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dilemmaontwolegs · 3 months

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Okay so I absolutely ADORE 'The Bucket List' and was wondering if you would consider writing a 'what happens next' with Grace and Charles? Those two NEEEEEEEEED a happily ever after!

Pwetty pwease?

Five Years Later || CL16

A/N: I never planned for Grace and Charles to be together, but they are each other’s support. Warnings: labour and delivery WC: 1.9k

The Bucket List || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments

“Maman, it’s time,” Charles rushed, a little breathless over the phone.

Pascale almost dropped the phone as she clambered out of bed and knocked on Arthur’s door. He had stayed the night to help entertain Angel who was asleep in Charles’ childhood room and he startled awake at the intrusion. “Get the car, it’s time.”

“It’s time?” Arthur echoed excitedly before rushing to get his car keys and wake up Angel. She didn’t seem too impressed to be woken up before dawn but she soon bounced excitedly when Arthur told her it was time to go.

“How is Grace doing?” Pascale asked Charles as she got herself ready to leave.

Charles looked at Grace who was pacing around his living room, one hand pressed against her lower back, her face pinched in pain, while the other hand cradled the swell of her belly.

“She’s doing amazing, but she’s eager for some pain relief.”

Many people thought the relationship between Charles and Grace was strange. They weren’t together, yet they were never far apart. They were like two broken branches grafted back into the same scarred tree. The parts that were missing could never be replaced, but they realised that their company was better together than being alone.

That was why she was the only one he could trust to be the surrogate mother.

Between all the medical procedures, Charles hadn’t really remembered that you froze your eggs to save them from being damaged by the chemo. The plan had been to use them when you were better, but when that didn’t happen Charles thought they would go unused. It was only a letter that arrived on the fifth anniversary of the procedure that reminded him, with an update of the egg's health status. It had taken a few more months before he plucked up the courage to talk to your parents about it and then ask Grace instead of a stranger.

“We’ll see you at the maternity ward,” Charles said with a wince as another contraction drew a pained groan from his friend. The retired world champion had known exhaustion, but after a night of supporting Grace to labour in his apartment he had a new appreciation for what it really meant.

Everything had been planned and prepared for this day so Charles was ready to bring home his little boy. His room had been painted a pale pastel blue and was decorated with picture frames so he would always recognise your face as his mother watching over him. A white sleigh cot was set up against one wall with the best baby monitor money could buy. Opposite it sat a set of drawers that held more baby clothes than he could ever need and beside it was a fully stocked changing table with newborn nappies stacked high.

Charles grabbed the hospital bag from the table and slung it over his shoulder before going to Grace. He grabbed her phone and drink bottle from the coffee table and turned off the calming piano music she had been listening to before helping her swollen feet into her slippers. “Ready?” he asked softly as he offered his elbow to keep her steady.

“Mhmm,” was all she could muster.

Though he had healed a lot in the years that had passed, more so once meeting Angel and Grace, there was still a pain in his joy when he thought that it should have been you carrying his child. Charles liked to think that he still felt you there with him through all of it, the milestones and scans, and that it wasn’t all in his head.

There was a bowl of cool water that Charles had been using to wash the sweat from Grace’s forehead but he didn’t bother to tidy it up before he left, same with the half empty plate of snacks she had tried to eat between contractions. His sole focus was on getting Grace to the hospital as quickly and comfortably as possible.

Charles knew you would have been proud of the effort he went to in learning everything about pregnancy and newborns. It felt like he had bought every book and watched every youtube video, as well as attending the local Antenatal Class. He admitted it was hard to attend the class when everywhere he looked were happy couples excited for their first child. Grace had smiled and squeezed his hand, as always, knowing exactly how he was feeling.

“Chosen his name yet?” Grace asked as she eased into the front seat slowly, straining to fit the belt around her large belly.

“I’ll know when I look at him,” he said with a shake of his head. He had a dozen names that he liked but he wanted something that suited him so he would wait a few hours more before deciding. “It has to feel right, you know?”

Grace gripped the door handle and the edge of the seat as another contraction began. Her eyes watered and her deep breaths shuddered for a minute until it passed and she sighed with relief. “Angel was meant to be Frangelica, but when she was born it just didn’t match.”

Charles laughed as he tried to picture Angelique with any other name. No, Angel suited her just right because she had saved him the day they met.

The streets were quiet as he took the turns slow and smooth, winding his way through the city that was barely beginning to wake as dawn approached. Thankfully the hospital was already expecting him and they had a wheelchair ready as he pulled up.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Charles promised before parking the car and rushing up to the maternity ward. He skidded to a stop outside the only door with voices and Grace lay on the bed in a gown.

“I’m sorry, you’re too far along for pain relief,” the midwife said as she draped the sheet back down. “Baby is already starting to crown. You have done so well, mama.”

“Oh, I’m not the mother,” she said as Charles stepped into the room, casually clearing the situation up with a smile. “I’m a surrogate for Charles.”

There had been a comment made by the media early on in the pregnancy when news broke, that Grace would try to be the mother once the baby was born. It would have been a lie to say Charles didn’t think about that possibility, but Grace had her child with the love of her life, Gabriel, and had long decided she would never have a child with another man - she felt it would be a betrayal to their memory. This child was yours and Charles, and your memory would live on through her.

“That’s beautiful,” the midwife said with a reassuring smile as she turned her attention to Charles. “There’s a spare gown in the bathroom, you can change into that if you want to have skin to skin bonding once baby is born.”

Charles had read that skin to skin contact helped newborns bond with their parents and he grinned as he stepped into the bathroom. He had never changed so fast as he heard Grace’s pained cry but the midwife was calm and talking gently as she morphed the bed to a seated position.

“You are doing so well, Grace. You might feel the urge to push with the next contractions, just do what feels natural, okay, hun,” the midwife, Ann, as her name tag read, encouraged. “I’m just going to hit the call button but there is nothing to worry about, it’s just to have an extra set of hands because it looks like the little one is making a quick arrival.”

Charles wasn’t even aware that Grace’s gown had fallen away until he saw her stomach tighten around the undeniable shape of a small body and she clenched her teeth together, dipping her chin down with a guttural cry. He had to remember to breathe as the midwife encouraged Grace to push, then rest.

“Okay, this is the one, we need one last big push,” Ann guided. “I know you’re tired but you can do this.”

Grace’s hand nearly broke Charles’ as she squeezed with the push and then the little boy was there. An exhilarated gasp escaped Charles as he saw his son lifted upright, his face purple before he took his first gulping of air and rattled out a cry after filling his lungs. Colour quickly returned to his cheeks and another midwife wrapped him in a warm towel.

“My boy,” Charles laughed as tears rolled freely down his cheeks and he looked at Grace. “Thank you.”

“I would say anytime, but-” she choked out a laugh and settled back into the pillows before another contraction began.

“What’s that?” Charles asked. He had a pair of scissors in his hand that another midwife had given him to cut the cord, but suddenly he panicked thinking there was a twin.

“Just the placenta being birthed,” Ann assured him, a smile teasing her lips like she was often asked the question with the same worried tone by fathers. “You can cut now, just here.”

Charles’ steadied his hand and found he underestimated how tough the cord would be, before gripping the scissors tighter and snipping through. “Can I…hold him?”

There was a bustle of activity as the mother midwife and a nurse made Grace comfortable, but Charles was fully focused on the tiny bundle that Ann carried towards him. “Take a seat, papa.”

Charles grinned at the new title and took a seat, opening the gown over his chest so she could place his son onto the warmth his body offered. Already, there were tufts of dark hair on his head and Charles brushed his fingers over it feeling how soft they were. His son blinked at the touch, squirming against the lights before settling against Charles’ chest and looking up.

Your eyes. Those were your eyes, set above Charles’ nose. Those were Charles’ dimples appearing on his cheeks beside your lips. A brilliant balance of his and your features wrapped up in a baby born to be loved. His lips parted silently, as if he were experiencing the same sense of awe that Charles did. It was the same look he had seen on your face as you watched the dawn rise and the light chase away the dark when you couldn’t sleep.

“Lucas,” he murmured as he delicately stroked his cheek and stared in amazement at the wonder he held. Lucas, it had been one name he liked because it meant bringer of light. It felt as if the flaking chips from his rusty heart were falling away with each second he held his son, and beneath the damage and decay it shined anew.

“It’s perfect,” Grace agreed with a tired smile.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Enjoy this moment, Charles.” She seemed wistful for a second. “Before you know it they are walking, then running, and there’s no catching them then. Promise me you’ll enjoy this moment.”

Of all the people, he didn’t need reminding of how cruel time could be. But he had learned how to cherish the time he had, it was the last and the hardest lesson you had taught him.

“I promise.” His promise was to Grace, his promise was to Lucas, and his promise was to you. He wouldn’t waste a second of his life, not now that he had the most precious gift to live for.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic

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soulessjourney · 6 months

Text

Vengeance Trail

Paring: Billy the kid x Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: You and Billy had known each other during your younger years. However, following an argument, you departed to forge your own path, leaving things on bad terms between the two of you. Years later, circumstances led you back, having been recruited to assist John Tunstall. As the war drew nearer, tensions resurfaced between both of you.

Warnings: Slight mature themes nothing too detailed, Billy not knowing how to make up his mind

A/N: So this was supposed to be one long drabble but I got 4k words in and wasn't even half way through so I will now be turing this into a small series.

Your life hasn’t been easy. For years, you had to fend for yourself, even as a young girl. At such a tender age, loneliness was your constant companion until you met him—Billy McCarty, as you knew him. It all began in Kansas, just days after their arrival. His mother, a kind and gentle soul, his rowdy and energetic brother—these were the first faces you encountered. But Billy stood apart, calm and soft-spoken, especially towards you. Little was known about Billy’s father except for his ailing condition upon their arrival. When he first encountered you, you weren't dressed like the other girls in town. No, clad in a simple, dirty white cotton shirt and brown-stained trousers, mud tainting your braided hair, you were as fiery then as you are now.

Billy swiftly became your closest friend after your initial meeting, and the two of you were inseparable. You stood by him during the loss of his father, just as he stood by you when your parents abandoned you for greener pastures. The McCartys became your surrogate family, and you were willing to sacrifice everything for them. After his father's passing, the McCartys decided to seek new opportunities in Santa Fe, extending an invitation for you to join them.

As your new life unfolded in Santa Fe, you chose to assist Billy's mother at the inn, doing everything in your power to ease her workload. You shielded her from advances made by older men and helped restore order after brawls erupted in the bar. But over time, Kathleen and the others grew distant. She met a man who prompted her to move in with him, taking the boys along, while you remained stuck living at the inn, toiling tirelessly to make ends meet. As you and Billy matured, a shift occurred between you two—a growing chasm that led to that pivotal, fateful night.

Standing in your room, you tucked your shirt into your trousers before slipping on the boots. "Y/N, don't do this. You're not thinking straight," Billy urged, positioned near the door to impede your departure. Rolling your eyes, you tied your hair back with a ribbon, keeping the strands from obscuring your face.

"It doesn't matter, Billy. My decision is final. I can't spend my life here in the inn or aiding you in poker, especially after what happened with Carlos," you retorted, arms crossed, referencing the tragic incident that occurred last time you attempted to help him. "This can't be my life anymore. I have no family, and constantly fending off the advances of older men isn't the future I want."

"You have a family, Y/N. We're your family," Billy insisted, attempting to reason with you, taking a step closer.

"You're not my family, Billy. You ceased being my family when you left me here to work for my bed," you replied firmly, brushing past him to retrieve your gun belt from the nearby chair. If there was one thing you appreciated about Billy, it was his lessons on shooting, and you had become quite proficient.

Billy followed closely, his voice growing desperate as he tried to persuade you. Moving around his brother and acknowledging Kathleen with a nod, you stepped into the night air. "Fine, leave. But where will you go, Y/N? You don't know how to survive out there on your own. You'll end up dead in a ditch, and I can't bear to bury another friend," he implored, quickening his pace to block your movements.

Shaking your head, you reached your horse, a striking brown and white paint, and began fastening your belongings. "I'll figure it out, Billy. I grew up alongside you. I'm confident I can handle myself. But I'm tired of stagnation. What happened to the Billy who dreamt of running away with me, exploring the world? You're not the same friend anymore. I'm happy for you and your mother, but I need to discover who I am, and I hoped you'd support me in that," you murmured, pausing your actions, refusing to meet his gaze.

Waiting for a response that never came, you mounted your horse and rode off into the night, leaving Billy behind, watching you vanish from his life.

---

A few years later, you had earned quite the reputation, becoming one of the most renowned outlaws. To conceal your past, you adopted a new alias, known to many as Sadie Bennet, while others foolishly dubbed you "The Wolf," a title you found entirely absurd but resigned to endure as there was not much you can do besides complain. One of your crew members had rationalized the nickname, claiming it suited you because you tracked your targets before striking, often appearing as a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Seated not far from the bar, your hair cascading down your back, you leisurely sipped on whiskey. "Ms. Bennet, I assure you this deal will benefit you. Your marksmanship is unmatched, and we desperately need your expertise. Mr. Tunstall won't rest until we secure your assistance. While we may not match your previous compensation, he's vowed to collaborate with you to clear your name," the man before you spoke. He appeared relatively young, likely just a few years older than you.

Setting down your glass, you arched a brow, sucking air through your teeth. "Mr. Bowdre, I appreciate the offer, but as I've reiterated, a petty power struggle isn't in my best interest," you stated, adjusting the suspenders chafing against your skin beneath the blue plaid shirt. "If Mr. Tunstall is genuinely in dire need, he should make a personal appeal. His absence leads me to believe otherwise."

Charlie ran his hands over his face, growing increasingly desperate, an almost amusing sight. "He's away on business, Ms. Bennet. That's why he can't request your services in person," he explained, using a word that made it seem as though you were peddling yourself to men, a notion that irked you.

"Very well, I'll consider it. There's not much occupying my time currently. I'll head to Lincoln County in a few days. There, we can convene and discuss details further. I have a few loose ends to tie up here before departing," you announced as you stood. Noticing his instant relaxation upon your agreement made you ponder just how desperate they were for your aid. Retrieving your hat from the table, you brushed it against your brown trousers to rid it of any table dirt before placing it atop your head. Tipping your hat, you offered a faint smile before pivoting on your heel. "I'll see you in a few days, Charlie. Ensure Tunstall is present; it would be nice to meet him after your vivid descriptions," you remarked, striding out of the saloon, unaware that accepting his offer would soon thrust you back into the life of a close friend.

---

As promised, you arrived in Lincoln County a few days following your conversation with Charlie. While making your way toward town, you were intercepted by Charlie himself, evidently waiting for your arrival. "Ms. Bennet, welcome! We were starting to worry that you might have had a change of heart," he greeted you as you turned your horse to face him, a smile gracing your lips.

"Nonsense, Mr. Bowdre. I may be many things, but I always keep my word. I said I'd come, and I intend to follow through," you replied, meeting his contented smile as he guided you toward his house. Though the ride had been somewhat lengthy, the scenery was undeniably picturesque. Looking up, you caught sight of an eagle soaring above, circling twice before disappearing. Closing your eyes, you reminisced about the last time you had seen an eagle. It was just after your departure from Santa Fe, when illness had nearly claimed you. Lying on the ground, an eagle had soared overhead, and you'd tracked its every movement before succumbing to sleep. Days later, you'd awoken in an unfamiliar bed, unsure of your whereabouts.

"Mr. Tunstall will be delighted to meet you. We have a few others more directly involved in our operations. They'll also be present to greet you. Don't be put off; some of them relish being intimidating," Charlie's words interrupted your thoughts, eliciting a soft laugh from you. Shortly after, you arrived at a small ranch, where a woman stood waiting. Radiant and evidently excited to greet the man beside you, you assumed she was Charlie's wife, judging by the ring adorning her finger and her joyful expression upon seeing him.

Dismounting your horse and patting her gently, you followed Charlie toward the house. Taking a deep breath, you entered and glanced around. It was a lovely, well-organized home—neither too crowded nor too sparse. Charlie guided you into the living room, where you paused, noticing a group of men engaged in conversation. Some appeared older than you, while one around your age gazed out the window.

"Mr. Tunstall, gentlemen, I present Sadie Bennet," Charlie announced, prompting the men in the room to straighten, catching their attention. The young man by the window turned towards you, causing your heart to skip a beat. Standing before you was your old friend, Billy McCarty, though markedly different from your last encounter. Life had evidently molded him into a hardened man. His widened eyes and the way he uttered your name revealed his surprise and disbelief at seeing you again.

Tunstall scanned you before removing his hat and extending his hand in greeting. "Ms. Bennet, I've heard a fair amount about you from Charlie, including the challenge it posed in persuading you to assist us," he remarked, his smile softening as you firmly grasped his hand. Indeed, you hadn't been the easiest to recruit, having encountered Charlie multiple times before, his persistent attempts at recruiting you finally wearing you down.

"I apologize, Mr. Tunstall. I wasn't initially certain about joining this endeavor. However, Charlie's persistence eventually led me to agree. I hope my delayed acceptance didn't hinder your plans too significantly," you offered, ignoring Billy's intense gaze as he positioned himself beside you.

"That's quite alright. What matters is your presence now, and your skills will undoubtedly be invaluable. Now, allow me to introduce you to the others," Tunstall said, shifting his focus around the room. "This is George," he gestured to the man on his left, "and you're already acquainted with Charlie." Charlie offered a reassuring smile, leaving only one person to introduce.

"Finally, we have B—" You abruptly interrupted Tunstall, turning to extend your hand.

