on your waist pulled you closer, the touch gentle yet possessive. Your fingers instinctively wound into her hair, the strands soft and silky beneath your touch.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing this since that night,” She says between kisses to your neck. “Want you so bad,” she whines.

Her lips found yours again, the kiss hot and passionate, fueled by the emotions that had been building between you. There was an urgency to the way your lips moved together, and you felt a soft sigh escape Hazel's lips. Your bodies pressed against each other, every inch of skin on fire from the contact.

What you didn’t notice was your ex-boyfriend's roommate, Tyler, emerged out of the dorm building's entrance. He recognized you after a minute and stared at the scene in front of him in complete shock, jaw slack. He pulled out his phone, capturing the moment with a camera click. Lost in the intensity of your kiss, neither of you had noticed him. He snickered at his discovery, feeling proud of this piece of information he was now sitting on.

In the days that followed, you and Hazel became inseparable, caught up in the intoxication of a budding romance and newfound feelings. Mundane moments were made ten times better just by her presence. You’d been in relationships before, but not like this.

Taking walks hand in hand, you found the quiet corners of your college town, finding comfort in how easy it was to be around each other.

Movie marathons turned into shared glances and stolen kisses, the screen flickering in the background as you explored this new person. Your connection was so intense, it often escalated into heavy makeout sessions in Hazel's dorm, losing yourselves in the heat of the moment.

One particular evening, you found yourself lying in bed, your head resting on Hazel's chest while her arm encircled you. The soft glow from Hazel's laptop illuminated the room, displaying a scene where two characters shared a passionate kiss in a pool.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you remarked.

Hazel's hand gently rubbed your shoulder. “Do what, hm?”

“Make out in a pool. It just seems so… liberating.” You shifted in her arms to gaze up at her.

“How is making out while standing in a body of water any different than doing it on land?” She laughed, looking down at you.

“You'll find out when we do it one day,” you said with a smirk. “It’s gonna blow your mind.”

“I don’t know, I think our kisses are already pretty mind-blowing. But I’ll hold you to it,” she replied, her eyes fixed on your lips.

Just then, your phone rang, and it was a call from Isabel. You answered it, still comfortably lazing on Hazel as she absentmindedly stroked your hair.

“Hey Isabel, what's up?”

“I just wanted to check on you and see how you're doing…”

“I’m fine, I’m just at Hazel’s, I’ll be back soon though.”

“Have you seen the photo? Of you and Hazel?” She blurts out.

You sit up, your heart beating frantically as you press the phone closer to your ear. Hazel looks at you, her expression shifting from contentment to concern, sensing the change in your demeanor.

"What photo, Isabel?" you ask, your voice tight with worry.

"It's on Instagram," Isabel replies, her tone heavy with concern. "Someone posted a picture of you and Hazel, and the comments… they're awful. Homophobic slurs, slut-shaming… I thought you should know."

A lump forms in your throat, and you glance at Hazel, who grips your hand reassuringly, silently offering her support. "I haven't seen it," you admit, your voice shaky. "But thanks for letting me know."

"I reported the comments, but I don't know how long it'll take for them to be taken down," Isabel continues, her voice filled with empathy. "I'm here for you, okay? Don't let those ignorant people get to you." You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"Thanks, Isabel," you say, your voice quivering. "I appreciate your support. I'll talk to you later, okay?”

"Of course," Isabel replies, her voice softening. "I’ll see you later tonight.”

With trembling hands, you grabbed your phone to see it for yourself.

There it was - the innocent moment captured in a snapshot, now tainted by the cruelty of strangers. As you scrolled through the comments, your heart pounded in your chest, each hateful word striking like a physical blow.

The pain intensified with every comment, echoing the doubts that had been gnawing at the corners of your mind. Hazel peered over your shoulder, her expression a mix of anger and concern.

"Ignore them," she urged, her voice soft yet determined. "They don't know us”

But the words had already burrowed deep within you, festering like a poison. A sense of overwhelming shame washed over you, overpowering Hazel's words. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in, and in a desperate attempt to escape, you grabbed your jacket and phone, your hands trembling as you stuffed it into your pocket.

"I can't stay here," you muttered, your voice strained, your eyes avoiding Hazel's gaze. "I need to get away from all of this."

Hazel reached out, her fingers brushing against your arm, her eyes pleading. "Please, don't run out like this," she implored, her voice cracking with emotion.

"I can't stay here," you repeated, your voice cracking as you met Hazel's gaze, filled with self-doubt. "We shouldn't see each other anymore." The words hung heavily between you, an unbearable admission of defeat. You turned away, unable to face the look in Hazel's eyes, and made your way to the door.

"Wait," Hazel pleaded, her voice raw with emotion, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

The door creaked shut behind you, sealing off the warmth and safety of the room you had shared with Hazel. Tears blurred your vision as you hurried down the dimly lit corridor, the echoes of your footsteps a haunting reminder of the distance growing between you and her.

It had been a month since you left Hazel in her dorm room. A miserable month to say the least. You felt so guilty for hurting her, but were also dealing with the hurt you felt from your privacy being so rudely invaded. Not to mention the straight-up awful comments you both received. But tonight, you were at a party you had reluctantly agreed to go to. Isabel and her girlfriend Josie convinced you that you needed to get out of your head and let loose.

Flamingo pink and aquamarine neon lights cast an ambiance on the frat house walls. The floor was sticky and the speakers were playing a rap song you didn’t know.

“Dude, we’re so young, you have your whole life ahead of you to fall in love and date hot people,” Isabel said, raising her glass to you. “Like, being this young is art. Cheers to that.” Isabel clinks her shot glass to yours. You tip your head back and shoot the tequila, burning your throat as it goes down. You needed any excuse to take a shot right now.

"I’m just going to go get us some more drinks and find Josie, okay?" Isabel gives you a reassuring look, and you nod before she disappears toward the bar. You do your best to make it look like you’re busy without your friend there, opening your phone, turning your brightness down, and scrolling through the calendar and weather app hoping no one can see over your shoulder.

“Well would you look who it is” You hear a familiar, sinister voice come from behind you. Great, it's your ex-boyfriend. Quite literally the last person on planet Earth you want to be standing face to face with right now.

“What could you possibly want right now, Josh.” You say deadpan, genuinely annoyed to be in his presence.

You and Josh had dated for four months. It was your typical college relationship, but there was always something missing, and you couldn't quite figure out what it was. He wanted sex, but you never felt quite ready to do it yet, at least not with him. Four months with no sex for a typical frat guy like Josh was absolute torture for him, so he went looking elsewhere. You ended it when you found him in bed with a brunette from the nursing program.

You can smell his mint gum as he cockily chews it and leans closer to you. “You come here to make out with more dykes, huh? You know, I always thought you were a prude, considering you never gave it up. Turns out your just a horny freak for pussy.”

His words sting. Hot tears brim at the bottom of your lash line. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, but you’ve never been good at standing up for yourself in these situations.

“Fucking slut.” He spits, even closer to your face than he was a moment ago. He has you cornered against the wall now, your blood boiling with rage and your head spinning with shame.

In the dim light, you see a hand adorned with silver rings firmly grip onto his shoulder. Before he could react, he was yanked backward by the other figure, a swift and forceful movement that left him disoriented. The punch landed sharply, the impact reverberating through his body.

Hazel.

Her eyes met his for a moment, before she turned toward you, leaving him shocked.

Holy shit.

You stare at Hazel, stunned, your gazes locked. Bright, red blood pours from your ex-boyfriend's nose.

“What the fuck?” His hands fly up to his face. “Is this your little girlfriend?” He laughs humourlessly, pointing to Hazel. “Real fucking cute. Yeah, you’re dead’ He says as he launches toward her, only to be pulled back by another group of arms, Isabel and Josie.

“Guys! Go! We’ll take care of him”

Hazel wastes no time and grabs your hand, her fingers entwining with yours in a reassuring grip. You run alongside her, the thumping music fading as you descend the stairs and navigate the chaotic kitchen of the large frat house. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation fueling your steps.

You don’t know if it's the slight buzz from earlier or the intoxicating lovesickness for the girl in front of you that continues to propel your feet forward, but you decide to just go with it. Hazel leads you through the crowd, weaving in between sweaty bodies and flashing lights.

As you step into the backyard, the cool night air hits your skin, and the scene before you unfolds like something out of a movie. A huge moonlit swimming pool stretches out, its surface rippling with the movements of people swimming in their underwear, their laughter and splashes filling the air. Realization strikes you, and you know exactly what Hazel is about to do.

With an impish grin, she turns to you, "Ready?" she asks, her voice drowned out by the music but clear in your ears. She hovers her mouth to the shell of your ear. “Just trust me, please” she whispers.

You nod, feeling a surge of adrenaline, and without another word, Hazel tugs you toward the edge of the pool.

With a shared glance, you leap into the water together, the cool embrace of the pool enveloping you. As you resurface, you find Hazel's eyes, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the pool. She looks so perfect like this, you almost forgot how stupidly into her you were.

“You look really pretty” She finally says.

“Hazel, I’m so sorry. That was so fucked up leaving you in your room like that.”

“I tried to call you,” she says, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“I know, I was too much of a coward to face you, I always bury everything that makes me uncomfortable and avoid it forever. It's unfair, you need someone who can confront those issues head-on, right away.”

“What if all I need is you?” she murmurs, her words hanging in the air, heavy with vulnerability and hope.

“Hazel…”

Your heart swells at her comment, you wanted nothing more than to hear those words come from her mouth, but your guilt makes you hesitant.

She reaches out for your hand, pulling you closer through the water, her touch reassuring. Her hands gently encircle your waist, you instinctively raise yours to rest around her neck. It feels like magnets snapping back into place,

"I don’t want to hide anymore. I don't want to be the one who runs away from difficult conversations. I want to be the one who faces challenges with you, who stands by your side no matter what." you say.

Her eyes soften, and she gives you a small smile, her grip on your back tightening. "I believe you," she says. Her voice is filled with trust.

"I mean it, Hazel," you continue, your voice steady.

She lifts your legs in both of her hands, effortlessly supporting you as you wrap them around her body beneath the water. The sensation is intimate, a silent declaration of trust and connection. Suspended in the water, your eyes meet hers, and in that moment, there's a shared understanding that goes beyond words.

Your foreheads meet each other, resting gently against one another, and your breathing hitches in anticipation as Hazel speaks. “So, are we still on for that mind blowing pool kiss?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

A mischievous smile curves your lips in response. "Well, if they’re gonna call me a slut," you say, your voice low and sultry, "it might as well be worth it for once. I say we give them a show."

With unspoken agreement, you close the distance between your lips, capturing Hazel's mouth in a heated, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away, and all that exists is the electricity between you, the taste of her lips, and the water around your bodies.

You feel hopeful for the future, for where this could go. For where your heart might lead you. As you both pull away, breathless and smiling, you exchange a knowing glance, understanding that something has shifted between you, and you were exactly where you were meant to be.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

a/n: thanks so much for reading !! this is my second fic ever so again pls forgive me if there are any mistakes. I definitely want to write more for hazel though so I am so open to requests if you ever want to send one <3333

Tags

fic recs This was so good hazel callahan hazel callahan x reader bottoms 2023 masterclass in writing i’ll never be able to listen to this song the same way again once again: i need her wanna be her girlfriend so bad “i don’t know i think our kisses are already pretty mind-blowing” NO WORDS JUST 🦋🦋🦋

719 notes View Post

fivsecondsflat

1 year ago

GIVE ME ALL THE ANGST!!!

i cannot be your friend, so i pay the price of what i lost. and what it cost now that we don't talk.

because pushing her away was easier than having to stomach seeing her be with someone else.

author's note/s: 1k words. this is part one of a series. close friends to sad strangers to surprise college roommates is a trope, right?