"William Bonney, it's a pleasure to meet you face to face. You're quite the celebrity; I was concerned about competition for the title of most notorious outlaw," you jested, noticing a subtle change in Billy's expression. Unsure whether it was anger or disappointment, you shrugged it off. Arching your eyebrows, you awaited his response, but as he made no move, you scoffed and turned back to Tunstall. "Well, as famous as he is, he certainly lacks manners," you grumbled, crossing your arms, eliciting a surprised cough from Charlie, who attempted to suppress a laugh.

Billy cleared his throat and shook his head. "I apologize, Ms. Bennet. That wasn't my intention. I was merely surprised to encounter a fan. It's delightful to make your acquaintance. Please forgive my lapse in manners," he said, his gaze fixed on yours.

"Oh, I'm not a fan, Mr. Bonney. Just pleased to meet the most wanted man in several counties," you shrugged, distancing yourself from him. "Mr. Tunstall, can we discuss my involvement privately? I won't commit until we've reached mutual terms," you proposed. Tunstall nodded, dismissing the others, and you shot a lingering glance in Billy's direction. Removing your gun belt and placing it on the table, you settled into a chair. "Tell me the details of my role."

Tunstall positioned himself opposite you, crossing a leg over his knee and folding his hands. "As you're aware, there's a feud between Mr. Murphy and me. He's a power-hungry man, exploiting the land and its people. He indebts them, then employs unsavory means to seize their property. I'm sure you're familiar with his tactics." You nodded, feeling a simmering rage within. "We aim to confront Murphy, reclaim the land, and provide these people with the rightful homes they deserve without enduring such hardships. I require your skills to assist in taking him down. You and Mr. Bonney will offer exactly what's needed to dismantle Murphy's corrupt hold."

As you reclined in your chair, Tunstall's words raced through your mind. This man was willing to fight and die for a cause—bringing a better life to Lincoln County—and he sought your aid above all. "Alright, let's assume I agree to assist you. What assurances can you provide? I'm not interested in money; I seek something more secure and dependable," you challenged, noticing Tunstall's surprise, though it didn't shock him, especially given your reputation.

"I can offer you an opportunity to clear your name. As far as I'm aware, you're wanted across at least four counties, three of which have bounties on your head. However, by assisting me and transitioning away from the outlaw life, I can advocate for you. I'll speak to judges, emphasizing your change of heart and commendable actions, working to eradicate those bounties against you," Tunstall proposed. The offer held undeniable appeal. Clearing your name from charges that weren't your doing in the first place seemed like a tempting prospect.

Nodding, you contemplated the offer more deeply. "Very well, I accept these terms. I'll collaborate with you to take down Murphy and assist in your objectives. But it's crucial that you uphold your end of the deal, Mr. Tunstall," you affirmed, running your fingers through your hair. "Now, could you tell me further about William Bonney?" Tunstall's eyes brightened as he eagerly briefed you on what he knew about your former friend.

---

That evening, you lay outside, your coat serving as a makeshift pillow while your gaze remained fixed on the stars. A gentle cool breeze kissed your cheek and nose, while the nearby fire crackled softly. Your eyes flickered open as the sound of footsteps approached, halting beside you as a figure settled down. "I didn't expect to see you roped into all of this," Billy spoke softly. "Honestly, I thought you were gone for good until I spotted your wanted posters everywhere. Who would've guessed you'd dig a deeper hole than mine, but I suppose stubbornness runs in your veins, so that's no surprise," he said, glancing down at you.

Sitting up, you drew your knees to your chest and released a sigh. "What do you want, Billy?" you asked, pressing your lips together tightly. "Don't expect anything from this. I'm here solely to clear my name, not to mend something that shattered a long time ago," you added, redirecting your gaze back to the starlit sky. Billy sighed and fiddled with his fingers, uncertain of his next words.

"I tried to find you. After my mother passed away, and I was falsely accused of a crime, I searched for you. I assumed you'd moved on to another town or two, but you were nowhere to be found. Then I kept hearing about this remarkable woman named Sadie Bennet—how impressive she was, especially for a female outlaw. It wasn't until I saw your wanted poster that I knew it was you. Part of me felt relieved, but another part wanted to keep searching," Billy confessed, joining you in gazing skyward.

"I wasn't far when Kathleen passed. I'm sorry for your loss; she was a remarkable woman," you began, "I knew you were alright, still alive, as people talked about you often. Imagine my surprise when they accused you of murder. I couldn't believe it because you were always about settling disputes, not escalating them to violence. No matter how much I might have disliked you, I couldn't believe those allegations," your words struck a chord, leaving him silent.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he uttered quietly. "I took advantage of your presence, assuming you'd always be there for me, even when I distanced myself. You were a constant in my life, and I took that for granted. Life turned into hell after you left, and realizing my mistake hit hard when I didn't have you to turn to anymore. Joe was furious with me for weeks; he blamed me, rightfully so."

"Don't blame yourself, Billy. I left because I needed more than the life we had. Our rift was just one part of why I left; it's not solely on you," you said, meeting his gaze filled with sorrow. Wanting to comfort him, you hesitated but then pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Stop looking so forlorn, Billy. You're not alone; there are people who care."

Billy wrapped an arm around you, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. "The reason I regretted it so much was because I was in love with you. You meant everything to me, and you showed me what it felt like to be truly wanted," he whispered softly, tightening his embrace. You remained silent, uncertain of how to respond to his confession. When you attempted to pull away, he shook his head, drawing you closer. "Please, just listen. I was so deeply in love with you that my mother was helping me gather the courage to confess my feelings. But then you vanished, leaving me with unspoken words and a heap of regrets."

"Billy," you murmured, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. "You carry so many burdens and regrets. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. You didn't deserve to feel alone, and I regret leaving you in that state. I had feelings for you too, but when you distanced yourself, I took it as a sign and fled like a coward," you confessed, feeling his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb caressing your skin. Lost in each other's eyes, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

His lips felt weathered against yours, yet the kiss conveyed volumes of unspoken emotions, making you disregard any roughness. Your fingers entwined in his hair, gently tugging on his brown locks, and a subdued moan escaped as he pulled you into his lap. Breaking the kiss, Billy placed a tender one along your jawline before meeting your eyes. "Let's head inside. It's getting late," he murmured, guiding you along. Pausing just outside the spare room, he kissed you again before ushering you inside, where the evening was spent memorizing each other's bodies and sharing quiet confessions.

---

The next morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. Stretching your arms, a smile naturally spread across your lips. For once, you felt truly rested, and the usual ache in your back was noticeably absent. Sensing movement behind you, you felt an arm around your waist draw you closer. Memories of the previous night flooded your mind, and you suppressed a smile as you turned in bed to meet Billy's bright blue eyes. "Good morning," you whispered, gently cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a sleepy smile as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Good morning," he mumbled back, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on your lips. Pulling away, he nestled his head on your shoulder, his arm holding you tighter. "Do you think we should come clean about knowing each other?"

Running your fingers through your hair, you pondered his question. "I'd say we might have to. There's hardly any believable excuse, especially after last night," you chuckled, placing kisses along his jawline. "But we should probably get up and start our day," you sighed, only to squeal as he playfully rolled on top of you, tickling your sides and eliciting high-pitched laughter.

After some playful moments and shared affection, Billy rolled off and got up, heading to the small bathroom. Lying on your stomach, you observed him dressing and attempting to tame his tousled hair. Catching his gaze, you noticed a flicker of something before he grabbed a black shirt from the wardrobe. Handing it to you, he sat on the bed, tracing his fingers over your exposed back. "I'll head downstairs while you get ready. I'll try to hold them off until you're ready to face the grilling," he said with a playful eye-roll, making you stifle laughter in the pillows.

Eventually, you sat up and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. "I'll see you downstairs, cowboy. Don't let them chew you up," you teased, rolling out of bed. As you started dressing, you ran a brush through your hair, noticing the red marks on your neck and collarbone. Groaning, you tilted your head back, silently blaming Billy. Once dressed, you made your way downstairs, overhearing hushed whispers. Some sounded teasing, while others seemed more disgruntled, likely discussing you and Billy. Walking into the room, you stood behind Billy, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Good morning, gentlemen. How was your night's rest?" you greeted them with a wide smile that faded as Billy distanced himself from your touch.

Charlie greeted you with a small welcoming smile while Tunstall settled into the chair at the table. Positioning yourself next to Billy, you observed him, puzzled by his sudden shift in emotions. "Sadie, or should I say Y/N, what exactly is your relationship with Billy?" he asked. Part of you hesitated, uncertain of what to say, as his expression demanded nothing but the truth. Before you could respond, Billy interjected.

"There's no relationship. Last night, we both had a bit to drink which led to events that should have never happened. I want to apologize for our actions. We have more important things going on, and we should have been more careful." His words hit you hard, and your face contorted into a mix of horror and shock. It was a mistake—this whole situation. Just moments ago, he appeared content waking up beside you, but now you felt reduced to a mere error. Clenching your hands into fists on your thighs, you bit the inside of your cheek to restrain any comments on the brink of escaping.

"Billy is right, Mr. Tunstall. We both got carried away, and I'll ensure it never happens again. I allowed myself to become too vulnerable around someone, and I shouldn't have." You managed to force the words out, your voice strained. "Now, if you boys excuse me, I need to tend to my horse and maybe explore the town to familiarize myself with the area," you grumbled, rising abruptly and causing the chair to scrape against the floor.

Charlie stood up swiftly. "I'll join you. Perhaps I can give you an overview of the town and how everything operates." You nodded at Charlie and left the kitchen, purposefully avoiding looking in Billy's direction. Charlie followed closely, slowing his pace as you reached the horses.

"What truly happened between you and Billy? Anyone who can read a room can tell that you're more than just a drunken mistake. So, what are you to him?" Charlie inquired as he mounted his horse.

Swinging yourself onto your horse, you shrugged. "I thought I meant something to him, but I should've known better than to believe his words. I apologize if things were awkward this morning, Charlie. That wasn't my intention at all." You offered him an apologetic smile as he joined you on horseback. A part of you wanted to cry and vent your frustration after Billy's sudden indifference. You had opened up to him and comforted him, only to be discarded once again. Last night felt too perfect to be true, but it hurt to realize that you had exposed yourself only to be hurt in the end.

Charlie shook his head and regarded you as the two of you began riding towards town. "You don't need to apologize, Y/N. Sometimes people change, and sometimes they change in a matter of minutes. All you can do is look ahead and move on. You're a wonderful and kind young lady. Billy just doesn't know what he's doing," Charlie consoled. Part of you felt weak for letting Charlie comfort you, but his words resonated and lingered in your mind. He was right. You couldn't let this consume you. All you could do was fulfill your duties and keep moving forward.

#billy the kid #billy the kid fanfic #tom blyth x reader #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #Billy the kid #tom blyth #billy the kid fanfiction #tom blyth fanfiction #Spotify #william bonney #billy the kid 2022 #william h bonney x reader #tom blyth!billy the kid

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auteurdelabre · 2 months

Text

A LITTLE SUN - PART FOUR Dieter x f!Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS GET OUTTA HERE OR I'M TELLIN'!)

Story Summary: As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way.

Chapter summary: The secret is out. . . And you both have to face the music.

tags: Surrogacy, Pregnancy, Body changes re: pregnancy, Mutual Pining, Idiots in love, Mentions of Drugs, Mentions of Parental Death, Parental Issues, Vulnerable Dieter, Vulnerable Reader.

dividers by @silkholland

a/n: Next chapter is... gonna be a doozy.

part one / part two / part three

"Tell me it isn't true."

"Huh?"

You roll over in bed, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Your cell is firmly lodged against your ear as your mother’s frantic cry is heard on the other end. It’s early the morning after the ultrasound and you’re still reeling from everything. There are soft pings going off on your phone, but all are drowned out by your mother’s terrified voice.

After the kiss you and Dieter had been driven back to the rental in silence, both of you processing. You were pensive, staring down at your phone reading through work emails. Dieter on the other hand was beaming, his smile never dimming.

He’d tried to talk to you when you entered into the rental but you’d made a beeline for your bedroom where you’d fallen into an unsettled sleep. And now you have your mother screaming down the line at you as you blurrily try to understand what she’s going on about.

"People haven’t stopped calling,” your mom says her voice wobbling. "I keep hanging up but now they're on the lawn!"

"Mom what are you-"

"Tell me you're not having that horrible man's baby!"

It feels like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over your head sending icy chills down your spine. You jerk up in bed, your eyed bulging.

"What did you just say?"

You pull the phone from your ear and see all the pings and alerts that haven’t stopped. While you were sleeping it turns out you have been making headlines back home in the US. TMZ is of course the one to break the news, photos of you and Dieter splashes all over the internet.

Dieter Bravo makes PA his sex slave

There you both are, standing in the parking lot of the hospital. Dieter is smiling at you sweetly, his hand splayed over your belly. Your mid laugh and the two of you appear to have eyes only for each other.

The next shot is the kiss – the one with your hand on his neck, his hand on your belly and both of you with your eyes shut. The level of intimacy in the photo is staggering to the point that just looking at it makes your face heat.

How did they get that shot?

“Mom, I have to go,” you tell her breathlessly, hanging up on her still shrieking voice.

"DIETER! GET THE FUCK IN HERE!"

The day is long and by the evening the two of you have turned off your phones. The pings of incoming messages and phone calls are getting to be too much. Diane has scheduled an early meeting with the two of you tomorrow to discuss further steps.

You settle into the TV room, putting on some nature documentary but neither of you is watching it. You're seated by the fire, eyes lost in the flames.

Dieter is stretched out on the sofa, one arm behind his head, the other on his belly. He looked like a lost child, dark eyes wide and unblinking. He’s run his hands through his hair so much that it’s even more wild and mussed than usual. Eventually when the silence grows oppressive you glance over at him.

"Was Mia pissed?"

"She hadn't replied to any of my messages."

Good.

You don't know where that thought comes from, but it does. A strange sense of victory threads through your body, making you tingle pleasantly. But then your eyes drift over to Dieter still looking anxiously up at the ceiling and guilt soars through you.

"Are you upset?"

"Of course I'm upset," Dieter snaps. "I really liked her. She's funny and chill and me being a single dad didn't bug her. She wanted me."

You say nothing. You watch as he throws his arm over his eyes, mouth curling into a frown.

"And the shitty thing is I was gonna tell her when we got back to LA," Dieter sighs. "Fuck."

"I'm sorry," you offer in a quiet voice. Dieter’s eyes are immediately on your face. He sees you turned away from him.

"What're you sorry for?"

You can't face him. You just shrug instead, feeling the queasy sensation of sentimentality.

"I fucked it up for you."

Dieter is off the couch and crawling over to you without thinking. His long legs carry him clumsily until he’s kneeling at your feet.

"You didn't," Dieter says with that husky earnestness you’ve come to expect from him. You don't respond and he furrows his brows. "Hey, look at me."

You shake your head. You don't want to look at him. Dieter hates talking to people without seeing their eyes, it makes him uneasy. He doesn't see the irony in him constantly wearing sunglasses. He moves his fingers to your chin, gently tilting your face in his direction.

"You did nothing wrong,"

"I kissed you."

"You were excited."

"But I kissed you," you repeat.

"And I kissed you," Dieter offers without thinking before stumbling over his tongue as his words finally hit his brain. "It's like the first time you were excited about the baby and I loved sharing that with you."

He holds your gaze as you hold your breath.

"I don't regret that moment. I wouldn't change it." His hand slips from your chin to your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the cologne he spritzed to cover up the smell of cigarettes. You can see the length of his dark eyelashes. You force your eyes not to drift to his pouty mouth.

"Even if it fucks up everything with you and Mia?"

Dieter goes to respond to you when a loud bang sounds on the front door. The two of you break apart and Dieter groans as he stands muttering about his knees. You move to the seat by the window, not up for talking to whatever company Dieter has invited over but not wanting to be in your stuffy bedroom.

"Mia?"

You turn as Dieter says her name. Mia shoves past Dieter into the rental without taking the time to say a word to him. Her hair is wild from the wind outside and her jacket hangs on the crooks of her elbows. Despite everything she still looks glamorous. She spies you sitting near one of the windows with wide eyes.

"Hi," you offer weakly.

Dieter steps forward to follow Mia towards you but you wave him away. He shifts back, hanging awkwardly by the front door as the two women in his life meet eyes. Mia is staring at you harshly, her hand going to motion towards your belly.

"It's his isn't it?" Mia demands breathlessly.

You think of denying it but you know she doesn't deserve it. You hang your head, chin touching your chest.

"Yes."

"Fuck," Mia says shaking her head. "I'm such a fucking idiot."

"You're not!" You insist, struggling to a stand. The blanket that had been draped over your belly falls to the ground.

Mia's eyes rove your expanded stomach, noticing the pronounced swell under your tight t-shirt more easily than the last time she saw you. Her eyes widen and you feel the need to explain before she starts screaming or crying.

"It was a one night stand," you explain in a rush.

"One where you got pregnant and are keeping the baby," Mia says flatly. "Doesn't sound like a casual one night thing to me."

"Dieter is paying me."

Mia's reaction is as expected: confused and then horrified. Her perfectly manicured nails slide over her mouth in distress.

"What?"

"Dieter, get Mia a drink," you throw over Mia's shoulder. You need him to stop standing there staring at you like a bump on a log. You look back to Mia. "Please, just come sit down and let's talk about this."

Dieter scrambles, knocking into one of the chairs before scampering off into the kitchen, relieved to have something to do.

Mia looks to be debating your offer before nodding. She follows you to the large tufted chairs by the window, taking the one opposite you.