Ignoring Hazel for the rest of the year wasn’t an easy decision or any easy thing to do. You two weren’t attached at the hip but you were such good friends that even the people who didn’t really talk to either of you eventually asked if you two had a falling out. We’re both just pretty busy at this time of senior year, you’d tell them; you had no idea what Hazel’s answer was to that, and you didn’t wanna know. It hurt you to ice her out but after what happened at the game, you just couldn’t be around her. Not when it was clear that PJ was in the picture like that.

Really, you should’ve been happy for her. You were one of the first people she came out to and even though she never explicitly said it, you knew she wanted to experience one relationship, or even a sort of fling, before high school ended. But your wishful thinking that it could’ve been the two of you in the end like some cliche really was just that — wishful thinking. That kiss and the way she and PJ acted around each other after said it all.

So you blocked it all out. Joined some clubs to fill up your schedule and actually make you as busy as you said you were, focused on academics like never before, got closer to other friends (for obvious reasons but also, why the hell not? It was senior year and you might not see some of them again). Overall, there were pros to what you decided to do about your crush on Hazel Callahan. You were making the most out of a sucky situation.

What you weren’t proud of was deciding to go out with the baseball team’s captain on a whim, and then agreeing to really date him after. He was nice and was a pretty good boyfriend, but you weren’t as into him as he was into you. But that was the least of your concerns throughout that relationship that inevitably came to an end as graduation neared.

You’ll never forget the complicated look on her face the day he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek at your locker. You’ll never forget the ‘Can we talk now? Please?’ text she sent that night, her last attempt at reaching out before she took to ignoring you too.

And that was it. Hazel wasn’t part of your senior year until its end and you assumed it would be the same for the rest of your life, or at least for a long, long time.

But the universe just loved playing cruel tricks sometimes.

I Cannot Be Your Friend, So I Pay The Price Of What I Lost. And What It Cost Now That We Don't Talk.

“Okay, you’re sure you’ve got everything? Those new notebooks, your writing materials, enough bras and pa—”

“Okay, mom!” You cut her off with a nervous laugh, silently thanking god that your roommate and whoever was helping her move in hadn’t arrived yet. “I’ve got it all, I promise. It’s okay for you to go now.”

Your mother sighs as she reaches out to give your arm a squeeze, and after a few more pointers for your first day and about five ‘you can always give us a call for anything’ reminders, you were alone. You smile to yourself as you look at your fixed up side of the dorm, jittery in a good sense. Everyone said college was different from high school in the best way and you were determined to make it so. Even though you knew how much busier and hectic life would get with university level academics.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t hear the door open. It’s only when that painfully familiar voice says your name that you snap out of it.

Hazel Callahan, practically the same as ever, standing in the doorway with her luggages and a duffel bag across her body. She manages a smile, small and hesitant. To your surprise, all you can say is, “You’re my roommate?”

Her face twitches in disappointment, smile faltering noticeably. You didn’t mean for that to come off the way it clearly did but the question escaped you before you could think. Of all the people in the world — or even just of all the people in high school, it just had to be her? You were over Hazel. You’d tried so hard and honestly haven’t thought about her much at all since graduation.

Only for all that effort to feel like it was undone within seconds. Fantastic.

“Trust me, I… I didn’t know this would be the arrangement. My mom’s got an old friend here who could probably do a room switch for one of us — I mean, for me I guess, you’ve already got your side of the room fixed up while I’m still all packed, so—”

You put a hand up to stop her. “Hazel, it’s fine. We can share this room. All that stuff from…” You let the sentence trail off and clear your throat. “I mean, it doesn’t matter anymore, it never really has.”

Though expecting her to brighten even slightly at your attempt at an olive branch, her expression stays the same. Complicated actually, like the one she had upon seeing you and your (short-lived) senior year boyfriend for the first time in school. You try not to think about it.

“Anyway, I’ve got some things to go check with the registrar’s office, so I’ll get out of your hair so you can unpack and all that.” There was nothing to check with at the registrar’s office, but you needed to find some place that wasn’t your dorm to pull yourself together. Or maybe scream.

There’s a look of understanding on her face but shakes her head at you. “You wouldn’t be in the way. We could use this time to catch up. It’s been a long while, you know?”

Well, you certainly weren’t ready for that, so you just say something about wanting to get to the office while it wasn’t too busy yet. You cast her a side glance with a smile that you really hoped didn’t look forced or fake as you watch her bring in her things, then make a beeline for the door.

But you stop when she asks, “Hey, um, maybe we can sit with each other at the orientation tomorrow?”

“Uh… yeah, sure.” And you knew that didn’t sound forced or fake with the way Hazel almost grins at you.

Yeah, you really needed to find a place to scream somewhere on campus.

Tags

fic recs 2023 december hazel callahan hazel callahan x reader bottoms 2023 my silly little goodreads i’m so excited for this one banger prompt masterclass in writing

266 notes View Post

fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

27/08/2022: MY HEART WILL NEVER FULLY RECOVER FOR THIS!!! i don’t have the words to truly describe what reading this felt like. all i know is that i felt EVERYTHING. so well written, so heart clenching, so sweet and bittersweet at the same time. sol, you have bewitched me body and soul!!! here are my favorite parts of this beautiful story and my stupid commentary because i just can’t help myself:

“This is not a date.” WINNER FOR BEST OPENING LINE.

“You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects.” i fell in love with her right here!!!

“It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say.

It’s nice.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.” THIS WAS SO SWEET????? one would expect high school jake to be just as much an asshole as he is but then you go and make him a sweetheart?????? <3

“Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice.” the way i’m in love with them already. of course he was gonna teaser her.

“Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ”

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you.” I LOVE THE WAY THEY INTERACT!!!!!! BELOVEDS!!!!!!!

“You’ve really gotta stop biting your nails, Jake,” you tease, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tensions that somehow returned, and he rolls his eyes. “If you want to keep your mouth occupied -”

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -”

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment.” YOU OFFERTING???? AND THEN HE DARES SAY HE’S THOUGHT ABOUT IT. STOP.

“How about toothpicks?” SHUT UPPPPPPPPPPPPPP FAVORITE DETAIL BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING!!!!!!!!

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster.” they’re the sweetest ever!!!!!

“- You should’ve seen him during basic - had all these things pinned up on his wall, always reading your letters at breakfast with a puppy dog face. Honestly thought you were his sweetheart or something- Ow!” BOY OBSESSED!!!!!! AND HE DOESN’T EVEN REALIZE IT!!!!!!!

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -”

“- I don’t,” Jake hotly defends, sits up in his seat and crooks an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the one that does weird ass long words. No one’s gonna guess - what was it? Gerrymandering?” yes. she does long ass words and jake does short ones.

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Jake say and your heart skips a beat, a smile forming at the familiar name as you press send on your message. Your surging warmth is immediately extinguished as you look up from your phone and see that Jake’s not speaking to you at all, not even looking your way. Instead, he’s shifted his entire body to face a gorgeous woman who’s stopped by your booth and is currently looking at him with a sweet smile.” IF YOU COULD SEE THE SMILE FADING FROM MY FACE!!!!!! IF YOU ONLY COULD SEE ME DEFLATING!!!!! this was cruellllllllllll.

“There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.” ouch. felt this one really deep in my soul. the way you put this feeling into words… yeah.

“And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more.” SOBBING.

“All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless.” IT’S NOT ENTIRELY VICTIMLESS!!!!!!!!!! BREAK MY HEART!!!!!!

“There’s quite a few girls back home who’d be shattered to hear this,” you tease instead, ignoring the way your stomach is dropping low, the way your appetizer is slowly creeping up your esophagus.” i love how you wrote this it’s breaking my heart but i love it.

“You’ll always be my number one girl, though.” and then he says this??????????? BUT SHE REALLY LIKES HIM AND HE DOESN’T KNOW AND IT HURTS-

THEIR 10TH ANNIVERSARY I’M CRYING YOU GUYS ARE PRATICALLY MARRIED AT THIS POINT FOR CELEBRATING STUPID “FRIENDSHIP” ANNIVERSARIES THIS IS RIDICULOUS SOMEONE PLEASE TELL THEM THEY ARE IN LOVE.

“The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks.” i love the little detail about both of them nodding along as best as they can!!!! for encouragement!!!! they love each other and they wanna listen to what the other has to say!!!!!

“The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him.” this reminded me of one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books: “For a few moments, we just smile at each other. It’s the least awkward extended eye contact of my life. It feels like we’ve both signed on for the same activity, and this is it: existing, at each other.” it’s from book lovers by emily henry. i just love the idea of EXISTING with someone and that being enough. this whole paragraph has my heart!!!!!

“We can just take the F train back to my place. If you’re okay walking?” you reply fuzzily, looking up at him with a messy grin. Jake’s sweet expression catches you off guard - hazel green eyes locked on you, his sweet smile etching a dimple deeper into his cheek, like Michaelangelo himself carved it. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you become all too aware of the feeling of his hand squeezing your hip, the warmth of his forearm around your lower back, the way his chest is just barely brushing your shoulder and yet still manages to heat you up from head to toe.” LIKE MICHAELANGELO HIMSELF CARVED IT SHUT UP!!!!!! i can visualize this entire scene playing out in my head. it’s beautiful.

”But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.” IT’S ALL JAKE!!!!!!!

“This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue.

But you are incredibly drunk right now, and that’s no way to kiss him for the first time. So you pull your head back ever so slightly. “I think I just need to walk off the alcohol for a bit,” you shoot him a sloppy grin, still managing to lose yourself in those fucking beautiful eyes.” THE TENSIONNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!

“Can you carry me on your back? Please?” STOOOOOOOOOOOP 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily.

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all.

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word.” HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME??????? SHE CONFESSES!!!!!! AND HE DOESN’T SAY ANYTHING BACK!!!! BECAUSE IT’S UNLIKE DAKE TO LET YOU HAVE THE LAST WORD????? I GASPED!!!!

“At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you.” i’m suffering.

“Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking.” AND THEN HE DOESN’T PLAY ALONG?!!!!!! I AM IN SO MUCH PAIN RIGHT NOW.

“The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved.” 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

“He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily?” a perfect paragraph.

“We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.” pain.

“Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words.” THE FACT THAT HE MIGHT NOT FOLLOW??????? THAT HE WOULDN’T CHASE HER?????? I’M VOMITING!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks.” i love this comparison.

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.” SHE IS RIGHT!!!!

“- That’s fine!” you gesticulate dramatically, too overwhelmed with frustration to let your hands remain still. “But you don’t have to be an ass about it! You don’t have to minimize our friendship like this! God, Jake, what has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years of loving you, supporting you, celebrating anniversaries -” You cut yourself off, realizing what just bubbled forth from of your mouth.” TWELVE YEARS OF LOVING YOU!!!!!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!!!

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin.” one of my favorite lines!!!!!!!! the sky is blue!!!!!! the world isn’t flat!!!!!!! and you’re in love with jake seresin!!!!!!!!

“Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.” THIS CAUGHT ME SO OFF GUARD I KNOW HE HEARD HER THAT NIGHT IN NEW YORK BUT I THOUGHT MAYBE HE WOULD’VE BRUSHED IT OFF BECAUSE SHE WAS DRUNK. THIS IS HURTING ME.

“Oh.” You shrink back, and the realization he’s held onto this for two years hits you like a truck. Jake is silent, hands now shoved into his pockets as he awaits your next few words. “And... you have nothing else to say to that?” stopstopstop i’m gonna cry.

“We wouldn’t work.” YOU DON’T KNOW THAT. STOP SELF-SABOTAGING!!!!!!

“His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart.” oh her insecurities coming back to bite her!!!!!!!! 😔

“but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to?” I HATE THAT WE CAN’T BE FULLY MAD AT HIM BECAUSE THIS IS TRUE AND I LOVE THAT YOU PUT THE QUESTION IN HERE BUT I AM SO SAD!!!!!!!!

“I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind.” and then she refuses the dance!!!! oh my heart!!!!! i feel like the normal direction of a scene like this would be for her to dance with him “one last time” but you take us by surprise and it becames even more heartbreaking!!!!!!!!!!!

“Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control.” another one of my favorite lines!!!!!!!!!

“and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.” oh.

“They’re not Jake.” 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

“It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon.” NOT THIS LITTLE DETAIL I AM CRYING PLEASE STOP.

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache.” i feel like i’ve been run over by a truck.

“You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart.” HERE WE GOOOOOOOO.

“Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.” PROBABLY ONE OF THE MOST ROMANTIC LINES I’VE EVER READ!??!!!!!

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.” AND NOW I’M CRYING BECAUSE IF YOU DIDN’T WRITE IT IT MEANS HE DIDN’T CALL HER THAT DAY.

“That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be.” so much pain. depression.

“Hey, darlin’,” you hear Jake’s easy tone flow through the speakers, and despite all the growth you’ve endured, despite all the lessons you’ve etched into your heart, your brain turns to mush.” yeah, there’s no resisting when it’s the love of your life. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” you both speak at the same time, and his answer makes you freeze, makes time suspend for a few seconds as if you’re floating outside of your own body.” THE WAY MY STOMACH DROPPED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I GASPED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAVING VISCERAL REACTIONS OVER HERE!!!!!!!!! ROMCOM EXCELLENCE!!!!!!!!!!!!! FAVORITE SCENE!!!!!!!!!

“He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.”

“Somehow, I think that’s worse,” you muse, leaning against your hallway wall and hovering your finger over the button to let him in. If hearing his voice has put you this much on edge, you can’t imagine what it’ll do to you if you see him in person.” i love them. i love them. i love them.

“You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further..” the way he just decides to drop this bomb on their laps… jaaaaaaake…

“It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him. “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?” I’M ONCE AGAIN SAYING: I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PARAGRAPH!!!!!!!!! I FEEL THE FRUSTRATION WITH HER!!!!!!!!! SO MUCH ANGST!!!!!!

“Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.” YEP!!! ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?” OH JAKE HAS ALWAYS BEEN JUST AS INSECURE AS SHE WAS MY HEART IS BREAKING!!!!!!! IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF HIS TRAUMA!!!!!!! BABY!!!!!!!

“Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets?

People change indeed. In more ways than one.” i love that she noticed!!! i love that you tell is that she noticed it!!!

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.” STOPSTOPSTOPSJFJSJDSHFDHHDDHDH OF COURSE HE’S KEPT UP!!!!!! BELOVED!!!!!!!! HE LOVES HER SO MUCH!!!!!!

“And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.” JAKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

“It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.” BEAUTIFUL.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he’s saying, and it makes your heart thud a million miles a minute, makes you want to pinch yourself. “I can’t remember it for the life of me. But I think about the moment I realized it - when you said it to me four years ago. And I regret not saying anything back every fucking day.” SCREAMING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP AND PASSING OUT AND THERE ARE FIREWORKS GOING OFF

“Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen.” OKAY!!!!!!! *THIS* IS MY FAVORITE LINE!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!

“Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.” treacherous vibes <333333333 their happy ending!!!!!!!!!!!! my heart is pure jelly!!!!!!

i went through so many emotions while reading this!!!! right where you left me is one of the most heartbreaking songs in the world to me and then you write something so beautiful inspired by it, and you go and break my heart and patch it all together!!!! i’ll be thinking about story for a long time. JAKE AND PULITZER I LOVE YOU!!!!

you left me no choice but to stay here forever (right where you left me)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader (hotshot journalist!reader)

synopsis: you and jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation

wc: 14k (yoo I think I actually may'd)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, pining, supposedly unrequited love, kinda sad feels, reader wearing heels.

A shoutout to gretagerwigsmuse and @seasonsbloom - I wouldn't have gotten through this fic period, let alone begun writing in the first place without them. Please check out their writing, send them a sweet message or two <3

AGE SIXTEEN (pages turn and stick to each other)

This is not a date.

On a crisp Wednesday in October - well, as crisp as it can get in Texas - you find yourself sitting across from your high school’s running back in a greasy booth at your town’s renowned pizza parlor. And even though he’s objectively the hottest guy in your grade - not to mention the fact that he’s kind, well-liked amongst your peers, almost too charming for his own good - there’s no way you would ever go on a date with Jake Seresin.

For that matter, you’re not even friends. The only reason he’s even here is because you managed to pique his interest with the promise of a free meal in exchange for an interview for the school newspaper. So even though he held the door open for you and let you choose the side of the booth to sit in and even insisted on getting your favorite pizza toppings, you’re not going to let it distract you from doing your job.

You had been invited to join the school newspaper team in August, but you had yet to write a story featured in the paper. By some stroke of luck, Newsteam President Joe thought you were ready to handle your own solo project: a profile on one of your school’s football players. And while you aren’t exactly thrilled to interview Westwood High School’s star running back you’re determined to deliver a moving, heart wrenching piece about #25 and the trials and tribulations of high school football that’ll have Joe reaching for tissues.

No one needs to know that you’ve never even been to a football game in your life.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you tell Jake briskly after your waitress walks away after passing you your drinks. You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects.

The boy in front of you nods once, stretching both arms out on either side of him to rest on the back of the booth, eyes darting around. “Sure.”

“So...” you start, then trail off, eyes scanning the list of questions you’d meticulously drafted the night before. You decide to start from the very beginning: “What can you remember about the first time you played with a football?” you ask, and Jake shrugs his shoulders.

“Blood,” he says simply, and you wrinkle your nose.

“What? Blood?”

“Yeah. I was six. My dad was trying to teach me how to catch the ball, and ma kept telling him to use the foam ones but he said they didn’t spiral as well. Ended up pelting a pigskin at me and clocked me right on the nose. I can still feel a bump here,” you briefly look up from rapidly transcribing to watch him idly rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

You nod, scrawling down the details, mentally planning out how you could possibly fit this into an article and thinking of potential titles. Child gets pelted with a football and vows revenge. Becomes Westlake’s Star RB. Pathetic.

“So you’ve been playing since you were six?” you try to establish a timeline. “Ten years?”

“No. I joined a youth league when I was nine,” Jake corrects. He doesn’t elaborate.

You sigh, tapping your pen on your legal pad idly, then another question catches your eye. “What do you enjoy most about football?” you flip over to a clean page and smooth it out, not missing the flash of incredulity on Jake’s face.

“You kidding? No offense, but these questions suck,” he snickers, and your shoulders sag as you flip back to scan your messy notes. “Do you even want to be doing this little interview?”

“Do you?” you throw back, angrily, nervously clicking your pen as you try and figure out how you’re going to salvage this meeting, reaching into the crevices of your mind to craft a less sucky, more thought-provoking question.

The one thing you know about conducting an interview is asking the right question, one that will unleash your subject to go off on their own path and tell their story the way they want to. This way, you find that you get the most details, the most honest perspective. And so far, all you had from Jake was a stupid story about a childhood injury doesn’t lend itself to writing a tear-jerking profile.

Jake’s smirk doesn’t waver and after a few moments of silence, he relents. “I was promised free pizza. What’s in it for you?”

You sigh and rest your head back against the worn pleather of the booth seat, squeeze your eyes shut, tighten your grip on your pen as you deliberate his question. “Will you answer my questions if I tell you?”

“If they’re better questions, yeah.”

You shoot him a quick glare, then let out a resigned sigh and click your pen, setting it down on top of your scribbled notes. “First off, I hate football. Never even seen a game.”

“Seriously?” Jake says and folds his arms together to lean in closer over the sticky tabletop. “We live in Texas. You’ve never even watched a game on TV?”

You shrug ambivalently. “No, it never really caught my interest. I mean, what’s there to watch? Someone screams out a bunch of numbers and then you all just charge at each other to wrestle for five seconds while a stupidly shaped ball gets tossed around? And don’t even get me started on your weird scoring system-”

“- It makes sense if you actually commit to watching it!” Jake defends hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like he’s trying his hardest to fight a pout. “Why’d they even put you on this article? Doesn’t seem like you give a damn about writing football.”

“I don’t,” you agree, sitting up straight and daring to look him straight in the eye. At this point, you don’t care how little you know about the stupid sport - you just want Jake to answer your questions so that you can go home and cobble together something, anything to show Joe that you can handle writing your own opinion pieces. “But Joe said if I write a great profile, he’ll print my story about the cafeteria workers.”

Jake pauses, mentally chews your words. “Seems like he set you up, then, darling,” - your surprise at the sweet name is overtaken by the harsh reality check - “Seeing as he asked you to interview me when you’ve never even been to a game.”

A wave of clarity washes over you. You didn’t think about it that way - that Joe might have intentionally put you on this project just to watch you struggle, so he could easily shut down your other ideas. You deflate, shrinking into yourself, and your solemn expression suddenly has Jake shaking his head and trying to backpedal.

“Look - hey. I’m sorry. I’m sure... Maybe he’s just testing you to see if you can write things out of your element. Isn’t that the mark of a good newspaper... writer?”

It kind of makes sense, but the first reason hurts more, resonates with you, and opens the door for self-doubt to stride right in. With how hard you had to fight tooth and nail to even be offered a spot on the school news team, it’s easy to imagine they didn’t want to make things easy for you. Suddenly, you find yourself questioning your writing ability, wondering if you’re really cut out for this. You shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jake purses his lips, drumming his fingers again on the tabletop. “What’s the story with the cafeteria workers?”

At this, you perk up slightly, straightening your back and halting your anxious pen tapping. “There’s just been lots of wages being cut, some layoffs early this year and now they’re being asked to work overtime and the supervisors keep changing the schedule around and giving them such a hard time for wanting to take time off. I think they let someone go because they wouldn’t come in when they had the flu. Can you believe that? Someone was literally sick and didn’t go to work in a kitchen where they could easily infect the whole school. And Sandra - you know Sandra the cashier? She told me they’re all planning to walk out in two weeks, which I think is really admirable - but honestly, I think they need someone to talk about their complaints y’know? Let their voices be heard?”

You stop, finally realizing that you’d been rambling for the better half of a minute about a topic the star running back probably couldn’t care less about. But to your surprise, he’s listening intently, nodding encouragingly, looking contemplative. It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say.

It’s nice.

“Sounds like you’re a lot more keyed up about this story than stupid football,” he finally says with a half smile, and you push down the warm feeling it ignites.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, bashfully. “It’s just... It’s what I want to do. Write about real people and real events. Give the silenced a voice. Which I know, it sounds kind of cheesy and idealistic and quixotic - but I don’t care. I just want to make a difference. Maybe win a Pulitzer Prize, I don’t know.”