"I don't even know why I'm here," Mia laughs ruefully, not able to meet you sympathetic gaze. "It's not like... I don't..."

She fumbles for the words that you already know and you give a chagrined smile.

"Because you like him," you tell her.

"We barely know one another," she says to her chapped hands. “We haven’t even slept together.”

She nestles back into the chair like a delicate bird making home in a nest. Dieter rushes over with two full glasses of red wine. He presses one into Mia's hand, wincing at her cool appraisal of him. His hand extends the wineglass towards you before he realizes the faux pas.

"Oh fuck," Dieter says wincing. "I didn't-"

"Its fine," you say rolling your eyes. "You drink it," you motion to the sofa across the room when Dieter goes to perch on the arm of your chair, "over there!"

Dieter nods, shuffling quickly away from you, the wine spilling in like drops after him like a bloody trail. He places the wineglass onto the coffee table with a quiet knock.

You glance over Mia's body tucked tightly into the chair. She looks so haunted, so defeated that it breaks your heart. Yes, you can admit that there is a part of you that is jealous of her relationship but you know that it's just hormones. Ultimately you want Dieter happy and Mia makes him happy.

"Mia," you say her name softly, leaning forward conspiratorially as her large eyes turn on you. "You and Dieter have a strong connection."

She gives a scoff into her wineglass. "Right."

"I've seen the two of you," you insist. "You bring out the best in him. You seem happy when you're with him."

"He makes me laugh," Mia relents.

You try not to notice Dieter's head poking up from the couch, his eyes flitting from you to Mia and back again.

"Don't let this," you motion to your expanded belly, "get in the way of that."

"You say it like it's not a big deal," Mia says with a distressed laugh, her hand gesturing to your belly. "It's a child you two made together!"

"It’s a business transaction," you say firmly. "Dieter wanted to be a dad, I got pregnant, he offered to pay and I accepted. That's how non-emotional the entire thing was. I never wanted kids."

Mia twists the stem of her wineglass between her fingers anxiously. The drink sloshes against the sides hypnotically.

"Why would you do this?" Mia finally asks you gently. "If you never wanted kids, I mean. This is a big ask."

You know she doesn't believe you and you don't know how to convince her other than giving her all the brutal facts. You exhale slowly, lips pressing together tightly.

"Because I have significant debt," you tell her leaning back into the chair. "And when Dieter offered me a very generous payment to carry the child to term I didn't want to turn it down."

You try to sound clinical and detached as you explain this. Dieter's eyes flicked to your face when you mentioned the debt, his brows raised. Now he just continues looking uncertainly between you and Mia.

"You're not going to want to be in this baby's life at all?" Mia asks, brow furrowed. "You're just going to go work for Dieter every day and ignore your own baby?"

The way she says this sounds judgmental. Like you're a monster for choosing this. It makes your hackles rise momentarily before you remember that she's come here to understand everything. You smooth down the pillow absently, grounding yourself.

"I won't be working for Dieter after I give birth," you explain in a rush, avoiding the way Dieter's eyes move sharply to your face. "I'll pay off my debts and then I'm going back to school to finish my schooling. I won't even be in the same city."

You hide a wince when you see Dieter's hurt expression behind Mia's shoulder at this proclamation. You know he’d been upset when you mentioned Sacramento in passing, but now he just looks devastated.

Mia blinks rapidly, looking even more thrown then before. "You won't?"

"Nope." You shake your head before giving a tepid smile. "But that means I won't be there to get in the way either. No random run ins, no having to pretend things aren't totally fucking awkward."

Mia gives a small smile at this

“It also means that your relationship with Dieter would be public news,” you tell her quietly. “It means tabloids running things about you being a stepmom. It means a lot of unwanted attention.”

“I could give a fuck about that,” Mia says rolling her eyes. “They said I didn’t have a belly button last year. I don’t care what they print about me. I just signed an airtight three picture deal with Marvel.”

You want to laugh at how you pinned Mia as this innocent little waif who didn’t know what she was getting into. How wrong you were. She’s more shrewd and worldly than most fifty year olds you know in the business. Suddenly your fears about her being too innocent, about her career being damaged, are pushed to the side.

But her smile drops and she jerks her head behind her to glare at a solemn looking Dieter who now stands braced against the edge of his couch. She places her empty wineglass next to her on the floor.

"You lied to me, Dee."

"I told him to," you break in before your boss can reply. "I begged him not to tell anyone. Even you."

Mia turns back around, brow raised. "Why?"

"Because I was involved in a one night stand with my boss," you say with a dejected scoff. "And I got pregnant from it. From the man the media once called Burnout Bravo. I was humiliated. I didn’t want anyone to know. My own mother didn’t even know until TMZ came out with it."

Dieter feels his heart sink as you say this. The truth that he always suspected so brutally delivered makes him feel like he's been punched in the gut. Burnout Bravo.

Mia begins twisting her fingers together nervously. "Really?"

"Really," you nod before shooting a look over at Dieter that says play along.

"It's the truth," Dieter says hollowly.

"So there's no feelings here?" Mia asks the both of you.

You're the first to reply with a laugh you force from the bottom of your belly.

"No. Never. It was a one night stand because we were drunk and because I hadn't been laid in months. That's all it was."

"Yeah," Dieter says laughing the same sharp way you do. "I don't fuck my employees. We were wasted."

That stings. To be referred to as an employee and so carelessly. But it’s what needs to be done. The two of them fit together. You lean closer to Mia, dropping your voice so that only she can hear you.

“Mia what you two have is special,” you emphasize. “I’m not just saying that. I’ve known Dieter for years. You’re the first one I’ve really seen make him change for the better.”

Mia seems to soften at this and you watch as Mia pushes up from the chair and draws over to Dieter. He stands and she allows him to pull her into his arms. He closes his eyes as he holds her against him. She murmurs something into his neck and the moment suddenly feels incredibly intimate.

You feel your intruding on the two of them and you shuffle past them into your bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you.

Back in the kitchen Mia pulls back slightly to gaze up at Dieter. "Do you want her, Dieter?"

"What?" Dieter blinks rapidly. "You already asked me that and-"

"And now she's not in the room with us," Mia finishes, peering into Dieter's face. "And I want your total honesty."

Total honesty.

He can't give her that. Can't tell her how you occupy his thoughts at all times. Can't tell her that even if you weren't carrying his child he's crazy about you. Can't tell her that he's so touched that you care about him well past that of a personal assistant. Can't tell her that he's told you things no one knows because he trusts you more than anyone.

And he can't tell her those things because he really cares for Mia, more than he ever expected to. If things continue between the two of them there's a very good chance he's going to fall in love with her because right now he's well on his way.

He doesn't want to give her up.

His affection for you will wane. When you leave for school he'll be able to forget you. You don't want him so why would he pin his affections on that?

He needs to move on from you.

"No," Dieter says firmly. "It's not like that. I mean of course I care about her. She's been my assistant for years and she's carrying my kid."

"You know that's not what I mean," Mia says flatly, her light eyes scanning his face. Dieter stares into those eyes, feeling himself melt.

Mia is sweet and ambitious and she likes to party. She's got an edge, a relaxed way of being and she's fucking gorgeous. She's an actress so of course there's a bit of ego but that's nothing he can't handle. If anything he likes it about her.

Mia had been so understanding, so cool. Dieter could feel himself falling harder and harder for her the longer they were together. Part of him thinks she suggested the casual nature of the relationship because that's all she thought he was capable of. She gets him in a lot of ways.

But you’re here and you're carrying his child and even if you weren't, after breaking down the walls you keep up these past few months, Dieter doesn't know that he can stop wanting you. It doesn't make sense; you don't want him like that so why does he still desire you?

He needs to quit it though. If he doesn't watch himself he's going to lose Mia and he doesn't want that.

"I want you," Dieter finishes softly, cupping her cheek.

Mia slides her manicured hand over Dieter's wrist, sighing as she looks up at him.

"I think maybe we need to take a beat Dee."

"Huh? Why?"

Dieter can't understand what she's talking about. They're going at a glacial pace. He hasn't even taken her to bed yet. Something that would have bothered him in past relationships, but for this one just feels right.

"Because I need some time to think things over," Mia tells him gently. "This is a lot to take in."

Dieter frowns. "But, I like being with you."

"And I like being with you," Mia assures him with a smile. "But I need to wrap my head around this. I know why you did what you did, but I need to sit with it and let you know how I feel."

She’s dumping him.

Dieter isn’t an idiot. He’s done this song and dance in his time. He knows by the tentative way she meets his eyes, the way her hand stays lightly on his wrist. She’s softening the blow, he realizes.

"If that's what you want," he manages. He won’t force a woman to be with him. And despite everything he’s glad he met Mia.

"It is," Mia nods. She stands on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips, smiling as she pulls back. "I better get back to the hotel. I have an early day on set tomorrow. Not all of us were lucky enough to finish wrapping their scenes."

"The price of being the lead," Dieter grins. Mia giggles, going to pull on her jacket before giving him a brief wave.

“I’ll see you later, Dee.”

You're in bed when Mia leaves, half dozing on your side. You’ve just removed the headphones from your belly and you’re ready to fall into a hopefully long sleep. You start when the door to your room creaks opens and Dieter steps inside, creeping over to your bed.

"Hey," you whisper in the dark. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Dieter nods, unbuttoning his shirt. "We talked it out."

"Okay. Good."

The shirt is dropped to the ground, followed quickly by his jeans. Wearing only his boxers he stills, realizing he's not in his room but yours.

"Did you... Can I sleep in here?"

"In here?"

"Yeah," Dieter says and you can hear the insecurity there.

"Sure," you say pulling back the covers. "If you can fit in this narrow bed with me and my stomach."

"I'll fit," Dieter grins.

You feel him slip under the covers, shifting nearer to you until his breathing is fanning over the back of your neck.

His hand tentatively rests at your hip, tensing. He remembers last time the two of you were together in bed, you snuggling up to him, kissing his shoulder, holding him. There was nothing sexual about it, just comforting. He wants that again.

"Would," he starts, feeling embarrassed. "Would it-"

"What?"

"Would it be okay if I held you? Not trying anything," he quickly adds which makes you smile in the dark. "I just like holding him."

Your smile fades. He doesn't want to hold you. He wants to hold the baby.

Of course he does.

You want to quell the beating of your heart. You want to remind yourself that this is transactional.

But more than that you want to be held by him.

You want to inhale the scent of his cologne and feel the ridge of his nose grazing your neck. You want to feel his hand curl against your stomach. And most of all you want to fall asleep with the man who helped you to create this life you carry.

"Yeah," you shuffle back against him. "I'm sure he misses you."

It's a silly thing to say especially since the baby doesn't even know it’s a baby yet. But Dieter grins at the comment, holding you.

"I missed him," he murmurs, hand grazing softly against your abdomen.

Guilt gnaws away at you though.

"Would Mia be okay knowing you're in here?" You whisper in the darkness. "I mean, I know nothing is happening, I just mean... You know."

"Yeah. Pretty sure she dumped me." Dieter supplies. He feels you tense in his arms, tilting your head over your shoulder to stare up at him concerned.

"What? Really?"

"Yeah," you feel Dieter shifting behind you, his large arm coming to wrap tighter around your waist. "Says she needs time to process everything."

“Doesn’t sound like breaking up.”

“Trust me,” Dieter sighs. “I know a break up monologue when I hear it. I’ve given enough of them.”

“Oh.”

You think on this, hand sliding under your pillow. Dieter sounds resigned, like this isn't necessarily something he wants.

"You're okay with it, Dieter?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe it was for the best," you offer, trying to cheer him up. "I don't know that monogamy was ever your thing."

The moment stretches between you both, the room quiet. Dieter has found your left hand, his thumb coming to absently rub the ring you wear there. The ring he bought you that you never take off. The ring that if you knew how much it cost you would never wear for fear of losing it. He loves seeing it on your finger, knowing that something he bought you ties you to him in some way.

"For the right person it would be," Dieter finally offers in a soft rasp. Before you can say anything he's flicking the lamp next to the bed off.

"G'night."

"Night."

Dieter wakes the next morning when the scent of your perfume on the pillow. He cracks his eyes open to see the bed empty and he feels a stab of disappointment.

He showers before pulling on his clothes and robe and padding into the kitchen. You're sitting there, backlit by the sun and when you look up from your cereal bowl and cast a bright smile in his direction he feels momentarily breathless.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

"Morning, ready for a painfully long flight home tonight?"

"Y-yeah," Dieter stammers before pouring himself a cup of the brewed coffee.

You watch him looking anxiously around as he dumps the sugar into his brew before taking a seat opposite you.

"So I was thinking about the Mia thing," You offer after a sip of tea. “She loves to travel right? Like, outside of work?”

“Yeah,” Dieter nods enthusiastically. "Last week she actually suggested we go on a trip together after the film wraps."

“So do it,” you insist. “Show her with action that you want and cherish her. Just the two of you somewhere romantic. Where does she like? Paris? Italy?”

“She was always talking about Prague,” Dieter offers as he recalls their times together. When they were first getting to know one another under the pretense of running lines. “She’s always wanted to go.”

“So take Mia to Prague,” you say enthusiastically as you can manage. “See the sights, stay at wonderfully fancy places, do romantic things. Prove to her that you want to be with her. Because she obviously means something to you Dieter.”

“You seem awfully concerned about my romantic life,” Dieter muses. “When did that start?”

“Contrary to what you believe, I care about you,” you say shortly. “And when I’m gone I want to make sure that things are stable. Mia is a good stabilizing force. And from what I can tell she’s a lot tougher than I gave her credit for.”

“So Prague,” Dieter echoes, thinking about your suggestion. It’s a good plan. A smart one if Mia will give him a chance to prove how much he cares about her.

“I won’t lie I’m jealous,” you smirk at your cereal bowl. "Always wanted to go there."

I'll take you. I'll take you anywhere you want to go.

Dieter shakes his head to erase this dangerous thought.

No. No you won't, Bravo. She's leaving practically as soon as your kid is here. Stop thinking about her like that. She's your employee.

"Well you'll have three hundred thousand dollars to play around with," Dieter says forcing a smile to his own face.

"Two hundred," you correct through a mouthful of cereal.

"Huh?"

"Well uh, I have to pay off my mom's mortgage. There's still about a two hundred thousand left on it. Then I have to pay off my student loans the next semesters' tuition and rent a place so... No trips to Prague for me."

You give a little huffing laugh before going back to your cereal. Dieter takes a long sip of his coffee thinking about everything that’s gone on.

You begin to tap into your tablet, bringing up your flight details. Dieter watches you typing, transfixed by the way your fingers move, the way the ring he bought you sometimes spins on your finger. He recalls the way those same fingertips felt gripping him as he licked-

Fucking stop.

"Okay, that's done; the car will be here around three. Bags are packed, your passport is with mine," you say checking things off your list with a satisfied smile before it drops. “And our meeting with Diane is in ten.”

“Diane?”

Diane is the big guns when it comes to PR and Dieter’s career in general. Knowing that you’ve pissed her off stresses the both of you big time. And as if you’ve summoned a well organized demon the laptop chirps.

Seconds later you and Dieter sit awkwardly next to one another at the kitchen table, your laptop positioned between the two of you. A furious looking Diane is on the zoom call, her dark red brows knitted together.

"I thought I was perfectly clear."

"You were Diane," you jump in, your cheeks red. "It's-"

"No public affection," Diane interjects. "No fraternizing with co-stars."

Dieter gives a sheepish grin at that before his eyes jot to you. You can't even look at him in the small box of the zoom meeting. You feel so foolish about all of this. All your years of professionalism, striving to have things under control and this is how it ends? A blurry snapshot of you kissing your celebrity boss?

"The baby kicked for the first time," Dieter offers quietly. "We were just really excited."

"Congrats," Diane says without a shred of conviction. "Now we have a PR nightmare that we have to spin."

“I know we screwed up, Diane, but I swear it was a heat of the moment,” you implore her. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t. As of this moment you are no longer working for Dieter Bravo.”

“Hey-“ Dieter starts but Diane is talking over him.

“You wanted to keep her on Dee, and look what happened. And now we can’t even keep you on the books because it’ll look suspicious,” Diane snaps. “You can’t be seen fucking and paying your assistant, it’ll be career suicide. I’ll have to pay her wage through a third party and I really didn’t need this headache considering I was already finished up on a plan for unveiling baby Bravo and now I have to rethink the entire thing.”

Dieter looks over to see your head hung low, your cheeks stained red. He knows how much this is killing you. How much you prided yourself on your work acumen and professionalism. He tries to slide his hand over yours but you pull away sharply, eyes going to Diane.

“I understand, Diane. Just tell me what I need to do.”

The flight back is a strained one. Diane has booked you both first class and private pods but across the plane from one another. You don’t interact the entire flight; instead you’re left to your own thoughts as you absently stroke your stomach.

You have a few things in your favor – it was getting close to having to stop working anyway. You’re officially showing and you’re still getting paid. That money can all go to the family.

The family.

Your mother’s voice over the phone rings in your ears. The shrill terrified shout that this couldn’t be true. You’ve disappointed her. You have to explain it all to her as soon as possible. It’ll be easier to just tear the band aid off.

Dieter rests in his own private pod three whiskey’s deep, his swollen eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He’s been holding back tears all morning and now they slip down his gold cheeks in the privacy of the flight.

He doesn’t get to see you or the baby until he’s born. It’s a fucking cruelty.

“If you want her to have a normal life, Dee, you’ll stay far away from her. She needs to be seen as a surrogate only, not a romance. We can write the kiss off as a one-time thing if we find an alternative romantic partner to highlight for you.”