His eyebrows furrow - maybe he doesn’t know what a Pulitzer is - but he nods thoughtfully. “I mean... Don’t really know what quixotic means, but I don’t think you’re being cheesy. Speaking of cheese, though...” his eyes flit over your shoulder.

Your waitress interrupts, setting down a large pizza with the toppings of Jake’s choice. He eagerly loads two slices onto his plate and continues his train of thought: “Tell you what: how about I give you a hand with the article? I’ll tell you what you need to know about football, at least.”

“You’d do that for me?” you ask, and you’re honestly shocked he didn’t just brush off your whole rant about your hopes and dreams, amazed that he’s even offered to help.

He shrugs and swallows the huge bite he’d taken. “‘Course - but in exchange, you’ll have to go to our games. You know, all my friends come to support me.”

You first open your mouth to object to having to watch football - then close it, sending him an incredulous look. “We’re friends?” you ask dumbly.

He shifts, looks the tiniest bit bashful, busies himself with the straw in his drink. “I mean... I’d like to be. Who knows, maybe you’ll be famous one day or you could help me with my English essays - ”

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.”

By another stroke of luck, you manage to pump out a puff piece about Jake Seresin - something along the lines of how the first time #25 threw a football was the moment he resolved to never back down after the first hit, to wipe the sweat and blood from his face and keep pushing forward. Joe is more than impressed with the quality of your work - almost surprised, you annoyedly observe - and agrees to run the profile for the following week’s issue, just in time for Westlake’s playoff game.

On Monday evening, you’re reviewing your interview notes with Sandra the Cashier at your kitchen table when suddenly, the landline rings. “Hello?” you answer, anticipating it to be one of your parents’ friends calling to gossip. The line is silent for a few moments, and you clear your throat to try again. “Anyone there?”

Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice.

“You didn’t give me much to work with for your story!” you tell him with a small giggle. “So I managed to pull this together, and I’d say it’s a heart clencher - a tear jerker, even. Joe’s happy, at least.”

“He gonna let you write that other thing?”

“About the cafeteria workers? Working on it right now, actually,” you tell him, twirling the phone coil around your finger idly.

“Well darling,” Jake says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sweet name, at the sound of mirth filling his voice, at the memory of his smiling eye crinkles that involuntarily flashes in your mind. “I’ll hold onto this profile, hang it in my gym locker. But let me know when they print that union thing. I’d like to hold onto a future Pyoo-litzer Prize winner’s first ever real story.”

“Pulitzer,” you correct him, and despite your writing hand hurting terribly from all the notes you’ve been scribbling and the slight twinge of a headache from your eyes straining, your heart feels full as ever as you chat with Jake - your new friend - into the late hours of the night.

AGE EIGHTEEN (wages earned and lessons learned)

Almost two years later, you find yourself seated across from Jake at your town’s fanciest Italian restaurant. It’s been a while since your waiter has checked in to take your meal orders, but his absence easily slips your mind as the two of you gossip while munching on garlicky breadsticks that are way chewier than you’d like.

After a lull in the conversation, you take a deep breath. “How’s your mom doing?” you carefully ask, taking a sip of your coke to avoid tacking on more words, to fight the urge to add more useless attempts at hopeful sentiments.

Jake shrugs, unbothered, nonchalant. “She’s holding up.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he just drums his fingers on top of the white tablecloth impatiently, turning his head to glance behind him at the swinging door to the kitchen. “Have you... spoken to your dad?” you probe, and while Jake doesn’t react harshly like you expect, his hand momentarily freezes.

“No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.”

“Right,” you pause. “Do you think you ever will?”

Jake heaves out a sigh and turns back to face you, idly chewing at a hangnail. Your fingers twitch and you hold yourself back from reaching out to pull his hand away from his mouth. “There’s not much to say, really. They were married, and now they’re not.”

You nod slowly, taking another sip of your drink, briefly lamenting the fact that it’s now just melted ice with a dash of soda. “How are your sisters?”

Again, he shrugs. “Fine. I’m driving them around a whole lot. Kinsey won’t come out of her room, but that’s no different than usual. They won’t talk to him either.”

He’s silent, doesn’t seem to want to say much else, instead tries to play off his nervousness by taking another large gulp of his drink and shifting his eyes to watch the Cowboys game playing on the tiny TV behind the bar. But you can tell he’s gotten himself worked up by the way you can feel his foot tapping impatiently under the table, the way he presses his finger harder into his teeth, by virtue of knowing Jake so well.

So you change the subject. “Are we doing this every year now, then? A friendship anniversary?” you ask.

Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Of course - gotta celebrate the day you learned about football - ”

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ”

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you.

You roll your eyes. “Plan B is always my fists. Anyway, how do you think we’ll even keep up every year while I’m at school and you’re at the Academy?”

“I’ll visit you at Columbia - and before you say it, shut up. You’re getting in, Miss Pulitzer. As for the Academy... Depends on whether I even apply.”

“Why wouldn’t you apply?” you ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer, ready to pour out words of affirmation, tell him that there’s no way they’d turn him down.

“Not sure if I’d get in,” - bingo, but he follows up with something that stuns you - “And I think I might want to stick around here for a bit. Take care of the family for a bit.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, exactly. Because you were prepared to jump into a supportive best friend mode: reassure him that he’s a shoo-in, remind him of his accomplishments, deliver your long-winded ramble of uplifting words that’ll make your mouth feel like you’re chewing cotton by the end of it. But that’s not what Jake needs right now.

“I don’t think your Ma would want you to do that, Jake,” you say quietly. “She wouldn’t want you to abandon your dreams just to take care of her.”

He stretches his arms back, rolls his neck out hard enough so that his joins sound like crackling rice krispies in the silence. “She’d never ask me to. But I don’t want her to have a hard time, make her shoulder the burden.”

“Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to unload anything onto you, Jake,” you tell him firmly, sitting up straight in an attempt to look more certain, strong. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time. Don’t let your dad ruin this for you - I know a part of you wants to stick it to him or something. But fuck that, Jake. If you put your dreams on hold, you’ll regret it. You have to do this for yourself.”

“Yeah... I guess,” he trails off, still sounding uncertain, but a little less subdued. His hand lifts up and he’s again gnawing at the raw skin on his fingers.

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -”

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment. “How ‘bout chewing gum?”

“Hate gum,” Jake pouts. “Makes my jaw hurt.”

“You’re such a baby. Lollipops?”

“Charles would hate me,” he replies, and you internally roll your eyes at him calling his dentist by his first name. His sincere dedication to exceptional dental health and maintaining his teeth was sure to win him the best smile Senior superlative. “If your next suggestion is smoking -”

“- It’s not!” you glare. “How about toothpicks?”

“You want me to roll a sharp piece of wood in my mouth? Sounds delightful,” he drawls sarcastically, and you scoff, turning your eyes to look up at the ceiling.

“Better than sticking your fingers in your mouth all the damn time. What are you, two?”

“I’m a ten, thank you very much.”

“You’re insufferable,” you groan out, fighting back the urge to smile. “You won’t stay a ten if you rip your fingers apart though, Jake. You should give it a try. They have flavored toothpicks, too.”

He ponders this with narrowed eyes, pulls his hand away from his mouth to lay it flat on top of the table to examine his cuticles carefully. “Think they have cinnamon?”

“Probably. Would keep your mouth fresh too.”

“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight. You laugh along with him, rest your elbows on the table to prop your head up and just look at him, appreciate him as a boy who offered to help you within the first hour of knowing you, a man who’s willing to give up his aspirations to care for the people he loves. Your best friend who stopped giving you butterflies a long time ago and now brings you a feeling of comfort, of warmth. Of home.

Suddenly, Jake reaches across the table, palm facing up. You eye it carefully, slowly sliding your hand into his. “You good?”

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster.

“Of course,” you breathe out. “Thanks for always supporting me.”

“Always,” he parrots back. “Anything for a future Pew-litzer Winner.”

You huff out a wet laugh, and the two of you just sit there across from each other, smiling like idiots until finally, with your vision slightly blurred and your hand still squeezing his across the table, you glance around for your waitress who has yet to make an appearance. “You wanna just... go get some pizza?”

“God, yes,” Jake agrees, immediately moving to stand up. “Think we can find some toothpicks on the way?”

AGE TWENTY-THREE (she’s still 23, inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be)

The October after you graduate from Columbia and Jake’s graduated from the Academy, you visit him in Pensacola in a bar that’s packed to the brim with patrons in Navy-issued khakis. You find yourself in a booth across from Jake, snacking on greasy bar eats and nursing some shitty beers.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date, Hangman?” a dark-skinned, intimidatingly handsome man in uniform leans against your table and looks down at you with a grin that could rival a hyena’s. You glance over at Jake, who rolls his eyes.

“Coyote,” Jake says admonishingly, flips a toothpick between his teeth, but goes on to introduce you. “This is my best friend from back home.”

You wave awkwardly, pondering where his callsign may have come from - unless that was his birth name, in which you’d love to have a quick interview with his parents. Coyote raises his eyebrows and slides into the booth next to Jake, subsequently pushing him closer to the wall and rests both elbows on the table. “So you’re Jake’s friend? With all the articles?”

You whip your head to look at Jake, who’s bearing a sheepish grin with his cheeks getting slightly pinker. His hand raises up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nothing -”

Coyote’s rubbing his side where Jake elbowed him harshly, cheeks still red and teeth furiously gnashing down on the toothpick. Underneath the table, you can feel Jake’s leg start bouncing, and you shift your foot forward to lightly brush his, tap the side of his tenderly. He halts his movements.

“He’s just a great friend,” you clarify, beaming at Jake, who seems slightly less tense with his jaw unclenched. “Anyways, is Coyote your callsign?” your curiosity gets the better of you, and you figure it might be a good chance to get the spotlight off Jake.

“Sure is. Name’s Javy,” he smirks at you, then jerks a hand over at Jake. “Has he told you his sign?”

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -”

Coyote attempts to stifle a laugh, but you let a giggle bubble right out of you. “I like to use it as a learning opportunity.”

“Here’s a word for you: buzzkill.” Jake retorts, and you scoff, holding back a smile, about to snark back when you feel your phone vibrate from your purse.

“One second,” you pull out your Blackberry, glancing over the email from your coworker at The Washington Times and tapping out a brief response.

“Still on for Friday night?” she asks, and you envy how cool she sounds saying it, like there’s no doubt in her mind that Jake will say yes, against your better wishes.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, the dimple on his cheek popping out, deflating you further.

She flashes a quick smile at you as well - no malice or threat in it whatsoever - and you wonder if it’s that obvious that you and Jake are friends, that you’re not on a date even though you’d both been seated in this booth for the better half of an hour.

Maybe she thinks you’re just here with Javy, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, eyes laser focused on you trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral. “You’re going out with Imani? What happened to Priya?” Coyote asks after the girl walks away, his pointed look at you unwavering.

Jake shrugs. “She knew I didn't want anything serious. So does Imani. It’s just drinks and dinner and you know... whatever comes next.”

They both share a chuckle and your heart clenches painfully. You’re no prude - you’re all in support of people having casual sex, and you’re glad Jake is forthcoming with these girls. He’s not breaking their hearts, and they seem content to just have one night with him and be done with it.

There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.