Of course he’d agreed immediately. He doesn’t want you or the baby stressed. It’s his own fault for wanting you so badly it aches. You promised to update the app daily, to video chat at least every other day. That had seemed fair.

But now on the way back to LA, Dieter can’t help but feel this growing pit starting in his belly. A coldness that has nothing to do with the weather. He’s not going to see you every day, won’t be able to smell your perfume, hear your voice when you sing in the shower (off-key), won’t snuggle you to him as you watch nature documentary’s.

At least before this photo Dieter had the option of going to your house to see you in the last few months of your pregnancy, but now with the media frenzy there’s no possibility. It’ll be horrible for you and your mom.

Once he’s off the flight Dieter’s phone is buzzing. He takes it out, surprised to see that Diane has already sent him a few texts. He’s confused before he remembers that without you as his PA he’ll be receiving her messages directly.

[12:33pm] I talked to Mia’s publicist. She’s agreed to a public romance rollout this Friday. New club opening. Confirming your availability.

Dieter glances over at you in the luggage carousel, eyes flitting from bag to bag as you wait for yours. You look like a goddess despite your dark black clothes and oversized sunglasses. He knows you’re trying to be inconspicuous.

[12:34pm] D: I’m available.

You’ve got your luggage and Dieter scrambles to grab his own before rolling it over to you. You notice his approach and try to affect a casual attitude. Thankfully no one seems to recognize you from the photos.

“I’ll make sure you get into your taxi,” Dieter offers quietly walking alongside you, his brows raised.

“No it’s fine,” you insist, taking your rolling luggage and giving him a soft smile. “I’ll be good. I’ll head out first; hopefully if there are any paps they won’t recognize me before I’m in the cab.”

“Right.”

When you walk out of the airport you think of all the things Diane warned you about over the phone. The photographers, the yelling, the attention. You thought you were ready for it.

You were wrong.

But there are at least fifty paparazzi all hanging around like flashbulb vultures waiting to catch you both looking vulnerable. Groups of men with oversized cameras are all shouting at you, calling your name, saying things to get your attention.

"Over here! Hey, over here!"

"Have you two picked out names yet?"

“Did you put holes in the condom?”

"Do you know the gender?"

“Do you sleep with all your employers?”

"Is it twins? It looks like it could be twins."

You feel anxious tears starting at the corner of your eyes. They’re going to photograph you and you’re going to be crying. You still in the crowd, hand on your luggage strap, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

The taxi seems so far away, the lights, the sounds; the sensation of being suffocated is all you can focus on. You feel like you’re drowning. Your chin wobbles and another camera is thrust directly into your face.

One hand curls over your belly protectively before you raise the other to shield your face. You feel completely alone and vulnerable, the tears almost spilling when you feel a warm hand envelop your wrist. You glance up to see Dieter there at your side, stony faced at the paparazzi as he pulls you gently towards him.

“Give her room to breathe.”

Gratitude floods you and despite Diane’s directions to avoid each other like the plague you let him lead you towards where his private SUV waits.

His arm goes to your back, urging you to move with him. As you and Dieter shuffle through the throng of shouting people you suddenly understand why Dieter drowns himself in drugs and sex and everything else. This constant whirlwind, this unbearable attack on all sides is exhausting. Photographers, fans, cameras, eyes, shouts. It's terrifying.

"Is this the result of a one night stand?"

“Dieter have you asked for a DNA test?”

“How old are you?”

“DIETER I LOVE YOU!”

“Did you feel pressured because Mr Bravo is your boss?”

“Can I have your autograph!?”

“What a slut!”

“What’s the sex like?”

A camera is thrust inches from your face and you give a yelp, putting up a free hand in front of you as the light flashes.

"Hey, get the fuck away from her," Dieter says placing a protective arm around your waist and sweeping you along with him. He doesn’t let you go as he herds you through the line of shouting people. Dieter’s driver is there, grabbing your bag for you and loading it into the SUV.

“Just breathe, baby,” Dieter murmurs against your temple. “I got you.”

You want to tell him that this will look bad in tomorrow’s gossip column; that even just walking side by side will create a frenzy of tabloid speculation. But you’re terrified at the mob of people and your hand clutches at the front of Dieter’s jacket as you shy away from them.

"Are you really pregnant or is this a publicity stunt?"

"Dieter what about rumors that you've been linked recently with Mia Rowe?"

"It's it true this child might be Robert Pattinson’s?"

When the last photographer starts shouting and shoving the camera in your face again you let out a small whimper as Dieter opens the door of the SUV for you.

“Please just stop!”

Dieter hears your cry and turns to see your terrified expression before you’re burying your face in Dieter’s shoulder.

Dieter loses all rational thought. All he can focus on is the way you’re trembling in his arms, the way your hand has gone protectively over your stomach protecting his son, the child you made together.

Before you can stop him he's reared back and kicked the photographer in the vee of his legs and the man blanches. You look on in horror at the altercation.

"Dieter!"

Flashbulbs are going off like crazy as the man groans sharply, grabbing between his legs and collapsing onto the sidewalk.

“I said stay the fuck away from her!” Dieter shouts, his cheeks red.

He pulls himself in after you, closing the door before his arms are around you, pulling you against him. The windows are tinted, but that won’t matter after that little performance out there.

“Ready to go Mister Bravo?”

“Yeah, thanks Hank.”

The car is already in motion, heading for Dieter’s place as the sound of shouts grow quieter and quieter with each passing mile. You’re still shaking, still reeling from everything that happened.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “That must have been terrifying. I’m used to it now but I remember how it used to be.”

“How do you do it?” you ask, still trembling. “They’re relentless.”

“Coke. Sex. Booze,” Dieter shrugs as if this is a natural response. “I get by. But it doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Dieter has his hand holding yours, thumb rubbing soothing circles along the back of your palm.

“And here I thought my Mom was going to be the most stressful part of today,” you say trying to offer a weak smile.

“Is it really going to be that bad do you think?”

“Honestly yeah, I do,” you say nodding. “She’s going to be pissed and I’m going to have to walk on eggshells until the baby is born.”

"Why don't you stay in my guest house?"

You gaze up and over at Dieter, seeing that he’s watching your face with a soft expression as the car coasts through the busy LA traffic.

"What?”

"You don't want to stay at home, I have the empty space. I don't see why that's so weird. And if I’m honest I don’t wanna be so far away from my son,” Dieter finishes lamely. “I like seeing him growing every day.”

I like seeing you every day.

He can’t admit that to you. He never will. He’ll swallow it down deep.

“I have to go home, Dieter.” You insist. “Plus, Diane would murder me. This flies in the face of everything she’s trying to cultivate for your image.”

Dieter doesn’t say anything, but he does relax back into the seat next to you. He doesn’t release your hand, instead he maneuvers his fingers, lacing them through yours and resting them on the seat between you both.

You tell Hank your address and you take a deep breath as a short while later he rounds on your street.

Your Mom wasn’t joking.

There really are tons of people littering your normally quiet suburban neighborhood. Many with expensive looking cameras and phones. You groan as the SUV crawls by them before you insist on having the Hank drive you around the corner. The last thing you need is to be seen getting out of Dieter’s car.

Hank goes to take your bags out of the trunk and Dieter readies himself to follow you out the door.

“I’ll come-“

“No,” you insist gently. “I have to do this myself.”

He wants to deny this but he sees the seriousness of your countenance and nods. He knows you’re a strong, capable woman. But the thought of you being messed with by those paps are making his jaw clench.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him with a grin as you slip on a pair of oversized sunglasses. “Thanks to you I know how to get them to leave me alone.”

He can’t help but let out a short laugh, cut short when you close the car door. Dieter watches you take the suitcase handle from Hank and thank him before you roll it down the sidewalk and out of his life for the foreseeable future.

The first thing you notice when you get inside your house is how quiet it is.

Especially compared to the madness that is just outside your front door. You’d successfully ignored the men and women who shouted questions at you. You were busy on the phone with the local police ensuring that your Mother’s home would no longer be swarmed. You slide your suitcase to the left of the door.

“Mom?”

She appears moments later dressed in her sweatpants and oversized sweater. She hasn’t left the house despite it being a workday.

“Your flight was okay?”

“Uh, yep.”

“Good.”

“You didn’t go to work today?”

“Couldn’t get my car out of the driveway,” your Mom says tightly.

“I called the city when I was walking up,” you tell her, toeing off your shoes. “They’ll take care of it.”

She nods but makes no move to smile or to hug you. She’s always been an emotional woman, prone to hugs and kisses so her complete lack of anything has you on edge.

“I made pie,” she says, “come have a slice.”

You hear distant sirens outside as you follow her into the kitchen, taking your coat off before plopping into seat opposite her at the table. You don’t miss how her eyes widen at the obvious swell of your stomach.

“So it’s true.”

You watch her cut the peach pie she’s baked noting that her fingers are trembling. You say nothing in reply, simply watching as she slides your portion and a fork to you on the plate before she looks back at your face.

“You made a child with that horrible man.”

“He’s not a horrible man,” you say, your voice coming out more caustic than expected. “You don’t know anything about him other than what the media wants you to think.”

“Oh, he’s an angel then, is that it?” your Mother gives a humorless laugh as she sits in her seat, the cheap wood creaking. “He doesn’t do drugs? Doesn’t say crazy things? Doesn’t act like a fool?”

Your mother has always ragged on Dieter through your entire employment. Most of the time you could shrug it off, ignore it or even laugh along with her. But now? After everything you’ve experienced with him you feel a strangely intense feeling of protectiveness. For the soft man that holds you in bed and buys you rings just because. For the man that listens to you talk about your Dad and shares about his mom. Hearing her deride him makes you curl your fingers around your fork in anger.

“Even if he did all those things, so what? If the worst thing you can say about Dieter Bravo is that he acts immature and says silly things and does drugs every once in a while does that really make him so horrible?”

“It makes him irresponsible,” your Mom snaps. The worst possible thing you can be in your mother’s eyes in irresponsible. “And he’s supposed to be the father of your child? Of my grandson? I’m not going to have a son in law that acts like he does.”

A son in law?

You could laugh at the thought of Dieter being a married family man. When would he have time to go on hippie retreats and have threesomes? Although considering his behavior of late perhaps that’s an unfair belief. Regardless, Dieter Bravo is not the marrying kind.

"Mom we're not getting married. Ever."

Your mom's fork clatters onto her plate, the pie forgotten.

"What? Why not?"

Fuck. This is going to hurt so much more than you thought. Hearing your Mom refer to herself as a grandmother is a new kind of pain you weren’t anticipating. You can see it there in her eyes that keep lingering on your belly – all the hopes and dreams of grandchildren running through her mind.

“We’re not in a relationship.… this isn't... I'm not keeping the baby," you finally manage to say in a thick voice.

"What?” Your mom nearly shouts when she looks to your swollen stomach, her features contorted in horror. "You can't just get an-"

"No, not like that. I mean, I'm giving the baby to Dieter. He's paying me to be his surrogate."

Saying it out loud makes your heart hammer. If you thought she looked horrified at the previous comment, she looks downright disgusted now. She leans back in her chair, as if she physically cannot stand to be closer to you.

"What?"

"I'm getting paid," you explain in a rush, hoping that this will ease the pain of it. "Three hundred thousand dollars."

You expect that this will soften the blow of the news but if anything she looks as if she’s been slapped.

“You’re… selling your baby?”

The way she says it makes your skin crawl, like you’re some backroom monster.

“It’s not like that,” you say raking your hands through your hair in frustration. “Mom, I’m not like, his Mom. I’m just carrying him. Like, remember when Liz had the surrogate? I’m like that girl they hired.”

“Liz didn’t let her husband sleep with that woman did she? They did it at the hospital, with a transfer,” Your mom peers into your face and you think you see a shadow of hope. “Is that what happened, honey? You got an embryo transfer?”

Fuck this is getting worse by the minute.

“No. We slept together. It was a mistake.”

You wince when you feel your son kick, a light flutter that has you gripping the sides of your abdomen in surprise. Guilt immediately goes through you – can he understand what you’re saying during all of this? No, of course not, he’s a fucking fetus. And yet that doesn’t stop you from welling up.

"This is so…twisted,” your mom replies with a shake of her head. “It’s one thing to sleep with him and have his baby. But you… You’re not even going to be his mother? You’re selling him off like he’s a piece of furniture?”

A solemn quiet goes around the space and your mother drops her napkin to the table. You take a bite of your pie, finding it bitter.

“That’s not at all what’s happening.”

"If your father was here-"

"Well he's not!" you snap out at her. “You had no one else to take care of you so I stepped up. I see how long the hours are that you work, how exhausted you are. You’re supposed to retiring at this age, not taking on double shifts. I wanted to pay off the mortgage for you. I wanted to pay for my schooling. And Dieter wanted a child, so how is this pregnancy a bad thing? We all got something out of it.”

“Got something out of it?” Your mother almost sneers. “You don’t get something out of it. You created life and now you’re selling him for profit to a man who needs help staying sober longer than a week. It’s disgusting what the two of you are doing.”

A searing pain goes through you as you sit there, the pie dry and tacky in your mouth. It hurts to swallow it down. But it hurts more to know that your sacrifice is now being thrown back into your face.

“I did this for you,” you tell her weakly.

"I never asked you to do anything for me," your mom says and now you see the shame in her eyes. The disappointment. “It’s disgraceful treating human life like a commodity. I… I can’t accept that money from you. It’s tainted.”

I did it all for nothing.

You feel numb. Your Mom has lowered her chin to her sternum and you can see fat tears slipping down her nose. She’s silent as she cries and when she does this it reminds you so much of your father’s funeral and the way she’d silently sobbed that you feel physically ill.

You can’t be in this environment. Not just because it hurts so much to have her talk to you like she has. But because you can’t spend the next several months on eggshells, high strung and anxious. You can’t do that to the life that is building itself within your womb, cell by cell. You will give your son every advantage you can.

"I can't be in this house," you say softly. "I'm sorry, mom. I... I can't."

“I think that might be for the best,” she agrees, and you notice that she can’t meet your eyes.

You move to your feet wobbling to your bedroom, closing the door gently behind you. You look at the awards on the desks, the beautiful painting you look at each morning, at the space you lived in with your Mom and Dad. You can almost hear his voice as he told he was so proud of his smart daughter and her science awards.

If you try you can remember how it felt to have him read you bedtime stories before you fell asleep in this very room. You can still smell the cinnamon bread your Mom would make you every year for your first day of school.

But then you blink and all you see is a room with a bed and a desk and some art on the walls. A past life of someone who doesn’t exist anymore. You catch your reflection in your dresser mirror, amused to see that the woman staring back at you hasn’t been a child for a long time. She stands with a splotchy face and tired eyes, and a stomach that swells with life.

“You’re gonna be safe,” you tell the bump in the mirror. “I promise.”

You glance out between your drawn blinds thankful to see that the group has been dispersed by local law enforcement. Good. You bring out your mobile and begin tapping out a message.

[4:31pm]: Is that offer of staying at your place still on?

D [4:31pm]: i'll send a car

You don’t even fight him on it.

[4:32pm]: Thank you.

D [4:32pm]: u never have to thank me

You make your way to your closet where you bring out a second suitcase, filling it to the brim with everything you think you’ll need for the next little bit. Your suitcase full of clothes from your last trip is waiting for you at the front door for when you exit.

You sit on the end of your bed, waiting for the car when you feel your phone buzz at your hip.

It’s a photo from Dieter, one that makes your brows saddle. It’s of his guest house, the one he usually just keeps for out of town guests and overflow storage for his paintings and other purchases.

But you can see he’s organized it, swept the floors and set everything up nicely complete with a vase of fresh flowers from his garden sitting on the coffee table.

D [4:56pm]: ready and waiting, baby mama

Your hand is on your abdomen without thought, gently holding your son through the tendons and tissues. You give a watery smile at your screen before looking down at your belly, feeling a sense of relief bloom behind your sternum.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, little one. Your Dad is gonna take care of us.”

TAGLIST: @getitoutofmymindwrites @manuymesut @whirlwindrider29 @mostardentlypascal @lu62 @missladym1981 @heareball @sptbear @drewharrisonwriter @lizzie-cakes

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bradshawssugarbaby · 6 months

Text

Home For Christmas - Jake Seresin x OC

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

pairing: Jake Seresin x OC

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

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

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

December, 1999

“Jake! Jake, wait up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You might even develop feelings for each other.”

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

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

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

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Present Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I remember, mama. Don’t worry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, Mama, whatever you say.”

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

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

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I thought Jake landed earlier?”

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

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

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

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

“Jenna?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

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

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

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

“He asks about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re missing my point, Ma.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good, Hangman?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right, I’ll be back down in five.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenna? Can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenna! Hey, I’m glad you came.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m listening, Jake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise me something, Jake?”

“Anything you want, pretty girl.”

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

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

“You’d marry me tomorrow?”

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

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

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

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nishikiyamayuko · 4 months

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Biannual reminder of just how much it sucks that Yuko has no presence in the story whatsoever because Kazama’s whole purpose is to unmoor the audience by starting out as a trustworthy symbol of paternal guidance only to be revealed as a murderer and liar at the very end of his life. And with that reveal in mind, the fact that he paid for Yuko’s medical treatment gets retroactively evolved from a fairly simple act of generosity into something… deeply, insidiously gross and invasive. Especially consider that Nishiki’s whole involvement in the Yakuza started in part because he felt indebted to him because of it, and Yuko & him functioned as Kazama’s surrogate children.

Like oh yeah, Kazama funded all efforts to keep Yuko alive for two decades. After killing her mother and father when she was a baby, without her ever finding out. You think she loved him? You think he loved her?You think she loved the idea of him more than the man, because he became so distant after she got sick? You think she wrestled with the part of herself that understood why he couldn’t visit her more often & the part of her that resented him for not making more of an effort? You think, when he did visit her, she was so glad to have his company but so offput by the fact that he basically saw her as a little girl, since that was when he had the most contact with her?

You think she admired his authority, but felt some twinge of bitterness knowing she could never claim any of that power for herself? You think she listened to Nishiki whine about not feeling wanted by Kazama and had to decide if she was sympathetic or jealous that he even had so many opportunities to be around him? You think either of them came to visit her when she was in comas or unconscious, and she woke up with choppy, distorted memories of their voices at her bedside? You think she cherished those, knowing she wasn’t forgotten? You think being spoken to while unable to respond disturbed her, and she tried her best to forget them?

You think she asked Kazama about her father when she was a little kid, and he dodged the question because it had only been a few years since he killed that man & Yuko is talkative and he just could not stand the possibility that she might start prattling on about her dead dad if he did share any information? You think she asked him about her mother when she got older, became a woman herself? You think he told her what little he knew, because he didn’t emotionally react to her death in the first place, she was just collateral damage & Yuko doesn’t look as much like her anyway, so the conversation feels less brazenly deceptive?

You think he bought her gifts? You think she looked at them and thought of how lavish her funeral would be? You think he got any of her belongings after she died, something small like a hair clip or a well-loved doll, because Nishiki took all the big stuff? You think she had already given him some little trinket long before she passed, because he saw her so rarely that it had the same effect as if she had already been gone? You think that morbid liminality reminded him of how it felt the first time, driving to some quiet part of Kamurocho, knowing you’re going there to end a life? You think she picked up on that unspoken, one-sided significance, maybe wondered why he sometimes seemed tense around her? Did Kazama go to her funeral? Did him and Nishiki talk at it?

And the writers didn’t even think her perspective on that series of events was worth bringing up. Fun!

#kazama shintaro #shintaro kazama #nishikiyama yuko #yuko nishikiyama #nishikiyama akira #akira nishikiyama #oh and technically #Souta

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boldstarks · 4 months

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The Unwanted Wife Blurb #1: First Son

word count: 1K pairing: young!Robert Baratheon x wife!reader, oc x reader (mentioned) warnings: pregnancy, brief mentions of sex and childbirth, emotional neglect of a spouse

Despite you being nine moons gone with a child, your husband, the king, had very little issue leaving with an entourage of his most favored cronies on a hunting trip in the Kingswood. You didn't even protest when he announced the trip to you. You simply went back to your reading. A few months earlier, you would have raged at his callousness, but you are too tired now. You didn't know if it was from the pregnancy or maybe you were finally numb to Robert's poor treatment.

You simply told him to behave sensibly and turned back to your reading. When he set out a day later, you watched him leave from the balcony of your chambers. Many ladies gathered in the courtyard to send off their husbands in the king's hunting entourage. You made the excuse of being much too heavy with the child to make it in a timely manner.

You watched the group of men atop their horses ride away, your husband at the head.

"Your Grace, I'm sure everything will be alright," one of your ladies' maids said.

She means to be comforting, but her words fill you with bitter contempt.

"I am not the only woman with a thoughtless boar for a husband, and I won't be the last," you say, watching the riding party disappear outside the Red Keep's walls.

The maid said nothing and began gathering the soiled sheets from your bed; they were tainted by sweat and Robert's seed. Your coupling the prior night had been angry, tinged with a foreign tenderness that Robert had only developed when your pregnancy had started to show.

You figured Robert's surrogate father and Hand, Jon Arryn, would keep you company. This was both a good and a bad thing, in your opinion. You were fond of the man himself, but not of his wife, Lysa Tully. It was a struggle to get along with the woman despite trying to be kind to her.

You tried to tell yourself that this was just like any other time. Robert was away and left you by yourself for days on end. But you knew deep down that you would give birth alone. The King had barely been gone a day when your labors began.

You spent nearly a full day in the birthing bed, writhing with agony, without a word from the hunting party or Robert. You cried nearly the entire time. You cried for home, for your mother, for your father, and mostly for your first love, Alyn, who had died fighting during Robert's Rebellion. Then, at dusk on the third day of his absence, your child was born.

"It's a boy, Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle said, holding the newborn child aloft after he had slipped free from the birth canal.

The squalling infant is quickly cleaned by some septas before being swaddled and brought back to you.

The boy is small and red-faced, and he entered the world howling furiously. He only stops wailing when he is put on your chest. You find yourself smiling when you gently cradle his small head of damp black curls as his Baratheon blue eyes stare up at you. Look at your little boy and feel that spark of happiness in your chest that you hadn't felt since you received news of Alyn's death.

"His name shall be Alaric," you tell the Maester without looking away from your baby.

You knew Robert wanted to name his first son, Stefan, after his father, and he would most likely throw a fit because of it. But he forfeited his vote in the matter when he decided to run around the Kingswood rather than be there for the birth of his heir.

_____________

A day after you gave birth, the hunting party arrived back at the Red Keep. Robert found that you had not come to greet him, just as you could not be bothered by seeing him off either.

He stormed into the castle, rather annoyed at this perceived abandonment. He entered your chambers without bothering to knock and found you sleeping in bed.

Right as Robert is going to start yelling, you turn in your sleep, and it becomes obvious to him that you are no longer with the child. A pang of fear echoes through him until he hears a soft coo and finds a child beside your bed in a cradle. The baby had a head of black curls and blue eyes and was rather large. The child had wiggled out of his swaddle while you slept soundly and was waving his small fists about.

"Hello," Robert says. He's utterly captivated by the little life that he played a part in creating.

He reaches a large hand out to the child and softly pets the head of black curls. The child gurgles contently at the touch of its father.

"His name is Alaric," you said, breaking the king's trance.

"I should have been here," Robert says.

The man had the decency to look ashamed of himself. You nearly tell him it's okay, but you know it's far from okay for a father to miss the birth of his first trueborn child.

"Moving forward, things will need to change," you reply and sit up.

Robert finally looks you in the eye. He seems hesitant about your remark.

"I cannot live a life where my husband and I are constantly at each other's throats. I don't want our son to be raised by parents who can't stand each other," you say.

You look at your son in his cradle and can't help but smile at him.

"What are we to do about it?" Robert asks, still skeptical.

"We shall dine together three times a week, and I would like to share our chambers. In the North, it is custom that a husband and wife share bedchambers, and I believe it will bring us closer," you said.

Robert looks at your face; your eyes are shining with optimism. You truly were willing to learn how to love him. Why couldn't he grant you this one thing?

"Okay," he said.

You're silent for a moment, somewhat shocked that Robert didn't try to put up any sort of fight. Not knowing what else to say, you nod quickly.

You change the subject smoothly: "Would you like to hold your son?"

It's Robert's turn to nod like a fool now.

#asoiaf #game of thrones #Robert Baratheon x reader #oc x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #the unwanted wife #ryswell!reader #stark!reader #northern!reader #queen!reader #young Robert Baratheon x reader

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phoenixyfriend · 7 months

Note

If you still do the ask meme: nr.1 for a timetravel Jangosoka?

26 Family Prompts Ask Meme

Accidental Baby Acquisition

This contains both intentional and accidental acquisition. (They'll give it back! Probably.)

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

"He's mine."

Jango looks at the woman he has, somehow, managed to fall for.

He looks at the baby.

He looks at her again.

"You adopted? Without asking me?"

"No, birthed him myself."

That baby is human. Fully human. There is no chance, in any way, that Ahsoka managed to have a fully human child. There's some shit about placentas or whatever. A tog can't surrogate a human and vice versa.

"Jetii--"

"Oh, I'm in trouble," she giggles, entirely too enthused about his annoyance.

"Jetii," he tries again, "please tell me you didn't steal a child."

"I did not steal a child," she confirms. "I just... acquired one."

"Acquired one."

"Yeah."

He waits in vain. He breaks and asks, "Ahsoka, how did you acquire this child?"

She smiles at him.

The child's name is Ferus Olin. He was not stolen, but given willingly by his parents for Ahsoka to take to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

"You could have just said so," Jango gripes as he fires up the engines. She laughs at him, and hikes the tot higher on her hip. "Don't act like it's not within the realm of possibility that you'd randomly pick up a kid and forget to warn me about it."

"Sure," she says, "but consider this: it was funny."

"You are not nearly as funny as you think you are."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes and addresses the kid instead. "What do you think, Ferus? Am I funny?"

The toddler--baby, really--stares up at her silently. There is something up with that kid, but Jango figures that's par for the course with Force Sensitives.

A slightly wet, very chubby hand lands on a lekku.

"That is saliva," Jango notes aloud, mostly because Ahsoka looks a little disgusted, and likes she's trying to hide it from the kid. "Baby drool."

"Oh, fu--shove off."

"Classy."

So like. Here's the thing. About carting around two almost-Jedi:

One of them is his age, and hot, and weird, and he's a little bit in love with her.

The other one is less than a year old, and should be relatively safe and sound to leave alone for five minutes while napping so they can do things like use the bathroom, or argue over the nav, or knock against the walls doing things that babies probably shouldn't know about.

Ahsoka says that Ferus was a rule-abiding guy in the future, uptight, even.

This means nothing, because the ship jolts out of hyperspace without warning while Jango's got his hand up a hot tog's skirt, and they both have to rush to the cockpit to find the literal baby has crawled onto the pilot's seat and somehow turned off the nav.

The baby continues patting, full-palm, at the controls.

"What the fuck?" Jango demands.

"Language," Ahsoka sniffs, and then picks up the baby and swings him around. "Who's a little troublemaker? You are!"

"What the actual--"

"Language!" Ahsoka snaps, a little harsher this time. "There's a baby."

"Yes, I noticed, it just knocked us out of hyperspace."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes. "It's fine. We just need to keep a better eye on him."

"This could have been deadly."

"Eh, doubt it," she dismisses. "I mean, with a normal kid, yeah, but I bet you ten to one odds that he did this because the Force told him to."

"I cannot explain how much that doesn't fill me with confidence."

She ignores him. She settles into the chair, toddler on her lap, and closes her eyes. This lasts for several minutes, and Jango tries to keep his impatience under control so he doesn't 'project' it into the Force or whatever it is that the Jedi are worried about. It would distract Ahsoka, and possibly more importantly, it would upset the baby.

"I've got it," she finally says. "A direction. He pulled us out a bit early, but the fact that we didn't overshoot it is a bit of a shocker in and of itself."

"A direction to what?"

She shrugs. "We'll find out."

The direction is to a fresh-faced teenage Duros by the name of Cad Bane, who's been floating around the guild's gossip lines for a few years now. He's good, for eighteen, but Jango hasn't met him before, and Ahsoka really doesn't like him--Jedi don't hate, supposedly--and that's enough for Jango to have zero interest in really networking here.

Also, Bane has a stolen toddler. Jango knows the toddler is stolen, because she's dressed in far-too-fancy clothes for Bane to bother with, and screaming her head off, and trying to bite him, and yelling about how she wants to go home. Surprisingly eloquent for a toddler, actually. She can't be more than four.

Jango wants to get involved. He's itching for a fight. He does not get one.

He gets the smaller baby, and is told to take care of said baby and be ready to catch the bigger baby--toddler--while Ahsoka handles the fighting.

It seems kinda personal. Jango leaves her to it. It's not like they need both of them to fight this literal teenager.

(He's right. They don't.)

There are now two small children on Jango's ship. One of them is barely-almost a toddler, and the other is barely-almost not.

"I am Padme Naberrie of Naboo," the little girl tells him, all care and important grandeur. "Thank you for saving me. When may I return home?"

Naboo. The noble kids from there are damn creepy. Also worth a good ransom or a better bounty, to some. It's not exactly surprising that Bane went for one of them. the family must be pretty influential somehow.

"Not sure," Ahsoka says. "We were on our way to Coruscant... do you have a number we can call? Maybe one of your parents can meet us on the way."

"That is ac-cep-table," the little girl sounds out. She even bows, a touch wobbly. "Thank you, Master Jedi."

Ahsoka is not a Master, and is only sort of a Jedi. She does not correct little Padme, because that would be a little mean, in Jango's estimate. The girl's just been through something harrowing, and even he's not that much of a dick.

"Do you know their contact info?" he asks instead.

They aren't on a convenient hyperlane for Naboo, so they're meeting Lady Naberrie on Corellia. It's several days there, which is still faster than trying to get to Naboo from where they currently are, and Padme spends an hour or two talking to her mother before the woman enters hyperspace and comms are no longer an option. Then she talks to her father, and asks about someone called Sola, and Jango's not paying enough attention to keep track of who's who in the life of a child that is not his.

He doesn't have enough beds on the ship for this.

He empties out a small armor crate and lines it with blankets, then sets it on teh floor by the end of his bed. It's big enough for Ferus, who probably doesn't care much for fancy things. Padme gets her own bed, because they're strangers and it would be odd to suggest she share with Ahsoka as a gender thing. The other, larger bed is then for Jango and his somewhat irritating and entirely too lovely Jedi.

He laces his fingers with hers, once they're in bed, autopiloting down the hyperlane. Padm's breathing has finally evened out, and Ferus hasn't woken up yet either.

"Do you want them?" he asks.

"Hm?" Ahsoka shifts, and when she speaks, it's sleep-heavy and muddled. "Want what?"

"Kids," he says.

She's silent, long enough that he starts to wonder if she's fallen asleep, but eventually she shrugs. "I'll take an apprentice one day, probably."

It's basically the same thing, for Jedi.

"Did I ever..."

He tries not to ask too much about his personal future. He knows how Galidraan would have ended, and knows that somehow, he had been involved in a clone army that tried to kill Ahsoka when she was seventeen. She tries not to tell him too much.

"One," she says. "Boba. A few years younger than me. And..."

She doesn't finish.

"And?"

"Maybe another time," she says.

He's gotten that response more than once. He knows it for the wall it is.

"Alright," he says. "You could... tell me about Boba in the morning?"

"Maybe."

Noncommittal. He's not entirely surprised.

"Okay," he finally says. He presses a kiss to her lek. "Goodnight, Ahsoka."

"Night, Jango."

#JangoSoka is a whole lot of 'she does things without explaining and he follows in her wake being impressed and kinda annoyed'#jangosoka #jango fett #ahsoka tano #time travel #ferus olin #padme naberrie #padme amidala #baby characters #star wars #sw legends #the clone wars #phoenix answers memes #phoenix files

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transfemmesam · 3 months

Text

supernatural fic rec list

(mostly for me to keep all my favorites together. all on ao3) (be nice, i’ve never made one of these and the format is new to me)

Try asking by @applecrumbledore

Wincest, 7k words, rated T. Outside POV.

“Jerry says he saw them going at it in the back of that car of theirs outside Atlanta last year, I swear to God.” “Listen, man, I don’t like them either, but that’s a low blow. Jerry’s a fucking pervert.”

The sound of dead leaves by clavicular and unhappy_ghost

John/Sam + wincest, 6k words, rated M. Sam POV.

John looks at Sam in a way no father should. Sam aches when Dean smiles. The shadows that loom over Sam Winchester are not just those of the monsters lurking in the night.

Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker

Gen, 35k words, rated M. Sam POV.

It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day. Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try. When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them? Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.

Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking

Gen, 2k words, rated T. Outside POV.

Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.

Lesser Evils by Dyed_Red

Wincest, 9k words, rated E. Dean POV.

“So you’re just gonna, what – torture us for an hour while your guys hightail it to Buffalo? That’s your master plan here?” “Oh I can do a lot in an hour or two, Sammy. Like having your surrogate daddy here carve Dean a new face. Like backsliding you off your pretty bandwagon. Like…Seeing how far big brother will go for his sweet baby Sam.”

Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki

Gen, 88k words, rated M. Sam POV.

Sam wants to be normal. Sometimes, it's harder than he'd like to keep faith in God. Or: a story of religious!Sam plus powers!Sam culminating in horrifying Sam whump (with eventual comfort to go with the hurt). A character study of the first two seasons that sharply diverges in season two.

he’ll follow me down every street, no matter what my crime by according2thelore

Wincest + Meg/Dean, 17k words, rated M. Dean POV.

“What do you want, Sam?” Sam stands up, so Dean is forced to look up into his face. Sam turns them slowly, so the small of Dean’s back bumps into the polished wood of the counter. “I want…” Sam says, eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips and Dean knows when something is too good to be true, knows that this can’t possibly be real, knows— “Christo.” Dean rasps, just before Sam’s lips land on his, eyes open wide. Sam’s eyes flash black. “Whoops,” Sam says casually. A thread of tension stretches between them, almost interminable, and then they both move at once. The demon in Sam’s body slams Dean back, and Dean crashes against the bar. ~~~ A rework of S2E14 "Born Under a Bad Sign" with Meg!Sam and Dean instead of Jo for WincestWednesday on tumblr's July Event, prompt "Favorite Episode" (with a cameo from the second prompt "Blood")

You’d Have Loved Her (But You Won’t) by punkrock101

Gen, 5k words, rated G. Sam POV. (compiler’s note: this is my personal favorite fic of all time)

Sam never got to tell him. Sam never got to tell anybody.

Flowers in the Impala by Evendar

Wincest, 2k words, rated M. Outside POV.

Kate wants them to be a family - really, she does - but there's something wrong with John's boys.