The little green monster in you also flares up at the realization that they’ll know Jake in a more intimate way than you ever will - in a way that you’ve only dreamt about a handful of times. Give or take. You’re not sure when you started seeing him in a different light, as more than a friend, more like the person you’d want to get old with and celebrate milestones besides the anniversary of you becoming friends - but it happened slowly, suddenly, then all at once. And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more.

All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Always been a heartbreaker, darlin’, it’s an occupational hazard.” he tells you and you agree mentally, idly picking at the basket of cold fries on the table. “You’ll always be my number one girl, though.”

Ah, and the dream lives on.

AGE TWENTY-SIX (time went on for everybody else, she won't know it)

“Happy tenth anniversary to a spectacular, intelligent, absolutely phenomenal woman,” Jake toasts, grinning across from you at Malatesta Trattoria in West Village. Jake had insisted on treating you in celebration of your new job at The New York Times - did the research and made reservations all on his own, took time off and everything.

“Happy friendship anniversary to a guy who still forgets to pack his toothbrush,” you snicker, and laugh even harder when his look of pride quickly turns into a mock glare.

It’s been a full year since you physically saw him at your last anniversary dinner - Jake had been away on a longer assignment in Lemoore, and you’d been busy churning out inflammatory political op-eds for The Washington Times and applying to jobs in the Big Apple. The two of you called pretty regularly, but this was officially the longest the two of you had gone without seeing each other.

You thought it’d feel awkward, like you’d have to fumble to find your footing with him the same way you have to figure out how to balance when you put on roller skates, but it’s easy. The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks.

After your plates are empty and cleared out and you both have determined that you’re too full for dessert (although, the ice cream calling your name at your apartment might have you singing a different tune later), you both stand up to exit the restaurant.

The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him.

And figure out how the hell you’re getting home.

“You wanna call a cab?” Jake asks you with an arm wrapped around your waist to steady your swaying form, and you balk at the thought of having to pay a hefty fee just to sit still in a car and try to keep your spinning head from making you throw up. God, your tolerance has become abysmal.

And you know he’s only trying to keep you upright, probably just trying to gauge your level of drunkenness and assess whether you’re good to make the thirty minute walk plus subway ride to your home. But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.

“Are you fine with that?” he asks, and the softness written in his features reminds you of all the times you’ve looked at Jake and found a new favorite thing to fall in love with.

The very first time you looked at him - really looked at him - you fixated on the way his dimple poked out while you regaled him with a story about how you exacted revenge on your friend’s two-timing ex by pouring your entire yogurt cup on top of his head. The way he threw his head back with his eyes squinted shut and hands clapping together made you feel more enamored with him than ever, had you scraping the back of your mind for more stupid jokes to make him laugh that hard.

Another time, you remember looking right at his nose and thinking about how much you wanted to plant a sweet kiss on the tip, found yourself wondering how it would feel pressed against your neck as you both drifted off for the night, and how the sound of his soft breathing beside you would be the most comforting, reassuring sound to fall asleep to.

This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue.

Jake’s talking, murmuring something low in your ear. “You sure? Those shoes look like they hurt.”

You look down at your heels - and yeah, they’re fucking painful. These past few minutes of Jake’s inebriating presence has given you the briefest reprieve from the sharp pains shooting up your calves. You’re desperate to take them off - but you can’t recall when your last tetanus shot was. And even if you were up-to-date, no one could convince you that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the streets of New York. “No, I’ll make it. Need to walk off the wine.”

“You wanna wear my shoes?” Jake offers and you scoff.

“You wanna walk barefoot? What, do you think they sanitize and mop the sidewalks every night?”

“I’m wearing socks!” he defends and you roll your eyes.

“Still gross. Besides, you know what they say about guys with big feet?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, looks momentarily stunned as his eyes dart to his shoes, then return to your face. “Big dick?”

“Big shoes,” you deadpan. “And if I take one step in your big clown shoes, I’m faceplanting right on the sidewalk. You want that to happen? ”

“Clown shoes?” he repeats to himself quietly with an amused smile, then shakes his head, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you get tired, I’m not carrying you.”

“I’ll make it,” you insist.

“Jake?” you say thirty minutes later after traversing up the subway stairs, stopping for a moment to bend down and massage your ankles. Jake stops, shifts the paper bag with leftovers from one hand to the other and places his free hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern.

“Yeah?”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he’d turn you down, deliberating if you even feel comfortable asking him for a piggyback ride for the five minute walk back to your apartment. But the aching toe cramp that you’re trying and failing to stretch out drowns out your insecurities, silences your fear that he wouldn’t be able to manage. You remind yourself that he’s been bragging about his new squat record for weeks now, anyway. “Can you carry me on your back? Please?”

A sigh. Then, “Sure darlin’. Hop on.”

You wordlessly reach to take the leftovers from him and he turns away from you, couches down low enough to let you clamber onto him. With an arm secured under each leg, he extends to his full height and lifts you up onto his back.

“Alright?” he rumbles, and you nod wordlessly, wrap your arms around his neck and hook your chin over his shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar cologne, some Tom Ford scent you’d gifted him a few Christmases ago. It grounds you, keeps your head from spinning even more as you relish the feeling of your ankles not supporting your whole body weight.

You feel the alcohol hit for a second wave, completely demolishing your self-control, unleashing your thoughts to race limitlessly, to see no bounds. At this point, your head is close to mush, your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much, and you think you’ll never let yourself drink rosé again. But you’re certain of one thing. “I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily.

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all.

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word.

AGE TWENTY-EIGHT (I'm sure that you’ve got a wife out there, kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware)

“Have you ever thought about this?” Jake asks you, leaning back against his chair as he watches the happy couple swaying in the middle of the dance floor to an Ed Sheeran song - not your personal choice, but the rest of the onlookers seem to be incredibly moved by it. This year, your friendship anniversary coincides with your old roommate’s wedding, and after much pleading (and the promise of an open bar), Jake agreed to fly out to be your plus-one.

It surprised you how much you had to beg for him to come. At first, he had been hesitant, imploring you to attend the wedding instead of meeting him for your usual dinner. You didn’t hesitate to dismiss that idea - it’s been twelve years of celebrating, and there’s no way you’re stopping now. Not when it already feels like Jake’s been pulling back for the past year or so: calling less often, answering texts hours after you sent them, sometimes not even replying to your articles with anything aside from a little thumbs-up emoji.

At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you.

“Have I ever thought about my wedding?” you ponder. “Yeah, sometimes. Don’t think I’d ever spring for something as big as this, but -”

“- No, no,” he interrupts, “you wouldn’t want to make a big fuss of it all, not a crazy big party and definitely not a five hundred person guest list. ‘Course I know that about you.” Jake smiles and shifts forward, leaning in close; you can just barely smell the sandalwood and vanilla musk of his cologne. He seems relaxed, finally looks content to be here - though you’re sure that’s all thanks to the top-shelf whiskey he’s imbibing. “I meant marriage, commitment, settling down. You think you’d ever want to do that?”

You purse your lips, gaze still locked on the newly wedded couple, appreciating the matching expressions of adoration written on their faces as they twirl around their guests. “Of course. Just haven’t found the right person who’s ready to do that with me.”

He scoffs. “What, like you’re struggling to find someone? You know, from the minute I walked into this banquet hall with you, I’ve counted maybe five death glares from interested parties.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you snort, tilting your glass up vertically to catch the last few drops of champagne.

“Sweetheart, I’d never lie to you. In fact, I think the redhead over by the bar is still sending daggers my way. And she’s hot, so I’m kind of turned on by it,” Jake adds seriously, and you roll your eyes. “Come on! I thought you were going to give Tinder a shot earlier this year?”

You snort again, this time feeling a little more jaded. “I did give it a shot. And all I found was guys holding up fish and finance bros asking for my snap. I don’t even have a Snapchat, Jake. What happened to just getting people’s numbers and having a normal conversation?”

“It’s a new era, all this online dating stuff,” he replies, crossing one ankle over his knee and interlacing his hands over his abdomen. “But I see your point, maybe Tinder isn’t the best place to find your forever partner.”

“Don’t know why I even bothered,” you remark and look over at him, momentarily allowing yourself to appreciate the way his tux fits over him. “Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking.

He chokes on his whiskey, coughing loudly with the liquor singing his throat. “Yeah, right!” Jake finally manages out with a laugh and teary eyes, and it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on you, wakes you up from the lighthearted banter you lost yourself in.

“Okay,” you narrow your eyes, heart dropping at the rejection. “Don’t sound too eager. I’m not down on one knee here or anything.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He swirls around the remaining amber sea in his drink, slightly mesmerized by the mini whirlpool. “You know me though. Never settling down.”

You know you should take the sign to drop the conversation, but his quick refusal and blasé tone rubs you the wrong way. “Why? Because of your parents?” you hedge, leaning in to get a better look at his face, which has slightly hardened in the dim glow of the bulb lights strung across the venue. The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up making the same mistakes as your dad, but you know you’re not like him. Not in any way.”

He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily?

“Typical Jake Seresin, you know?” you cut him off hotly, trying with all your might to keep your voice even through the haze of champagne. “Always so ready to let your daddy issues ruin your chances at happiness.”

He glares at you, knocks back the rest of his drink without even grimacing, doesn’t meet your gaze. Crunches the ice bitterly. “Get off your high horse, sweetheart,” he finally says roughly. “Stop pretending like you know me.”

You scoff, still not backing down. “You think after over ten years of friendship, I don’t know you at all?”

Another shrug. His leg starts bouncing incessantly. “People change, darlin’. You certainly have.”

You draw back, feeling like he just slapped you in the face. “What d’you mean by that?” you ask a little quieter, with a slight waver, still audible over Ed Sheeran’s ballad. Where’s he going with this?

He groans again, turns to look at you, but you don’t quite recognize the expression on his face. It’s menacing, hardened, darker than the amber liquid in his cup. “We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.”

His words punch you in the gut, sock you in the ear, send blood coursing angrily through your veins. Part of you wants to tell him off, unleash your fury, make a scene in the middle of this reception hall. Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words.

Slightly misty-eyed, you fight to reel your emotions back in, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you or make Jake feel like you’re guilting him. It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks. Your strength comes back to you in slow, even waves: your heart returns to its normal pattern, your chest no longer heaves for air.

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.”

His jaw ticks, his expression remains unchanged. “Sure, right. Sorry.”

The easy dismissal brings your anger back in a rush, yet gives you time to think about your next words carefully. “You’re such an ass, Jake,” you bite out, and maintain decorum, calmly push your chair back to stand up, send him a glare with all the furiosity you can muster before making a bee-line for the exit without looking back to see if he’s following suit.

You dodge fellow wedding attendees, snatching champagne from a waiter with a platter before knocking it back and setting the empty flute back down and continuing to make your way to the exit. Over Ed Sheeran’s second ballad, you can hear Jake quietly calling out your name, his footsteps right behind you.

As you burst through the doors, into the crisp outside air, you teeter for a few steps in your heels before leaning against a pillar, trying to contain your emotions, lest you say something silly or embarrassing or humiliating.

“Would you just wait? Would you let me talk?” Jake’s hot on your heels as he steps over the threshold.

“You’ve said plenty,” you throw back.

“Come on, darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jake says behind you, closer now.

“I think you made it very clear,” you grind out, turning on your heel and looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this, Seresin. That might work on everyone else, but it’s not doing jack shit on me!”

He throws his hands up in the air, shakes his head. You eye how his fingers are twitching, how he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you want me to say? I’m just saying we’re not the same people we used to be -”

Jake’s expression stays ablaze, but his spine stiffens, hands twitch twice before he clenches them, digging his nails into his palms harshly. You meet his heavy gaze, mouth slightly agape, mind running a million miles a second until it starts to decelerate, slows down gradually, then stops on one thought, one single thought alone.

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin.

He inhales, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground.

You falter, furrow your eyebrows, wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. “I love you, Jake,” you repeat, this time a little louder, taking a step forward, closer to him. “I’m in love with you.”

Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.”

You falter. “You know?“ the words feel like marbles rolling out; you can almost hear the tiny plinks as they hit the ground.

“Yeah.”

”…How long?”

He swallows. “Since New York.”

You’re transported back in that moment, a montage of scenes from your tenth anniversary flashing through your mind like you’re in a cinema. You remember the night’s end in a haze: his warm body next to yours as you stumbled to the subway, you gripping onto his arm tightly with every lurch of the train, Jake carrying you on your back and you saying -

Jake lets out a pained groan. “Listen, darlin’, don’t get me wrong. I... care about you so damn much, but I can’t feel for you the way you want me to. We wouldn’t work.”

His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart.

You’re rapidly accelerating through the stages of grief - next, your anger comes back to you. First, in small rivulets that trickle down your spine - then as a rush of agony that feels an awful lot like the crash at the bottom of a waterfall. Your eyes burn with the tears you refuse to let fall, your palms already stinging from how hard you’ve dug your manicure into them - but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to?

For the longest time, a small, tiny part of you hoped Jake would come around, decide to knock on your door, knock you back with a signature bear hug. That he’ll swear to be there always, love you the way you love him.

After tonight, you reflect, it seems like that might never happen. And quickly, you surmise that you’d rather have one part of him than nothing at all. So as you finally reach the stage of acceptance, you vow to treasure every moment of friendship with Jake Seresin.

“I understand,” you tell him, feeling like you’re miles away. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?” His eyes still rake over you with concern.

“Positive.” You do your best to plaster on the most reassuring smile you can.

“Sweetheart -”

“- Can we just talk about this later?” you interrupt, feeling defeated and embarrassed all rolled into one. There most certainly is more to the conversation - but all you want to do is prolong it for longer, preserve the fantasy in your mind that you can Jake are alright, that the past few minutes never happened.

He closes his mouth, nods, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets.

From inside, the music suddenly changes - still a slow ballad, but this time it’s Al Green, Let’s Stay Together. “I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind.

“Ah,” you say, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome you. “You go on ahead. Think I just need some more air.”

Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control.

Despite your best efforts to hold it all in, a small tear escapes and slides down your cheek as soon as Jake’s back turns, and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.

---

Jake calls you up a few days after, initially sounding like he just wants to check in until his tone takes on a more somber note, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Listen, I know we had a little bit of a heated... discussion at the wedding. And I just need you to know I really, really, appreciate you. And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but I just want to make sure we can still stay friends.”

“Yeah, of course -” you stop yourself from readily agreeing, pause to reevaluate how you really want to take this moving forward.

Jake is the love of your life. That much is certain. And you’re not sure how willing you are to push aside your feelings, pretend your confession never even happened, just to go on with the guise that you guys are simply friends. Just friends. Holding off on love in hopes that he’ll come around.

If you’re being completely truthful, a part of you does feel empty without a person by your side, without a companion to walk through life with, without a partner to share all the moments of joy and despair and everything in between with. You’ve tried dating throughout the years - agreed to so many blind dates, worked up the courage to ask guys at the bar out. And somehow, you always run into the same problem.

They’re not Jake.

And it’s not like they’re not as funny as him, or as charismatic or charming or sweet as him. It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon. It’s the harsh truth that no matter what, they always feel threatened by your passion for your job and your drive to succeed. Always find problems with you jetting across the world for different projects, and patronize you for saying you wanted to make a difference with your stories.

One Tinder date even mocked you for aspiring to win a Pulitzer - you’d promptly excused yourself to the bathroom and never came back, instead ending your night with a long phone call from Jake, who was six hours ahead at the time but more than happy to console you.

Jake’s always encouraged you, from the very first day at the pizza parlor to now. And the more guys you took a chance on dating, the less hopeful you felt about finding a future with someone as kind, as wonderful, as unwaveringly supportive as Jake.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the pipe dream.

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache. “And don’t get me wrong - your friendship means the world to me. Even if you think we’re different people now. But it feels like nothing’s changed for me, Jake. I think for years, I’ve been holding onto the hope that you’ll come around and feel the same way. But after this past weekend... I think I need some space. Just so I can get over you, if you’re not changing your mind anytime soon.”

Jake’s silent on the other end of the line - the only indication that he hasn’t dropped off is the sounds of cars rushing on the other side. A part of you hopes he’ll take the bait you cast with your final sentence, that at the very least, he’ll consider reconsidering. You don’t think you’ll get that lucky.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” you quickly reassure him while blinking away tears, feeling numb. “And I don’t want to be cliche and tell you it’s what I need, Jake - because believe me, sometimes it feels like I need you like I need a Pilot G2 pen or the sun. But I can’t live like this. I can’t settle for just having part of you because that’ll be agonizing for me.”

Silence on the other end. “I hope you understand,” you quietly add.

“I do, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” his voice is void of emotion. You try not to think too hard about it, try to transport yourself back to a better moment when he was right there in front of you with every feeling written on his tanned, chiseled face.

Deep inhale. “Bye, Jake.”

AGE TWENTY-NINE (I cause no harm, mind my business, if our love died young, I can’t bear witness)

These gentrified tapas places are a menace to society. You shift uncomfortably on the cold, sad metal excuse for a barstool. This restaurant is noisy - glasses clinking together, patrongs cheers-ing to various occasions, champagne bottles popping open. Yet, the sound of the entrance dinging open is the only thing that makes you perk up, has you involuntarily glancing up hopefully in an attempt to manifest a familiar handsome pilot walking across the threshold to join you on your anniversary. But to your disappointment, it’s only a bunch of drunk bankers stumbling out.

In the past year, you’ve found a number of ways to distract yourself from the pain of not having your best friend. As per Dr. Richard’s advice from your first therapy session, you tried your hardest to find comfort in solitude: catching films in the theater alone, wandering through new art exhibitions by your lonesome; you even attended a wine tasting in Brooklyn and ended up passing the time with a group of ladies who encompassed very similar energy to the Sex and the City Quartet (and you ended up getting some solid reassuring advice after you lamented your complicated friendship - Samantha’s carbon copy was all too ready to shit on Jake by the end of your tale).

All in all, you’re content to be scoping out this restaurant solo, trying their featured cocktails and appetizers and people watching. You’re trying your best to convince yourself that you’re okay being where you are right now. The only thought that puts a damper on your night, sets your pride back a little is the realization that this might be the first October thirteenth you’ve spent alone in thirteen years. It shakes to your core, makes you flag down a bartender for a whiskey neat, but you calm down, take a deep breath, and let it out.

Jake’s a different man, not the boy who sat in front of you in your beloved pizza shop with a crinkly-eyed smile, telling you “you’re just a cool person.”

In the same way, you’re most certainly a different girl than the one who sat in front of him with a ten-color shuttle pen and bright eyes, one who was just grateful he’d seen a companion in you to begin with.

You’re a strong, self-assured, career-driven woman now. You’ve been featured on a variety of articles ranging from the devastating 2016 US Presidential Election, to a Buzzfeed Guest Feature on what your favorite ink color said about you, to discussing culture and conflict in the Middle East. While Jake’s support from the very beginning was part of what motivated you, what spurred you on, you are the one who did all the hard work. You are powerful, driven, intelligent, sophisticated.

You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart.

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or...”

After the beep, you steel yourself. “Hey, Jake,” you clear your throat, gripping your phone tightly in your palm and taking a deep breath. “I, uh... Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Think it’s the first one I’ve spent without you in a while.”

You pause, look around at the tapas bar as you try to gather your thoughts, wistfully eye the empty barstool next to you.

“I know I said I needed some time before. And I’m glad you honored that - truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?”

Your eyes catch on the bartender who’s cleaning glasses with a towel a few feet away from you, catch him shaking his head slightly.

“Do you mind?”you snap, and he at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. Quickly, he flashes you an apologetic smile before comically pretending to hear a patron calling out their order and dashing across the bar.

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry. Some asshole was just... Never mind. You would’ve hated this place, Jake. I mean, aside from nosy people, it’s got overpriced drinks with Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. And there’s no jukebox - they’re just playing top 40s hits over and over again. Like, this is the third time I’m hearing Shape of You and I got here less than an hour ago.”

Again, you pause, feeling embarrassed at your incessant rambling. Debate whether to blab about what’s been plaguing your mind since you woke up this morning. “Sometimes I wish I never said anything and that we could’ve just stayed friends. I just don’t think that would’ve been fair to me - because I meant what I said, Jake. I’m in love with you. Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.”

It feels like a breakthrough, saying the words out loud, realizing that things truly are going to be more different than they used to be. And for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re perpetually mourning a friendship, you don’t feel waves of anxiety that try to convince you that you conflated your friendship to mean more. You can breathe easily.

“I think I’ve realized that the person I am today is all a conglomeration, a constellation of every interaction I’ve had with other people. And for the most part, I am who I am because of our friendship, because of your presence in my life. So a part of me is finding it hard to let go of that and move on without you being so ingrained in me. But I’m trying. I’m going to therapy, at least,” you smile optimistically, wiping away the first tear you’ve let yourself shed today.

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.”

AGE THIRTY (and it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me)

You don’t realize it’s the day of your anniversary until you catch a glimpse of the date on your phone, realize why you felt like you were missing something the entire day. At first, it sends a wave of anxiety over you, makes your stomach swoop like you missed the last step on the staircase.

But as best as you can, you remind yourself that taking on this special day alone is part of your healing process, that sometimes we create our own heartbreak through expectation, and that it’s just a matter of managing your hopes, assuaging your guilt, honoring your friendship by yourself for the second year in a row.

It’s taken time, but you’ve made your peace with the fact that Jake won’t be playing as active a role in your future as you’d hoped. Maybe you two can just be the type of friends who send each other Christmas cards and call on your birthdays. Years later, maybe you’ll finally settle down and find someone who will support you just as well as Jake did, who will treat you kindly and see you as more than a friend to hold hands with from time to time and look at your lips sometimes and give you piggyback rides when you’re too drunk. If you have kids, maybe you’ll have Jake over to meet your family, oblige him to regale them with tales of your friendship, send gift cards for their birthdays and talk about his time in the Navy - if they’re interested in hearing about Uncle Jake’s career path.

That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be.

Even if you’ll always be in love with Jake, that doesn’t mean you have to wither away waiting for him.

In the middle of catching up on some editing and shooting out some emails from the comfort of your plush couch, your phone rings with a familiar name proudly displayed at the top. Immediately, you narrow your eyes, wondering if he’s remembered or if it’s some weird fluke that he’s calling you on today of all days.

“Hello?” you answer cautiously.

“Hi Jake,” you force out, feeling as nervous as you did that day you interviewed him at the pizza place. At times like this, you wish you had your old landline from back in the day so you could coil the cord around your fingers idly, distract your nerves momentarily from the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in two years. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m alright,” His voice is stilted, slightly muffled. Sounds just as easy as you remembered it, “Just... Remembered what today was.”