—-—-—

that’s long enough for now, i think. feel free to reblog with your favorite fics as well

#supernatural #spn #wincest #samjohn #fic recs #spn fic #txt #holy scriptures

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bonefall · 8 months

Note

If Pinestar was the Mi of his kits, why didn’t he try to take any of them with him when he left? Like Brightsky keeping some of her litter. He knew how the clans were, he was specifically leaving to get away from it, why did he choose to leave his children behind?

It wasn't a choice. Brightsky gave birth in the home she bolted to; Pinestar wasn't going to be allowed to take his children unless he snuck out with them.

He wishes he did something, when he sees what became of his son. But he tried to be brave when he left, announcing that he would not be coming back, and where he would be going.

He thought that was the right thing to do. Unfortunately, no one else appreciated it the way he hoped they would.

If he DID though, ThunderClan would not have allowed that. They see it as kidnapping. Being Mi doesn't mean you're allowed to do literally anything you want, especially if you do have a Ba involved.

In cases of handoffs (surrogacy, secret halfclan kits being given to their other parent, etc) it's actually SUPER important you do it before 1 moon, so you can pass the disappearance off as a fading kit. There are no funerals thrown for fading kits besides the Mi and any Ba quietly burying the body, so this is the time where you smuggle the baby out.

So you need all the Ba on board with such a handoff, in addition. Cloudtail is an example of that actually! When Brightheart surrogates, he is fully aware of how many are ACTUALLY faders and who is receiving their child.

Tigerkit was like 3-ish moons when Pinestar hit da bricks, unfortunately there wasn't a way he could take him along... plus it wouldn't quite make sense with how he was having nightmares about murdering his son.

#Tiger remembers his father #Not super well but. He does remember him.#I think it hurts him when he realizes he's doing something for his own kits that come from those warm early memories #Like the lullabies. Pinestar liked to sing for him. He remembers how good it felt to be cuddled into a warm chest #And feel how a song can bloom into a purr #ALSO I am still thinking about the Bright surrogates btw #I just hit a snag because I realized that a big problem in shadow and wind is--#--the lack of parents to take such kits #Because my rules against incest apply completely equally to adopted kids too #So it wouldn't actually help if they were adopted vs biokits if the tree is still a tumbleweed #Does that make sense?#So the Bright surrogates aren't actually there to help me with the tree. It's that I want to do it for the character reasons #Because it really shows how approachable and connected Bright and Cloud are #And how respected and loved they are even outside their own Clan #But yeah if you've been waiting on that detail that's where Im currently at lmao #But theyre gonna come up in Wind and Shadow eventually #And im thinking about giving those cut thunderclan warriors as grandkids in other clans too #Clan culture #Pinestar’s Crusade

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hyuganejiswife · 2 years

Text

Kakashi as a Dad

Masterlist

| GNReader, REQUESTED, new format bc I havent written head cannons yet, so hopefully you like this, these are just my opinions

alright bear with me for a new format, I havent written headcannons before

Kakashi as a dad is really patient with his kids…

honestly, I see him with one kid, two at the most

this man is so soft when they’re born, those books you give him a hard time over are nowhere in sight and his full undivided attention is on the baby

(and you if you birthed it, if you had a surrogate, then he’s super kind and gentle with them, thanking them profusely for your new bundle of joy)

this man is weak when it comes to them, which often turns into you being the bad guy

forgets he’s a dad and sometimes plays the role of a best friend more than father

and don’t get me started on uncle Gai visiting

No. Just no.

HE TRIES TO TEACH THE BABY TAIJUTSU AND KAKASHI WOULD LET HIM

Kakashi would 10/10 kick his ass

Kakashi with a little girl… he does tea parties with her, that’s his little princess. Whatever she wants she gets

He also boosts her ego by play fighting and letting her win

Super protective as she gets older

Lowkey doesn’t want her to be a ninja because he wants to keep her as safe as possible

10/10 would be the exact same way with a son

No way in hell would he willingly let him or his sister join…

Is almost tempted to sabotage their exams

He will help them train. He knows that if they’re going to succeed that they need the best teacher and that would absolutely be him

As Hokage, he’s careful that he makes sure he divides his time evenly

He knows how easy it is to get wrapped up in work and not be there for his family, but he swore to you the minute he would never abandon you or your children

Certainly not for the Hokage title

If you asked him to resign, he would

But you would never

And his kids are just as understanding

And way too proud to let him

They’d just show up at the office and hangout while he works, practicing their jutsu and getting advice when they could

He’s also 100% supportive of whatever his children identify as or with.

He tries to be a wingman… for both.

He just embarrasses them.

If they identify with the opposite gender than what they were assigned at birth? He’s the first to correct or threaten anyone who calls them by their deadname.

Will take the kid to get their hair cut or dyed or whatever else.

Non-binary? Like me! immediately transitions to calling the kid they/them

Kakashi would simply love his family. End of story. Nothing could break that love or bond he has with them.

#bleu.writes #naruto x reader #naruto #kakashi x reader #kakashi drabble #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x reader #naruto kakashi #kakashi angst #kakashi fluff #kakashi headcanons #kakashi imagines #naruto fluff #naruto angst

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rebouks · 9 months

Text

Previous // Next

Jessie: Can you say something-.. like, are you okay? [Ivan buried his head in hands and squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to say something-.. he wanted to say a million things, but his voice had long since abandoned him] Jessie: I wasn’t sure what to do at first, y’know-.. but by the time I tried to find you, I couldn’t. [Ivan offered a muffled scoff] Jessie: You were never at home! I didn’t have your number, Hunter went back to prison, Clara moved-.. I really tried. Jessie: I even thought Miya might know where you’d gone but I never saw her again-.. Lucie’s closed, the Front closed… I figured it was all connected to what was going on in the news. Ivan: So, y’gave up? Jessie: Not exactly, I spent hours scouring dating apps, social media-… Ivan: It’d help if y’got my fuckin’ name right. Jessie: I’m bad with names, okay-.. and how was I supposed to know you were a family man, rather than a crook? Ivan: I s’pose it’s a long story… [Jessie snorted, wiping her eyes with her sleeve] Ivan: I’m sorry, I’m just-.. it’s a lot t’take in is all. I’m pretty gutted I’ve missed so much. Jessie: Really? Ivan: ‘Course! That’s my lil’ guy, ain’t it? Jessie: I didn’t think you’d care. Ivan: That’s a bit presumptuous-.. y’don’t even know me. Jessie: Maybe it was just easier to think that way. Ivan: I’ll give y’that… Jessie: He’ll be so excited to know he has a daddy now; he’s forever asking questions about him. [Ivan couldn’t help but smile, he wasn’t sure he’d ever have kids, and now he suddenly had two] Jessie: I don’t expect child support, by the way. Like, I have a good job n’ stuff, and my mom’s pretty well off too-.. she lives nearby, actually. Ivan: Eh, we’ll figure somethin’ out… Jessie: So, what now? Ivan: S’pose we oughta get t’know each other? Jessie: Is the little girl-… Ivan: Mine? Yeah. Jessie: Uhm… Ivan: Surrogate. Jessie: Ah. [Ivan tried his best not to tear up as Jude hurtled towards them, smiling the same goofy smile he’d seen in dozens of his own childhood photographs] Jessie: C’mere-.. I��ve got a huge surprise for you! [Ivan’s brow shot up; he thought Jessie would’ve wanted to explain the situation to Jude later-.. or in private, but he didn’t seem too phased by the news] Jude: You’re my daddy? Ivan: Sure looks like it, bud. Jude: [gasps] Does that mean I have a doggy?! Jessie: He’s obsessed with dogs, probably because we can’t have one… Ivan: [chuckles] Aye, me n’ Oreo are a package deal. Jessie: We’ll see Oreo again soon-.. c’mon, we’re already way past late. [Jude frowns briefly. He’d rather stay here, but school was exciting too, and he knew better than to argue] Jessie: I’ll call you later, yeah? Ivan: Please… Jude: Bye Oreo, bye daddy, bye-.. man and baby! … Ivan: The fuck just happened, B? [Bruno held Ivan closely, leaving his rhetorical question unanswered] Ivan: I swear I ain’t cheated on you, I-… Bruno: I know. Ivan: But-… Bruno: He’s too old for that-.. I know. [Ivan stared at the floor, his mind moving too fast for him to keep up. He wanted to yell, laugh and weep all at once] Bruno: Let’s go home. We’ll take the day off, okay? [Ivan nodded as Bruno nudged him to his feet, forever grateful for his ridiculously calm demeanour]

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aza-writes · 29 days

Text

Our Little Wolf and Little Star

Married Wolfstar x twin!daughters (Willow and Selene)

Requested: no

Summary: Wolfstar adopted two twin girls and raise them the best they can.

Warnings: description of birth (barely), some cursing, kinda cringe, but it’s for the vibes.

A/N: EVERYONE LIVES AU. Mary Kate and Ashely movie vibes. Also… listen to Little Star by Dion and the Bellmonts and Li’l Red Riding Hood by The Royal Ruardsmen for ultimate vibes.

3rd Person POV

October 31st, 1980

The wait in the hospital was complete agony. Remus sat in an uncomfortable hospital waiting room chair. The only position that feels remotely comfortable is resting my head on my hands. His mind races faster and faster, watching his husband, Sirius, pace back and forth in front of him. James sits silently in the chair to the right of Remus. He’s trying his best to calm the pair down, but his words fall on deaf ears in Sirius and Remus’s overanalyzing ones.

“Mates, you both need to calm down. Everything will be just fine.”

Sirius stops his pacing and stares at James, his eyes wide with lack of sleep. “Calm down? What if something goes wrong? Why is it taking so long in the first place? It’s cause I’m stubborn, so they’re being stubborn to punish me? Fuck, I knew we should’ve used Remus’s-”

“Siri, stop talking.” Remus’s voice and eyes were stern as he sat back in the chair to get a better look at Sirius. The topic of who was going to donate sperm has been a sensitive one from the moment a surrogate was mentioned. The risk of passing his lycanthropy onto their future children was enough for the werewolf to insist on using Sirius’s for the donor.

All Sirius does is roll his eyes and plop on the seat on the other side of Remus, head falling on Remus’s shoulder out of exhaustion and instinct. Remus’s hand slides into Sirius’s, their fingers intertwining.

“I mean it. Plus, our kids would have your hair and height. That’s a win in my book.” Sirius moves his eyes to look up at Remus, but his head stays stationary.

Remus brought their hands up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of his husband’s. “It’s a little late for that now, innit?”

The labor has been going on for 48 hours, but the couple’s anxieties have been going on since they found out the implantation was successful. It only intensified as the months went on, now at an all-time high. Both of them refusing to sleep in case the surrogate, Maud, started to push. They both wanted to be ready to run into the room and watch their daughters take their first breaths.

As much as James tried to calm them down and convince them to sleep just for a bit, Remus and Sirius were too stubborn and sleep-deprived to listen. James even called Lily, hoping she would talk sense into them, but with her stuck at home with a one-month-old Harry, her over-the-phone and sleep-deprived threats were far less intimidating.

“Sirius, labor takes time. Lily was in labor for 12 hours. And you have twins, so of course, it’s going to take longer.” James’s voice was empathetic, but this sentence has been said three times already. Every comforting thing James could think of has been said, causing the words to lose meaning to Sirius.

Although Remus was pretending to keep it together, he was a nervous wreck inside. He walked into the hospital as Remus Lupin: Wizard, Warewolf, Husband, but when he leaves, father will be added to that title.

The muggle hospital seemed odd to the three wizards. It was much more controlled and secretive than anything in the wizarding world. The wing they were in was decorated with blue, pink, and yellow, with a quiet lullaby playing every so often, signifying a new baby had been born. Every lullaby that goes off that isn’t to celebrate baby Lupin allows jealousy and anxiety to grow more and more.

“Sirius, Remus,” James takes a deep breath, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but maybe you should go home and get some sle-”

“Sirius and Remus Lupin?” A nurse in pink scrubs walks into the waiting room. Her eyes scan and spot the two men rising from their chairs. She smiles at them and pulls her mask down. “Your surrogate is pushing; we’ll have you wait outside the room until she’s done. Come with me.” She turns around, and then men are quick to follow.

James shouts a quick “Good luck!” but the fathers-to-be don’t even look back to respond.

The two husbands wait outside the delivery suite, their hands intertwined. They waited less than ten minutes, their minds going a million kilometers a second, but none of those thoughts mattered when they heard a faint cry behind the door followed by a quiet lullaby version of “Happy Birthday” playing over the speakers.

Remus’s eyes widen, the weight being lifted off his shoulders. Sirius’s smile widens immediately. It isn’t until they hear a second cry that the couple hug each other. Happy tears flow from Sirius’s eyes while he laughs out of relief. The soft lullaby plays again for the second baby girl, signaling everything is going well in the delivery room.

A soft knock coming from inside the room interrupts their celebration. A nurse in pink scrubs walks into the hallway and smiles at the couple. “Would you like to come in and meet your daughters?”

Sirius kisses Remus’s head as they enter the room. They’re given a bit of hand sanitizer before being given their little girls to hold. The two husbands thanked the surrogate a million times before being taken into a separate room to fill out paperwork as Maud recovered.

The twins were no longer ideas and possibilities; they were real and in their arms.

The two walk out into the waiting room with the babies swaddled in a soft pink blanket and pale yellow hats. Sirius’s tears started again when he saw the mass of people in the waiting room. It was no longer James, but everyone important in their lives was there to support the new parents. Lily was there with Harry, Regulus, Peter, Marlene and Dorcus, Mary, Alice, and Frank, who brought Neville. Even Andromeda showed up.

“Everyone,” Remus’s voice was still a whisper, yet loud enough for the whole crowd to hear. “I am happy to present to you for the first time ever Willow Lily Lupin. Born at 7 lbs and 2 ounces. 1st born by 3 minutes.” He raises his elbow a bit, letting people get a better look at the sleeping baby in his arms.

“And this is Selene Andromeda Lupin, who stands at 7 lbs and 5 ounces.” Sirius continues, smiling at the little bundle in his arms. His gaze couldn’t be broken even if he tried, and he didn’t want to.

Regulus smiled softly before speaking up. “W and S, Wolf and Star, I’m assuming?” His eyes were locked on his big brother, someone he’d seen in this caring and protective role before, but this time it seemed out of love instead of fear. Regulus also wanted to start crying happy tears, but he refused to be in front of a large group.

“I guess it is.” Sirius grinned and looked up at his brother before looking back down at the sleeping baby. “Hell, my Little Star.”

“So Willow is Little Wolf then?” James ran the back of his finger over Willow’s cheek, replicating something he often does to Harry when he sleeps.

“I guess she is.” Remus's smile grows more if that is even possible. “Our little Wolf.”

Sirius turns to his husband beaming. So much love and happiness filled his eyes. “Our girls.”

Remus met Sirius’s gaze with the same love and tenderness. “Our girls.”

49 notes · View notes

sugartitstownley · 4 months

Note

Hay I love your blog!!!

Could you do some relationship preferences for michael and trevor being together cute/hot or just cute?

ABC’s of Trikey

Thanks for the ask! I’m glad you like my blog!! I took some creative liberties with this and ran with it since I’ve been wanting to do the ABC prompt. So I hope you don’t mind. :) I did the fluff version [source], but I’d be open to doing the NSFW version too if someone would want that.

Warnings: Not a lot this time. Typical GTA-esque themes. There is a brief mention in the last letter (Z) about child abuse, but that’s about it. Mostly fluffy stuff.

A is for animals [Do they have pets? What type?]

No, they don’t have any pets. Neither of them feel too strongly about having them, but the topic has came up once or twice — Michael being the most reluctant.

“It’d be like having another kid,” Michael gripes. “We’d have to clean its shit and make sure it doesn’t tear the house up.”

“But maybe it could teach you a thing or two about loyalty, you snake,” Trevor shoots back. “Plus, it’d give Chop a friend.”

“Can you honesty promise I wouldn’t come home one day to a mutilated dog after it chewed the fuck out of your clothes or bit you?”

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t mutilate you one day, but I still keep you around.”

That didn’t convince Michael. So no, they don’t have pets. They’ll stick to chaperoned visits with Franklin, Lamar, and Chop.

B is for bathroom [What are their bathroom habits? Do they brush teeth at the same time? Fight about the toilet? Shower together? Have weird toiletries?]

Their bathroom habits are definitely a little bit opposing. Michael, unless he’s in one of his truly depressive episodes, is fairly clean. He often opts for the same routine every day: wake up, shower, shave (unless he’s growing it out, which sometimes he does), brush teeth, put on deodorant, spray on fancy cologne he spent way too much on, and leave.

Trevor, however, has less of a set schedule. He frequently chooses to forgo the traditional approach to “getting ready” unless Michael gets on him about it.

Once they start living together, though, Trevor does start to actively seek out a good shower quite often — if only so he can join his partner in a little morning rendezvous, which, of course, Michael is happy to indulge him in.

They don’t fight too much over bathroom etiquette, but, well, Trevor is still Trevor, so it’s inevitable sometimes.

“Oh, the fuck is this?” Michael mumbles, peering into the toilet below him. “Trevor!”

Mere seconds later, Trevor’s head is popping through the bathroom door. “Mm, morning to you too, sugar.”

“Tell me what I’m looking at here.”

“That,” Trevor follows his partner’s gaze to look inside the toilet bowl, “looks like a finger.”

“Yep, it does,” Michael nods along. “Why the fuck is it in our toilet?”

Trevor raises his hands in surrender. “Excuse me, I tried to get his arm down in one go, but people don’t flush like they used to. Ya know, I think it’s all the healthy shit people eat in LS. Makes their body more immune.”

“Jesus Christ.”