“It’s Saturday.” The quip rolls off your tongue before you can think any better of it - and you cringe inwardly at how rude you must have sounded. “I’m sorry, that was...”

But Jake’s chuckling on the other end, a delightfully warm sound, one that pulls a surge of pride from deep within your chest. “Yeah. You're not wrong.”

And just as quickly, it fades into the awkward silence - the kind you never used to have with Jake. Mentally, you flow through all the happenings in this past year, think about where his Ma told you he’d been last.

“I’m outside your building, I think. Unless your Ma sent me the wrong address, which admittedly, I’d deserve but - "

“- You’re in New York?” you ask, still in shock, finally feeling in control of your muscles and limbs and words. Hurriedly, you scramble off your couch and swipe up your empty tea mug, then rush to your kitchen to deposit it unceremoniously into your sink.

You hear the sound of a car horn beeping on the street echoing both in real time and on the line, further sending your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah - you do live off 65th, right? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just pop in like this - ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe out, making your way to your front door with your phone still sandwiched between your ear and your hand. “I just... Wasn’t expecting company.”

He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.”

“Maybe so,” Jake agrees, and you can practically hear the forlorn smile in his voice. “Mind letting me up, though? Just wanted to talk. In person.”

The reality of the situation crashes down on you - that Jake’s practically been AWOL for the past few years, that your friendship has felt one-sided and exhausting to try and keep up with, that you spent your last anniversary alone and sobbing into your cellphone So a part of you wants to turn him down, hustle him out of your safe space - but your heart pounds rapidly with its demands for answers, your brain implores you to hear him out.

Without a second thought, you push the button and hear the resounding buzz on Jake’s side, followed by a “See you soon, sweetheart.” The line clicks.

Mind going a million miles a second, you turn to glance at your reflection in the hall mirror that you’ve procrastinated hanging up for months now. You level a determined look at yourself, brush some crumbs off your sweatshirt and smooth some flyaways before pushing your shoulders back, standing up tall and proud in an attempt to exude confidence.

Three heavy knocks sounding out at the door immediately makes your look turn panicked, sending you stumbling over your feet as you reach to grab the doorknob and pull it open to reveal Jake Seresin standing in your narrow apartment hallway.

Not even five seconds have passed and you’re already annoyed with him. He’s still mind numbingly handsome: tall as ever, blonde hair still infuriatingly shiny and soft, green eyes catching the dim evening light, glimmering back at you like gemstones. It makes your stomach swoop, brings the butterflies fluttering back into your chest from where you’d banished them.

Asshole.

“Hey,” he greets, quirks up a corner of his mouth into a half smile that would normally have you swooning if you weren’t already frozen.

“Hi, Jake,” you manage out, eyes raking over his figure just to convince your mind that he’s really there, actually standing just a few feet in front of you. Shaking away the doubts, you step to the side, gesture for him to enter your apartment.

It’s not the sound of his footsteps that convince you, nor is it the brief brush of his arm as he sidles into your narrow apartment hallway or the unreal sight of how he fills up the space and how his shoulders stretch from wall to wall. It’s the familiar heavy scent that hits you - tobacco and vanilla - which makes your cheeks flush, your heart skips a beat.

He’s really here.

Gathering your wits, you follow him into your cramped living room, grateful that you’d done some vacuuming and tidying up that morning in an effort to banish all the anxieties and ruminations that come with this special day. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” you find your voice, snatch up an oversized throw to make some room on the couch.

He nods, turns around to assess your space thoughtfully before settling himself into the cushions.“I got your voicemail,” he tells you. “From last year.”

Oh. It suddenly feels bitter, leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “You didn’t call back?” you hedge, immediately going on the defense. Instead of sitting down next to him, you elect to slide into the armchair furthest away from him, an attempt to shield yourself from him. An attempt to avoid making the same mistake twice.

“I was going away on assignment the next morning,” Jake explains quietly, patiently. He meets your disbelieving look with somber eyes. It only slightly alleviates the pressure building in your chest. “And... honestly, I didn’t want to worry you. It was one of those missions. The kind I wasn’t sure I would come back from - like, where they’re telling us to call home and lay down all the cards.”

You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further..

“I thought I would spare you the details, spare you from having to prepare to lose me. I was okay with that decision up until the moment one of my engines failed and my jet was going down - and the one thing that flashed through my mind was that I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, or see you, or how when you win your Pulitzer you wouldn’t be able to call me to tell me the news or how I wouldn’t be able to hang up the print of your winning piece next to your union one,” his voice is shaking slightly, and you know if you even attempted to reply your words would quiver just as much. In this moment, you’re trembling with your hands folded over your eyes to hide the tears brimming.

It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him. “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake repeats, at least sounding sincerely apologetic.

“I appreciate that, Jake,” you reply bitterly, then defeatedly toss the pillow to the side. “When did you even get back?”

His jaw tenses slightly and he sighs, and you immediately feel triumphant for successfully frustrating him, as petty as it sounds. “Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?”

All you can do is nod, purse your lips and let him say his piece - there’s no pressure to forgive him or fall into his arms.

“I think you were right,” Jake continues seriously. You dig your nails into your palms anxiously. Under any other circumstance, you would have loved hearing those words from anyone else. Not now. Not Jake. “You were right to call me out when you said I was letting the fear of becoming my dad hold me back from chasing what I want.”

As your anger slightly dissipates, you think back to that moment - about how those were just a few of the words you wish you could snatch up out of your past and make them disappear. Your breath hitches. “I was a bit harsh - "

“- But you were right,” he interrupts. “And I think that’s another reason why I shut down, because you know me so well. After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.”

You nod, not sure what exactly to say to that. It’s not like you can explain to him that you were so incredibly taken by him, that you held onto his every word and agonized over interaction in hopes of really getting to know your best friend.

Jake goes on: “And you have to know that my dad broke Ma’s heart like it was nothing. Married for twenty years, dated for five years, friends for another ten years. Even after you add all that up, it’s still not enough to keep them together. He still went for the first temp who waltzed into his office, still fucked with both of them for months on end. If my parents couldn’t keep it together, how could anyone else?”

You’re stunned, frozen in shock before you manage to gather your strength, pick up your thoughts and hurl them right back at him. Screw this defeatist attitude he’s picked up. “You have to understand that’s the nature of some relationships, Jake. Sometimes they’re not meant to last forever, sometimes people change - "

You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?”

Suddenly, he launches up from the couch, walks two steps across the room and pivots on his heel to walk the two steps back in an attempt to furiously pace. He groans out exasperatedly, rakes a hand through his stupid perfect blond hair. “I mean... Yeah. It made sense at the time,” he admits. Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets?

People change indeed. In more ways than one.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and there’s no sugar-coating your words anymore. He makes a sound, as if he’s about to feign offense, but you power through. “People change all the fucking time, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to grow and become better versions of ourselves if we stay stagnant? Where’s the fucking story in that?”

You huff out a laugh, don’t even wait for him to reply before continuing on a rant. He’s stopped pacing now, is looking at you, but you’ve sprung up to your full height to look at him straight on, deliver your words as firmly as you can.

“People change, Jake, especially when they’re in relationships - it’s a matter of adapting, supporting them and loving your partner through it. And like, let’s be clear: I’ve changed a lot, too. Physically and emotionally - but I’m okay with it because I realize it’s made me become someone my sixteen year old self would be stoked to meet. And not just because I live in the city or because I have, like, 2 Montblanc pens - but because I’m working on these stories and they fly me out wherever to interview people, and I know I haven’t sent my stuff to you in a while, didn’t think you’d still want to read it - ”

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.”

“You have?” you ask dubiously, doubtfully. Hopefully.

“‘Course,” he affirms, sends you a reassuring smile and stands up straighter, takes a step forward. “I mean, not while I was overseas, I read up when I got back. I really liked that one about the Obamas’ portraits. Thought that was pretty cool. But the one about the grassroots movements for peace in Afghanistan got me thinking. Like, obviously I was assigned there for a while, but didn’t really consider other things happening there - Actually, I had some questions for you, but we can talk about it later...”

“Oh. Sure.” You’re slightly shocked at the confession, at the small vision that flashes through your mind of Jake typing your name into Google and catching up on your stories, determinedly following your career even during the most unstable moment in your friendship. It sparks hope in you, sends a wave of hope crashing down on you forcefully. “Wow. I didn’t think you… That means the world to me, Jake.”

He’s quiet for a moment, excitement reverting back to a somber contemplative expression. “I understand what you’re saying about change,” he says hesitantly, rocks back on his heels. “And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.”

It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.

Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen. “Oh, Jake,” your response rolls out along with two tears down your cheeks.“ It’s okay - “

The scent of vanilla tobacco hits you first, then his chest as he pulls you into a giant bear hug that envelops you in a warmth that could put both the sun and Texas bonfires to shame. Your face is pressed into his jacket and he’s talking, saying something that you don’t really register until you tilt your head up and dig your chin into his firm chest.

“I’m in love with you, sweetheart,” the words burst forth. His hand’s resting gently on the small of your back - the warmth of his palm radiates comforting heat through your body that only multiplies as he pulls you into him. You stabilize your hands on his shoulders, crane your neck to look up at him and map out every part of his face - from the small lines in his forehead to the slope of his nose to the slight redness in his cheeks. “It’s okay if it’s too late, if you’ve moved on. I just don’t want to lose you again, don’t want to risk not talking to you, can’t - ”

“Of course I’m in love with you, stupid man,” the words come to you as easily as breathing does. The smile that spreads across his face brings back your favorite eye crinkles, carves a dimple into the corner of his mouth, makes it feel like you’re bathing in sunlight. And Jake wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s breathing out a question and you're nodding tearfully and then he's cupping both of your cheeks gently and surging forward to press his lips to yours.

Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.

Tags

fic recs august 2022 Top gun top gun maverick jake seresin hangman my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing best friends to lovers with jake i’ll never recover SO MUCH FUCKING ANGST i went through a roller coaster of emotions i’m majoring in journalism so this was <3 never getting over “How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” pls tell me they get married

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fivsecondsflat

1 year ago

“she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but one day, everything about you seemed loud” SUCH A BEAUTIFUL AND ROMANTIC WAY TO DESCRIBE FALLING IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE, MY HEARTTTTTTTTTTT

“she didn't want to jump into conclusions. you wanted to rip your hair out at her obliviousness.” so cute!!!!!!! kept in on my toes for the ending!!!

"hazel... you don't understand-" "make me." BUTTERFLIES IN MY STOMACH!!!

i also laughed so hard, baby hazel was a menace planning to steal reader’s thing and pulling her hair shxhshchshchshkkkk

THIS WAS SO SO CUTE!

hi hi hi :) could u maybe write a thing abt like reader and hazel being childhood friends who slowly start to fall for each other but don’t say anything for a long time and then maybe they get into an argument of some kind and confess their feelings??

idk if you’ve done something like that but it just crossed my mind!

sour grapes – hazel callahan

— your scent is still unripe and green.

childhood friends to lovers. fluff. yearning. kind of long!