C is for children [Do they have kids? Adopted or biological? What are their names? Any random head canons you have?]

Michael obviously has Tracey and Jimmy, so that’s really enough for them. Michael knows he’s already a shit father, so there’s no need to bring any more children into his world. Plus, Trevor loves both of those kids like they’re his own anyway.

And, all things considered, they both have Franklin too. Their surrogate child. Sure, Franklin pretends to be slightly disturbed at that mental image, but both men are sure he’s still happy to have them around.

Sometimes, when he’s really trying to embarrass Franklin, Trevor will talk about him to strangers like he’s their child. Michael tries to get him to stop — for the youngest boy’s sake — but he secretly finds it both endearing and funny. So, against his better judgement, Michael joins in sometimes.

“Kids are a handful, huh?”

The woman looks up from the screaming baby in her arms to Trevor, who’s talking over her shoulder. She looks slightly uncomfortable at his proximity, like she wants to push away the cart full of baby items in front of her and make a run for it, but she nods instead.

“They sure are. Got any?”

Trevor mirrors her nod before pointing over at Franklin. “Our baby boy is right there.”

Trevor can see Franklin shrink behind Michael, trying to get out of sight, while Michael stands there smirking.

“He’s just precious,” Trevor continues, his voice cracking with a faux sob. “They grow up so fast. Right in front of your eyes.”

The woman glances at Michael, almost like she’s hoping he’ll save her, but he only puts a hand to his heart and smiles. “They never stop melting your heart, though.”

As soon as the cashier yells “next,” the woman is rushing to the counter, and the two older men are left laughing as Franklin finally moves into sight.

“Fuck you both,” he grumbles.

D is for dates [First date? Do they go out together regularly? Who usually plans?]

Their first date was definitely weird. Not in the “we shouldn’t be doing this” way. But in the “this feels like our first date and 50th simultaneously” way.

Back in North Yankton, neither of them really went on “first dates” — with each other or other people. A date feels more like a planned time to be romantic, but their relationship was anything but planned. In fact, everything often felt rushed and spontaneous, like neither knew when their life would suddenly end by imprisonment or death.

Now, as older men who feel way too past their prime and have way too much history among them to be going out on said “first dates,” the idea feels a little juvenile and silly.

Nonetheless, they do it. They do it if only for the sake of not being able to do it before. They go out on a first date — paired with nervous sweating, awkward conversations, and careful skirting over any past issues that could put a damper on the evening. It’s a simple dinner at an upscale restaurant in Vinewood, much to Trevor’s initial dismay.

“Out of all of San Andreas, this is where you pick, Mikey?”

“It’s a nice place, T.”

“Shocker that you think that, Mr. Plastic Pants,” Trevor says mockingly. “This place is full of fake celebrities and plastic surgeons. I feel like I’m about to slip and fall and accidentally get a boob job.”

“Can you just humor me for once? Please?”

And Trevor did because, truth be told, he’d go anywhere with Michael. Their first date was good all things considered, but they don’t make it a habit to go out often. It’s just not in their style — unless you count Trevor beating Michael at golf or them chasing down bikers a date, then sure.

When they do officially go out on dates, especially for important dates like anniversaries, it’s usually Michael who plans them. He’s much more of a classic date — dinner and a movie — kind of guy. He likely gets that from the movies he watches.

E is for embarrassment [Does one get embarrassed by PDA? Do they say things to rile each other up?]

Michael does, at times, get embarrassed by Trevor’s public displays. It’s not that he’s ashamed of Trevor; it’s just harder to kick that religious guilt he’s used to. It has caused a rift a few times when Michael would flinch at Trevor calling him “baby” around strangers or throwing his arms around him and kissing his neck — especially since Michael can see their unapproving reactions in his peripheral vision.

Trevor, usually, reacts angrily — no doubt believing that his partner is embarrassed by him and their relationship. But Michael continues to reassure him until the issue is dropped.

After a few years, and a bit more therapy, the judging glances no longer irk him like they used to. And, as a result, he’ll let Trevor’s fingers snake through his or let his touch linger, even with the prying eyes of Los Santos City.

When they’re in an argument, however, Trevor does take a few liberties now and then to rile him up.

“Fine, Burger Shot it is. But when we get home, I want a blowjob.”

“Oh, Christ,” Michael groans, looking around to see how many people heard Trevor’s loud mouth.

Trevor grins. “Hopefully, I’ll be saying that soon too.”

F is for fights [Do they bicker a lot? About trivial things? How do they make up after a large fight?]

They bicker a lot. About trivial things. About important things. About everything. But that’s them. It’s how it’s always been, and just because they’re in love, doesn’t mean it’s going to stop.

But, at least for Michael, he almost enjoys fighting with Trevor. Fighting with him only reminds him how much he’s devoted to the guy — how much he devastatingly loves the man.

With Amanda, they loved each other, but they weren’t in love with each other. So when they fought, it left him feeling bitter and lonely. But with Trevor, every fight is born out of caring about his relationship, about Trevor’s health, about their past, about their future. He just cares so violently — both of them do — that every fight starts and ends with him being in love. At least, for the most part.

G is for gifts [Do they give gifts often? Big things or small things?]

Yes, quite often. Michael is a lavish giver, even if he knows Trevor doesn’t really care one way or another about material possessions. If Michael can gift him an “Impotent Rage” comic because he used to have it as a child, even if it’s rare now and worth thousands, he’ll do it. He wants Trevor to have nice things, and he has no problem spending money in order to make that happen.

Trevor, on the opposite side, doesn’t give material gifts very often. Not really seeing the value for himself, he doesn’t much care to buy them for others either. Even so, that doesn’t mean he’s not a gift giver in his own way. Trevor will often show his giving side by actions: making sure the new movie Michael wanted to watch is rented when he comes home, cooking something for dinner (with no eyelids, he promises!), cleaning himself up, going to events he hates just because Michael loves them, and so on.

They have their own ways, and it works for them.

H is for home [Where do they live? When did they move in together?]

They have several different residencies. Several.

After the divorce was finalized, Amanda moved out to leave for the beachfront property that she desperately craved — and asked for — all throughout their time in LS.

Michael kept the house in Rockford Hills and decided to stay there. Despite some gentle coaxing, Trevor refused to give up his trailer in Sandy Shores, but Michael was secretly happy since it gave them an excuse to drive up there and sit by the Alamo Sea.

Trevor also ended up keeping the Vanilla Unicorn, at least for the time being. Neither man makes too many appearances there anymore, but Trevor’s back office does make for a good bed if he’s mad at Michael.

Officially, though, they live in Michael’s place in Rockford Hills. It’s close to where they need to go, Michael can commute fairly easily to Solomon’s studio, and Trevor is at a perfect distance to wreck havoc in whatever part of the state he chooses day to day. Michael, in the future, would be happy to consider moving somewhere else with his partner. But right now, he’s just happy Trevor agreed to stay with him.

“T, you listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, Mikey. What is it?”

Michael grabs the remote out of the other man’s hand and forces his eyes to leave the TV. “Trevor, ‘m serious.”

“Okay, okay,” Trevor relents. “I’m all ears, pork chop.”

“How would you feel about staying here?”

“Well, considering I’ve already drove halfway across the city, drank a shit ton, and planned to strip you naked later, I’d say I feel pretty good about staying tonight.”

Michael smirks a little. “As sweet as that is, I meant more than just tonight. Like, ya know, stay. Live here.”

“Live here,” Trevor repeats slowly, his attention clearly on Michael completely now. “With you. In Rockford Hills. Here.”

“Yes,” Michael nods, but it comes out more like a question — not sure if Trevor really wants to live here with him.

“Okay,” Trevor agrees.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.

The sides of Michael’s mouth tick up into a small smile. “Okay.”

I is for illness [Do they care for each other when they’re sick?]

They’ll definitely care for each other no matter the illness, but their reactions certainly differ depending on the illness at hand.

If it’s the common cold, they’ll both gripe at each other about how “babyish” the other is being. That won’t stop them from picking up medicine, tissues, water, or anything else the other may need to feel better. Some playful banter is just to be expected.

If it’s a more “serious” sickness, a little bit lot more worry and anger is involved.

Trevor growls. “Fucking lay down. I told you smoking all those Redwoods would kill you one day.”

Michael follows his partner’s orders and leans back onto the bed, his mouth open, trying to breathe any air he can get without coughing. “I’m fine, asshole. ‘s just a bug.”

“It’s not just a bug,” Trevor huffs, laying down next to him. “Doctor said it’s bronchitis. That can be bad, Mikey.”

“I’ll be okay,” Michael mumbles, giving Trevor’s hand a squeeze to reassure him. “A lot of people get it.”

“A lot of people die from it, too. Especially if it’s chronic. More than 300 people.”

“That’s not a lot, T,” Michael reasons, shutting his eyes. “Mm, plus, doc said she doesn’t think it’s chronic.”

“Doesn’t think,” Trevor growls. “Fucking doctors. They don’t know shit until you’re dead.”

At that, Michael opens his eyes. “Calm down, T. It’s not that serious.”

“It is, Michael,” he says, spitting out his name. “I don’t want to lose your fat ass just because you can’t let go of your stupid habits, and the doctors in this city are too lazy to give a shit!”

Finally realizing the issue, Michael turns over in the bed to cuddle into Trevor’s side. “You won’t lose me, baby.”

“You don’t know that. I have before.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I’m here for the long haul now. You’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And when Michael stops smoking — for the most part — and convinces Trevor to try and get clean from the drugs — again, for the most part — he’s there with him every step of the way through the withdrawal symptoms.

The nightmares, lack of sleep, paranoia, irritability — all of it. Those months are probably the most Michael has ever cried, or seen Trevor cry, but it’s worth it in the end when they’re both a lot happier.

J is for jokes [Do they tease each other a lot? Do they have inside jokes nobody else gets?]

They definitely tease each other a lot. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell whether they’re teasing or bickering unless you really know them since most of their teasing is harsher words paired with playful undertones.

“I had an idea for our next anniversary.”

Trevor smirks. “Not sure if you’ll make it to our next anniversary, you fat fuck.”

“Nice outfit, T. I can see you’re finally embracing the ‘I liked it before it was cool’ lifestyle.”

“Fuck off, Townley.”

K is for kisses [First kiss? Do they kiss a lot?]

Their first kiss was long ago, back in North Yankton. It was after one particularly good job in ‘86. They came away with more money than they’d ever gotten together, and it took them half the time it usually does to ward off police presence and make it back to their motel.

“Fuckin’ A,” Michael shouts as soon as the motel door is closed. “We did it!”

“Fuck yeah!”

Both boys laugh, their hearts still pumping with adrenaline. Suddenly, Michael is overcome by the excitement of the success of the job or the smile on Trevor’s face, and so he pushes him against the motel door and kisses him roughly.

The kiss only realistically lasts around five seconds, but it’s enough.

“What the fuck was that?” Trevor asks once they part.

“What?”

“You kissed me.”

Michael nods and shrugs a bit, trying not to blush. “Yeah, so what?”

Trevor doesn’t say anything. In fact, the room is deadly silent for several seconds before Trevor lunges forward and captures Michael’s mouth again.

Between then and the time he meets Amanda, Michael kisses Trevor a lot. If he’s being honest, he kisses Trevor a lot after he meets Amanda too.

When they officially reconcile their relationship and decide to give being together a real shot after the Union Depository job, they — of course — kiss a lot. They have to make up for lost time after all.

L is for love [Who said ‘I love you’ first? How do they show their love?]

Although Michael kissed him first, Trevor said “I love you” first. This, too, was back in North Yankton after a night full of celebratory drinking and sex after a big job.

However, after their reconciliation in 2013, Trevor, once again, was the one to take the lead. When it comes to emotions, Trevor’s always said exactly what he was thinking. Where Michael struggles with expressing himself, Trevor does nothing but express himself.

“What?”

Trevor shakes his head lightly at Michael’s questioning. “Nothing.”

“No, come on,” Michael pushes. “You’re lookin’ at me funny.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Trevor sighs, glancing around the restaurant they’re currently sat in. “Can’t we eat?”

“You don’t want to tell me? When have you ever held your tongue? About literally anything?”

“Maybe I’m holding my tongue because I’m reluctant to say anything since last time I said it, it must have not meant shit because you married a stripper.”

“T, things with Amanda were complicated, you know that,” Michael says, grabbing his partner’s hand that’s resting on their table. “But it’s different now.”

Trevor gives a slight nod of agreement. “Yeah. It is.”

“So? What do you want to tell me?”

“I- I love you.”

Michael looks momentarily shocked, but he quickly recovers and breathes out a chuckle. “Oh.”

“You better say it back, Townley. You’re too old to have second thoughts.”

Despite Trevor’s quip, Michael grins. “I was just hoping I’d get to say it first this time. I love you too.”

M is for meals [Who cooks?]

Surprisingly, Trevor usually cooks. Or, rather, they do it together. Trevor likes the company, and Michael likes the assurance that no part of the food is human.

Trevor is a pretty good cook since he took care of his mom a lot when he was young between her copious amounts of “male friends.”

Although Michael usually is reluctant to relinquish control on a lot of things, he’s happy to sit back and watch Trevor cook, only helping when needed.

And if he gets to kiss the chef while he cooks, well, that’s just a bonus.

N is for nicknames [Do they shorten their names? Pet names?]

God, they never end — at least for Trevor. Michael does use the usual nicknames for his partner: T or Trev. After they started dating, “baby” will become a frequent contender.

For Trevor, he never stops coming up with nicknames — most of them being for his own amusement. Mikey, Mike, M, sugar, sugar tits, pork chop.

Some of them are more on-the-whim ideas: Mr. Plastic City and moneybags being quite popular.

Michael has asked Trevor to cool it down, but he doesn’t have much luck on that part.

“Get in, sugar tits.”

Michael climbs into the Bodhi, shooting Trevor a glare. “Can you stop calling me that?”

“I’m getting déjà vu. Thought we’ve had this conversation before, and I said no.”

“We have,” Michael rolls his eyes. “But I thought that once we, you know, started being together — you’d stop.”

“Aw,” Trevor smiles, linking their fingers together as he pulls out of the driveway. “No such luck, sugar tits.”

O is for outsiders [What do other people think about their relationship?]

Their relationship is a paradox to most — both surprising and not surprising in the slightest.

Amanda, who’s known them the longest outside of Lester, was initially shocked. With the way Michael talked about Trevor if she ever brought him up, it usually seemed like a one-sided friendship that was destined to end.

Though, when she looks back on it after the divorce, she’s not all that surprised after all.

“I should’ve known.”

Michael pauses before giving a half shrug to his soon-to-be ex wife. “I barely knew. It’s just always been … complicated.”

Amanda snorts. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it, Michael. Still, you just … never wanted to talk about him. Even after everything — especially not after everything.”

“I know, Mand.”

“I always thought that maybe it was just because you felt guilty, but, well,” she trails off. “You loved — love — him.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yeah, I do.”

Lester was even easier. He knew from beginning that the boys had a long history, and even after all the years apart, he knew the barely functioning friendship between Michael and Trevor was just years of pent up sexual tension, betrayals, and love waiting to topple over.

Franklin and Lamar were equally supportive, but Lamar did ask a lot of questions that made Franklin gently kick him under the table.

“Yo, so you and crazy dude are in love?” Lamar asks. “For real? This whole time?”

Michael glances at Franklin, who’s smirking at the exchange, before he meets Lamar’s eyes again and nods. “Yeah, we are.”

Lamar chuckles. “Good luck, homie. Bet that dude is into some freaky shit in bed.”

“What he means to say is that we’re happy for you, dog,” Franklin says while nudging Lamar. “Maybe now I won’t have to hear T bitch about you every time we grab a drink.”

“Yeah, doubtful,” Michael smirks. “I’m sure he’ll find somethin’ new to complain about.”

“Yeah, like how your ass is too fat to get in the sex swing I ordered.”

All three boys whip their heads around to see Trevor stalking up and plopping into the seat next to Michael.

“That’s not- he’s kidding,” Michael fumbles.

Franklin, looking caught between amusement and horror, just nods. “Sure, whatever you say, homie.”

P is for proposal [Who proposed first? How did they do it? A lot of planning?]

Michael proposed first. He values the traditional act of marriage a little more. Not to mention, Trevor didn’t want to ruin their relationship or scare Mike off since he only just got him back. If it was up to Trevor, though, they would have just got hitched immediately.

Although Michael considers himself a bit of a romantic with his partner — a cliché, in Trevor’s words — he didn’t plan a fancy proposal paired with dinner, a moonlit walk down Vespucci Beach, and skywriting asking the big question. No, instead, he just looked at Trevor one night and asked. He asked right then and there because, for once in his life, he just let his emotions take over.

“I understand how economics work and what the working class needs! They want a six pack of beer! An eager girl in their pickup truck! And a depressing folk tune playing on the radio!”

Michael faintly hears the voice of Impotent Rage coming from the TV in front of him, but he’s barely listening as his eyes keep glancing over at Trevor, who’s sitting next to him under their blanket, munching on a bowl of popcorn and watching the superhero chant with full attention.

A soft smile tugs at his lips as he listens to Trevor belt out a laugh at whatever’s happening in the show, and suddenly, he’s speaking without even realizing.

“T.”

“Hm?”

The man’s eyes don’t move from the television, so Michael tries again. “Trevor.”

Finally, his partner’s eyes peel away from the screen and look his way. “What, Mikey? I’m missing good TV here.”

Michael watches him for several seconds, the small smile from before still present. “Marry me.”

At that, the show fades into the background completely, and Trevor’s attention is focused. “You’re gonna have to repeat that, sugar. Think I misheard you.”