Hi Hi Hi :) Could U Maybe Write A Thing Abt Like Reader And Hazel Being Childhood Friends Who Slowly

hazel could still remember the first time she became your friend. it was back in kindergarten. you had just moved into town and you were the new kid. but to her, you were known as the kid with the mcdonald's strawberry shortcake keychain where her hat slides to the side to reveal a lip balm.

little hazel was collecting all four characters— she had around 3 orange blossoms, 2 ginger snaps, and at least 5 angel cakes —but she couldn't get her hands on the strawberry shortcake one because it's always out. so when she saw your strawberry shortcake dangling from your backpack, she came up with a plan that she spent two days devising; she'll steal your keychain in exchange for one of her angel cakes.

of course her plan didn't work. it was snack time when she found herself in front of your backpack, smiling at the sight of strawberry shortcake. she was about to take the keychain off after applying the balm on her lips rather messily when she heard a loud gasp behind her. hazel quickly turned around to see you already stomping towards your teacher. "miss sandy!"

panicking, hazel ran after you and pulled on your hair to try to stop you. it did stop you, but it also made you start crying. a concerned miss sandy marched towards where you were standing. "hey guys, what's happening here?" she crouched down to your eye level while rubbing your back to calm you down, her pretty pink floral dress creasing. "what's wrong sweetie?"

"hazel was trying to steal my strawberry shortcake and she pulled my hair," you pointed at her as tears came out of your eyes and snot came out of your nose. you were sobbing so hard that miss sandy didn't understand a single word you said, but deduced that it had something to do with your keychain. you had gotten it on your birthday. you liked strawberry shortcake but you weren't much of a big fan, you only liked her strawberry scent on her head. but nonetheless, it was a birthday present and you cherished it with all your heart.

when you saw hazel's bag with an angel cake keychain, you were elighted because you both have a lip balm keychain from mcdonald's. you wanted to become her friend but you were too shy to approach her that's why you planned on sharing your grapes with her that day. which is why your heart sank when you saw her hands about to take strawberry shortcake off your bag that has your grapes in it.

"i didn't mean to!" hazel started crying as well, her mouth and cheeks glistening under the light because of the lip balm. she was embarrassed that you caught her in the act and was nervous that you would hate her for eternity after this incident. after your mothers were called to school by miss sandy to discuss what happened and after hazel got scolded by her mother, the both of you found yourself sitting across each other in mcdonald's with your moms. mrs. callahan lightly nudged hazel to apologize, which hazel hesitantly did. "i'm sorry," she looked down at her lap, kicking her little feet as you stare at her.

"honey, what will you say?" your mom cooed, nodding towards hazel's direction. you didn't want to forgive her for what she did. that keychain was still yours and you're stingy when it comes to things that belongs to you. but then you felt bad because you wanted to be her friend and you'd gladly share your lip balm with her if only she had asked you in the first place.

she noticed that you took a pink item out of your mother's bag. it was the strawberry shortcake lip balm keychain. "let's share," you grinned as you hand her the keychain. hazel looked at you with wide eyes, her blue eyes shining in excitement. the two of you played in the playplace after that.

from then on, you and hazel were inseparable. every trip, every dinner, your family and hazel's family were together. the both of you would also have sleepovers at each other's place. most of the time, you preferred to stay over at hazel's. you would spend hours on playing tekken or grand theft auto or bratz on her playstation before getting scolded by mrs. callahan for staying up late.

as years went on, your friendship grew closer and closer until it doesn't feel like friendship anymore. hazel was the first one to have this epiphany back in ninth grade. she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but one day, everything about you seemed loud; in a good way. you were radiating like sunbeams in the sky, blinding hazel by your beauty and your presence. since then, she keeps forgetting that you've been friends for years. who could blame her. you always took her breath away every time you'd smile.

confused at this newfound feeling, hazel decided to keep this feeling all to herself. after all, it would probably go away soon enough.

she thought it would go away. she really hoped it would. but it never did. there have been multiple instances where she was so close to confessing, but the fear of getting hurt by your rejection and the fear of your friendship ending would always stop her from doing so.

you realized that you were falling for hazel during the year the fight club was created. you were inseparable up until this point in your lives as she became more busy and involved with the club as one of its founding members. when she invited you to join, you rejected her invitation, joking that you don't want to ruin your beautiful face. she somehow took this joke very seriously and distanced you from the club, eventually distancing herself in the process. this, of course, hurted you but it didn't come as a surprise. hazel seemed to be walking on eggshells around you. at first, you thought nothing of it. you became concerned when it continued after that. you found it weird as she had never acted that way before but you brushed it off, assuming it was nothing.

it was lonely without her and it would be a lie to say that you weren't jealous of her club. she's your best friend since kindergarten, why is she spending more time with them than you? they don't know her like you do. from your point of view, it seemed like she was too engrossed in the club that she forgot that you existed. but from her point of view, she was suffering from not hanging out with you despite preoccupying herself with the club to get you out of her mind, that same feeling still lingering in her chest.

you took care of hazel when she got beaten up by tucker. mrs. callahan— who's now different in your eyes after learning that she was sleeping with jeff —was glad that her "daughters" were hanging out again, recalling that time you poured alcohol on the cut on hazel's knee. unlike before, you were more gentle at cleaning the multiple cuts on her swollen face.

the sight ultimately broke you. you could still hear her head making contact with the gymasium floor, making you wince every time you remembered it. you wanted to run towards her, shield her from the big white guy— seriously, why the fuck is he not expelled yet? this school is a joke, you thought. but he was tucker and he was caged for a reason, and you don't know a thing or two about self defense. all you could do was watch in fear.

on the second night of your so-called "shift", you sat at the corner of her bed after putting away the ice pack and the antiseptics to see if she's in any discomfort while sleeping. she looked peaceful in her slumber despite her swollen eyelids painted in disgusting red, black and blue hues. you just wished that the healing process would speed up so that you could see her bright eyes again. your eyes travelled down to her parted lips, finding yourself staring at it for a long amount of time. you were aware of hazel's unbroken routine of always applying lip balm which obviously started back when you were little but this was the first time that you noticed how soft they looked. you wondered what her lips would feel like on your—

you were snapped out of your daydream when hazel stirred in her sleep, making you abruptly but gently standing up from her bed to avoid interrupting her rest. what was that about? you don't just randomly daydream about kissing your friend, especially when they're in a horrible state. cringing internally, you laid down on the sleeping bag on the floor, shutting your eyes so you could quickly fall asleep and forget about your thoughts. this is normal right? right?

you were in denial the whole time you were at hers, attempting to be your usual self around her. but because of your recent thoughts, you found yourself unintentionally hesitant and self conscious with your actions. you were pretty sure that her fight club friends— minus pj and josie —found you weird for checking on her band-aids every minute and for acting like a mom the whole time they were over. but they were nice and you despised yourself for not liking them in the first place.

hazel was thankful that you stayed by her side and took care of her no matter how distant she became. she wasn't proud of what she did and apologized to you after the fight club left her house, leaving the both of you alone in the living room. "it's not a big deal," you wearily smiled. she hoped that you weren't tired of her.

you and hazel hung out like you used to. playing games until early in the morning, talking shit about the people you hated in school, cooking in the middle of the night. she even invited you to watch the football game against huntington with her. it's been awhile since the both of you went out together. this made you happy. maybe the previous thoughts that you had were only because you missed your dear friend. it was nothing.

you thought it was nothing. but when you saw pj and hazel making out in front of you, you felt like you were going to puke. you hurriedly left the bleachers and ran all the way home. your heart was clenching in your chest and you couldn't help the tears from streaming down your face. why did it hurt so much? why did you have to see it? you wished that you never met her in the first place. that you didn't become friends. if you did, maybe this wouldn't have happened. you stopped running as your legs made contact with the ground, heaving as you did so.

during the following weeks, you were now avoiding hazel. you shut down all of her attempts trying to talk to you, wanting to ask you about your whereabouts that night after they knocked out all of the football players. hazel was beyond frustrated that you were ignoring her calls and messages. she tried ambushing you in the classes that you both shared and didn't share together, but you had somehow left the classroom without her noticing.

after the fourth week, hazel finally got you cornered at your house. screw your mom for being so fond of her. your house lacks female solidarity.

"why have you been ignoring me?" hazel spoke after glaring at you intensely that you're pretty sure if she was a deadly laser right now, your skeleton will be left behind. you looked away from her eyes and stared at your pillows. you were both standing in the middle of the room, your arms crossed over your chests.

you shook her head and muttered, "you wouldn't understand." you don't want to let her know that you like her more than a friend. you don't want to get in between her and pj's relationship. you don't want to be that kind of girl.

hazel huffed and rolled her eyes, her hands now resting on her hips and her tongue pressing against the insides of her cheeks. "oh i'd love to understand why you decided to ignore me out of fucking nowhere."

your brows furrowed as you stepped a little closer. "that's ironic," you chuckled at her. "like you didn't ignore me when you started your little fight club."

her eyes widened a little bit. hazel was thrown off at what you said, the knot in her stomach getting tighter. "no, i—"

"wow..." you breathed out, shaking your head in disbelief. "so it's only okay when you do it?"

"you didn't talk to me!" she stepped closer.

"you didn't talk to me either!" you stepped closer. hazel could see that your eyes were filled with rage. bottled up emotions from when she was ignoring you started to peek through. "if you were going to ignore me for pj, you could've just fucking told me! you could've been honest!"

she cocked her head to the side. "pj? what does pj have to do with this?"

you stepped back and paced the room, one hand on your hips and the other on your forehead. hazel was confused when you brought up pj. sure, they kissed, but it was for a distraction. the whole time she was kissing her, you were on her mind. but of course, you don't know that.

"you didn't have to hide your girlfriend, hazel."

huh? hazel thought. "what girlfriend?"

now you were confused. "pj? i mean... you guys made out in front of the entire school—"

"that was for a distraction!" hazel then started pacing around the room while you stopped and watched her.

"distraction for what?!"

"huntington was about to kill jeff by spraying pineapple across the field during the game," hazel explained while you try to search for any lies in her eyes and words. "my bomb didn't work so we needed another distraction to stall the game— wait, shouldn't you know this? weren't you at the game?"

you swallowed and wiped your hands on your shorts, trying to calm yourself down and not cringe at what you're about to say next. "i left... when you and pj... y'know..."

hazel took a step closer to where you were. "why'd you leave?"

"because..." you stuttered, looking at anywhere but in front of you, words stuck in your throat as she took another step closer. "you wouldn't want to know."

"tell me," her voice dropped into a whisper, now only inches away from you, blue eyes piercing into yours. "why'd you leave?"

you took a deep breath and pursed your lips, mentally cursing yourself and everyone in the world. "i couldn't stand watching you kiss pj."

"why?" she took one step closer.

"because i like you." closer.

"of course you do," she chuckled and walked once more until her face is centimeters away from yours. "it'd be weird for our friendship if you don't."

she didn't want to jump into conclusions. you wanted to rip your hair out at her obliviousness. you could feel her breath on your face. her eyes glancing at your lips. the both of you wanted to let each other know about your feelings, your sweet intentions. but you were afraid that it'll be sour, bitter. that your emotions are still unripe.

"hazel... you don't understand—"

"make me."

with that, you closed the space that was in between you both, connecting your lips to her soft ones. it felt right. it wasn't sour. the kiss was gentle and sweet, much like a strawberry shortcake lip balm.

AAAAAA ive been writing this one for awhile i hope u liked it!! ;v;

Tags

fic recs 2023 november hazel callahan hazel callahan x reader bottoms 2023 my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing i love fanfiction so much i wish love was real HOW DARE YOU LEAVE US HANGING AFTER THE KISS C’MONNNN childhood friends to lovers i will always love you especially with hazel the trope fits so well

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