“I said, ‘Marry me.’”

“Jesus,” Trevor shuts the TV off and turns to face Michael, the blanket falling off them to their feet. “You serious? You better not be fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” Michael shakes his head, taking Trevor’s hands in his. “We should do it. Get married.”

There’s a long gap of silence where Michael’s not sure if Trevor’s going to laugh at him, punch him, or have another overt reaction. But in the end, he feels his partner’s body slam into his as they topple over onto the couch. And it takes a few seconds for it to register that Trevor is hugging him.

Michael laughs. “Is this a yes?”

“Fuck yes.”

And if Trevor cried a little too that night, well, that’s their business.

Q is for quest [Have they ever been on a quest together? Has one done something completely crazy for the other?]

Honestly, their whole lives together have been nothing but a series of quests. But, outside of the normal robbery, revenge, avoid-dying quests, they’ll absolutely go on day-to-day missions for the other — especially Trevor.

Is Michael out of that one specific product he uses for his hair and no store in Los Santos seems to carry it? Trevor will find it.

Have one of the actors on set gone missing? Trevor’s already got their location.

It doesn’t matter how utterly dumb he thinks Michael is for caring about certain things, he’ll get it done. Somehow, some way.

“You’re welcome,” Trevor says, sitting down the black, sleek bottle on the kitchen counter. “Only one I could find, Mr. Suede Bucks.”

“You got the cologne? The fuck did you find this? It ain’t been at Ponsonbys forever.”

Trevor leans down and kisses Michael, smiling proudly. “I know. It wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah, I bet, it wa-” Michael stops. “Uh, Trev?”

Trevor walks over to the fridge and pulls out a beer. “Yeah?”

Michael wipes at the bottle before holding up a red-coated finger to Trevor. “Is this blood?”

Trevor pretends to inspect it before shrugging. “Not sure.”

“Oh, really? This just happened to be here?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, Mikey. Just accept the gift.”

“I didn’t want it that bad,” Michael protests. “Not at some poor bastard’s expense.”

“I got you the cologne,” Trevor says pointedly. “Just be happy, you miserable fuck.”

Rolling his eyes, Michael smiles and leans up to connect their lips again. “Well, thank you.”

R is for rainy day [What do they do when it’s raining outside?]

What better way to spend a rainy day than a movie session that your boyfriend forces you into? Right?

Michael loves to watch movies — that much is obvious. And, since Trevor loves him, he’ll indulge him on days where it’s too wet to do anything else.

Plus, a bonus of staying indoors all day is more time for … extracurricular activities.

S is for secrets [Do they keep secrets from each other?]

Trevor’s not the type to keep secrets, so anything he does, says, or thinks pretty much goes straight to Michael.

For Mike, though, he has trouble not keeping secrets. It’s not that he actively wants to lie to people, especially those he loves, but he’s done it for so long that it’s become second nature. So much so that he even expressed the worry to his new therapist.

“I don’t want to lie to anyone, ‘specially not Trevor,” Michael admits. “But it’s like I don’t know how to stop!”

“What exactly do you lie about?”

He glances around the office, shrugging. “I don’t know. The way I feel sometimes. What I want. What I don’t want. Christ, I don’t know if I’m lying or if I just don’t know the answers.”

“I think you know the answers, Michael.”

“Maybe. I just … don’t ever want to hurt Trevor again.”

Months in therapy with an actual qualified doctor — unlike Dr. Friedlander — helped Michael find new ways to cope with his knee jerk reaction to lie.

So, no, they both try not to keep anymore secrets between the two of them.

T is for travelling [Do they go on holiday together? On journeys?]

They don’t get away very often. It’s not that they don’t have the money because obviously they do. But they’re busy with their respective jobs. Michael is often working on a movie set these days, and that can take up a lot of time. And Trevor can be found running TPI, the Vanilla Unicorn, and — of course — getting up to various shenanigans.

In a last ditch effort to connect to his kids, he did invite them on a small trip, where they ended up going to the zoo alongside Trevor.

“Ew, daddy, what is that?”

Before Michael can answer Tracey’s question, he sees her reach out toward the animal. “Trace! Don’t fuckin’ touch it!”

“Hey, you better watch out, kid, or it’ll eat you,” Trevor says, putting his arm around Tracey.

“You’d save her, uncle T,” Jimmy pipes up.

Trevor smirks. “We’d just sacrifice your dad. He’d take one for the team.”

Tracey giggles, nodding. “Totes.”

Michael pulls Trevor’s arm off of Tracey before giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, fuck you. If anything, we’d sacrifice your ass. With the way you smell, it’d probably think you’re a dead animal anyway.”

“As if you’d give me up that easily,” Trevor says, brushing their hands together as they walk along the zoo path. “You love me, Michael Townley.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Besides that, they mostly stick with San Andreas. But Michael’s been thinking about planning a trip back to North Yankton. He knows Trevor misses the Midwest, and he thinks they’re grown enough now in their relationship to relive nostalgic, good memories while there instead of being thrown back into painful ones.

U is for urges [Do they pine after each other? How often to they think about each other?]

They do pine — in their own ways. For Trevor, it’s more blatant, obvious longing.

Before getting together officially, Trevor made it a point to drudge up the past or make snippy comments about how much Michael’s changed. Under all the semi-faux anger, all he wanted was for Michael to realize how much he’s missed him.

As for Michael himself, his pining came in the form of silence. He didn’t want to ever talk about Trevor, or hear about him, or think about him. He missed him too, but every thought surrounding the man was laced with guilt.

“We did it, T!” Michael cheers. “Fuckin’ A. Pulled off the Big One.”

“Sure did, Mikey,” Trevor smiles slightly as he whips the car down the LS Freeway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I know. I figured we’d be settling into prison by now if we ever attempted it. I mean, we-”

“No,” Trevor stops him. “Never thought I’d see the day since you were dead.”

The air in the car grows thicker than it usually does with Trevor’s quips as Michael struggles with how to respond.

Eventually, Michael sighs. “Thought you said we were good.”

“We are.”

“Then why do you have to bring it up? Can’t we have one decent conversation without you always having to mention it? Jesus Christ, T.”

Trevor grinds his teeth, facing Michael with an accusatory finger as the car comes to a stop on the side of the road. “Fuck you! I’m going to bring it up until you’re so sick and tired of hearing about it that you rip your own ears off!”

“Oh, well, if I’d known that was all it’d take to shut your ass up, I would’ve ripped ‘em off months ago!”

“Good! I wish you fucking would!”

Both of them lean back into the silence as Trevor slams on the gas and buzzes past the cars around them.

After pulling into his driveway, Michael gets out and slams the door behind him, leaving Trevor in the car without another word. He slowly starts the trek up to his door, suddenly realizing that — once the door shuts — he’s going to be alone once again.

Chancing a look back, he checks to see if Trevor’s still sitting in the car, and he is — unmoving.

Michael turns around and makes his way to the window, not even having to knock before Trevor’s rolling it down.

Michael gestures vaguely. “Want to come in?”

Trevor gives a curt nod and moves to get out of the car. “You better have beer.”

After popping open a few drinks and settling onto the couch, Trevor’s voice fills the otherwise quiet room. “Look, ‘m sorry. Okay? I know we’re trying to move on. But fuck, Michael. It’s hard. You … you left me, and you didn’t even think twice.”

“Didn’t think twice? You kidding me? I thought twice. I thought three times, four times, a hundred times. But I had a family, and I didn’t know what else to do. I messed up. I know that. And I’ve had to live with that every day. Every day, I thought about you — hoped that you weren’t dead, or when I was really fuckin’ depressed, hoped that you were so I didn’t have to feel so damn guilty. So don’t tell me that I didn’t think twice, asshole.”

Seconds later, the air is knocked out of Michael as Trevor pushes his lips roughly against his. He lets out a small hiss when he feels Trevor bite down on his bottom lip before his tongue brushes against his.

“I’ve missed you,” Michael breathes out against Trevor’s lips.

“I’ve missed you too, sugar.”

V is for virtues [What’s their favourite thing about each other?]

Trevor loves that Michael is, well, Michael. Despite the long list of qualities he could ramble off that he doesn’t like about him: constant sarcasm, hypocritical, arrogant …

He’s also fond of those qualities because that’s who Michael is. He’s an asshole, and Trevor likes him that way. Secretly.

Michael, on the other hand, has a distinct quality of Trevor that he’s most fond of — loyalty. Michael himself has never been loyal. He’s cheated, lied, hurt, coerced, and backstabbed almost everyone he’s ever known. Although Trevor’s physically hurt his fair share of people, his loyalty to his friends is unshakable.

Michael almost hates that about him too. He’ll often wish Trevor gave less of a shit about him because, maybe then, their past wouldn’t cut as deep.

Still, Michael will hold tightly on to every last bit of loyalty Trevor’s willing to give him now.

W is for wedding [Who plans it? Big or small? Does it go smooth?]

It’s a pretty small event considering Michael’s already done the whole marriage thing before. Neither of them really care about a monumental party paired with dancing, catering, and people galore. They really only want to get hitched for the sake of being together forever and, as Trevor jokes, so it’s practically legally required for them to love one another.

Does it go smooth? Ha! If you asked anyone — anyone — that they know if anything ever has gone smooth when it comes to Michael and Trevor, they’d laugh.

It wasn’t a total disaster or anything, but there were certainly hiccups along the way.

“The fuck do you mean he’s missing?” Michael pulls the phone away from his ear as the lady on the other end tries to explain the whereabouts of his suit tailor. “Trevor!”

“But I assure you that we’re trying to find him, Mr. De Santa.”

Michael barely catches the end of what she’s saying as he pushes the phone back against his ear. “Look, lady. I don’t give a shit where your boss is. Do you have my suit?”

“We don’t have it here with us,” she explains. “He likely took it home, but I assure you-”

Michael hangs up the phone as Trevor finally comes strutting into the kitchen.

“What’s up, pork chop? Trouble at the studio?”

“No, trouble with the suit guy. Apparently, he’s gone missing.”

“Huh.”

Michael narrows his eyes. “That was a short answer. And ya don’t seem that shocked.”

“It’s Los Santos,” Trevor shrugs. “People go missing all the time. He probably found the one hot broad in this city that likes 50-year-old men with braces and hit the road with her.”

“How did you know he had braces? I’ve never hold you that.”

“What the fuck is this, Mikey? An interrogation?”

Michael steps around the kitchen table until he’s face to face with his partner, giving him a sharp, piercing look. “Trevor.”

“Fine! I met the guy for a bit,” Trevor relents. “Went to talk to him about fixing up my outfit as well, but we didn’t see eye to eye.”

“Oh, God. What does that mean?”

Trevor’s eyes shine in light amusement. “I think we’re going to have to look for someone else.”

X is for xenia [What’s it like to be their guest?]

Well, they don’t really have a lot of people over. The only people who ever visit them are Franklin and Lamar, sometimes Tracey and Jimmy, and on the rarest occasions, Lester. But that’s usually only if he needs something.

When they’re in Sandy Shores, they’ll have Ron over, and occasionally, they’ll bring Wade when Trevor wants to get him out of the strip club.

Being their guest is like going to a haunted house. It can be fun, but you have a chance of getting traumatized in some way.

“Hey, do y’all two have any-” Franklin stops, throwing his hands over his eyes as he jumps back into the hallway. “What the fuck?”

Trevor’s laughter fills in the room as Michael blushes, fumbling for the zipper on his pants before pulling Trevor up from his knees.

“Fuck,” Michael starts. “Sorry. We ain’t doing anything. I promise.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, dog,” Franklin shudders, finally peaking through his fingers. “Look, I just came to ask if y’all had any beer. But I can see you’re busy.”

“We weren’t …” Michael trails off, knowing there’s no point in denying it. “I’ll show you where it is.”

The three boys walk downstairs, Trevor still snickering to himself as Michael nudges him every so often to try and get him to quit.

“Maybe next time, wait for your guests to leave before you start messing around up there,” Franklin chuckles.

The boys’ heads glance over when Lamar pipes up beside them, apparently catching the end of the conversation. “Yo, you and crazy dude was fuckin’ up there?”

“Kill me,” Michael mumbles while Trevor cackles beside him.

Yeah, they don’t have guests over very often anymore.

Y is for yearly [Any traditions? Anniversaries?]

They’ve picked up some new traditions and brought back some old. Back in North Yankton, before Michael ever met Amanda, there were several years that he and Trevor would bake holiday cookies for Christmas. Were they good at it? No. But that never stopped them. Neither of them grew up in particularly warm households, so it was up to them to create some kind of holiday cheer.

Plus, when Tracey was born, she loved to help out. Oftentimes, you could find her in Trevor’s arms as they used cookie cutters to make the dough into little trees and reindeer.

Deciding to carry that tradition into their relationship and marriage, every Christmas they bake cookies, and every year, they taste a little like shit. But they both love it.

“Merry Christmas, daddy,” Tracey says, hugging Michael and Trevor. “Merry Christmas, uncle T.”

“Merry Christmas, kid,” Trevor pats her back before going to grab a few of the supplies needed for the recipe they’re making.

Michael hands her a bowl for the dough. “Merry Christmas, Trace. Glad you could come over. How’s college going?”

“Good! Classes, like, totally rock!”

He smiles, nodding approvingly. “Good.”

“What about your brother? He too good to hang out with us tonight?” Trevor jokes, setting the butter, milk, and eggs down on to the table.

Tracey giggles. “I think he’s working.”

“I’m still not used to hearing that,” Michael laughs. “What about your mom?”

“She’s good too. She’s, and I quote, ‘finally relaxed now that you’re someone else’s problem.’”

Trevor snorts. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“You wouldn’t want it any other way,” Michael shoves him lightly.

“Maybe not.”

Michael, Trevor, and Tracey work in unison for the next 20 minutes until they finally have some semi-decent cookies that are ready to be baked. Sticking them in the oven and setting a timer, they all get cleaned up and move to the living room.

Michael flops down onto the couch, and Trevor falls next to him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Tracey makes her way to the other side of the couch so she can stretch her legs as they all wait for the cookies to be done.

“We should make this a tradition again! Now that you and daddy are together, we could do this, like, every year. Remember when we used to do this when I was young, uncle T?”

“Sure do, kiddo,” Trevor grins. “With Jimmy too.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess he could even come next year. What do you think?”

Michael sees that Tracey and Trevor are looking at him for an answer, so he nods. “Yeah, we could probably make that happen.”

The three of them talk about the future, Tracey mostly supplying the conversation with her babbling while Michael and Trevor happily sit back, leaning into each other as they listen.

When it comes to anniversaries, they also celebrate those every year. They’re not as uptight as some couples about them, but they tend to mean a lot to Trevor, and it’s a concrete way for Michael to show that he’s putting work into their relationship and cares about it enough to do so. So, they celebrate them every year.

Z is for Zzz [Sleep habits? Who’s the big spoon? What do they wear in bed? Are they coddlers?]

Michael’s never really gotten a perfect night’s rest — not since he was a baby presumably. He’s had okay nights and even, what he’d consider, good nights. But never perfect. Never the full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Nightmares often plague his nighttime life. When he was a teen, it used to be flashes of his father hitting him — beating him black and blue until he was coughing blood days after. As a young adult, he dreamt of robberies gone wrong, getting shot, going to prison, and so on. As an older man, his dreams are a toss-up between his past worries and his future ones. Hurting Trevor, dying, or, most often, both.

Trevor, in the past, didn’t sleep a lot either. Some nightmares, sure, but mostly from the drugs coursing through his veins at any given time. Since Michael and him got together and he started working on being clean, he’s gotten a bit more sleep than the usual.

The same can be said for Michael, though. Sleeping next to Trevor has helped tremendously, especially for his Trevor-themed nightmares. Knowing he’ll wake up next to the man is comforting.

Because of their shaky sleep schedule, they both take turns being the big spoon/little spoon depending on who needs what.

Trevor gently nudges Michael, who’s restlessly tossing around. “Mikey … Mikey.”

Michael’s eyes fly open, and Trevor grabs his arms to stop them from reaching for the gun by the bed.

The dark room stays silent for a minute as Michael’s breathing levels out before he sighs. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

Trevor gives a noncommittal hum. “You haven’t had a dream like that in awhile.”

“Yeah, we’ve been sleepin’ good recently, huh?”

Trevor puts his arms around Michael, feeling his bare chest rise and fall steadily. “Yeah, sure have. What were you dreamin’ about?”

“Just … North Yankton,” Michael admits, pulling Trevor close. “Being back there — what could have happened, I guess.”

“There’s no use thinking about the past since we can’t change it. Ain’t that what your new shrink said?”

“She said I should let it go,” he corrects. “But I can’t.”

Trevor frowns, tracing circles on Michael’s chest. “Why not? Still sad you missed your opportunity to put me down?

“Knock it off,” Michael grabs his hand, scratching where Trevor was lightly brushing before. “And that ain’t funny, T.”

Trevor rolls his eyes but decides not to push it. “Look, sugar, we all have things we regret. But we’re here now, and that’s what matters, right? We’ve got your spoiled kids, Franklin, Lamar, hell, even Lester. We’re good.”

“I know,” Michael says quietly, agreeing. “I really am sorry, though. For a lot shit.”

“Yeah, me too. For a lot of shit.”

Michael leans down and kisses Trevor’s head before pulling the blankets up over them again and going back to sleep.

When they can’t sleep, it’s usually filled with just that — banter, soft comforts, and an insult or two so the other can feel right at home. It’s not always picture perfect, but they wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

#michael de santa #michael townley #trikey #trevor philips #ask response

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