almostgenerallyalways

[almostgenerallyalways]

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[almostgenerallyalways]

Bad Faith Part Two

Part One | Masterlist

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+. Minors, kindly get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Read this over six times but there are probably twenty typos that I'll spot the second I hit post, so. Anyway! Welcome to part two of two!! Thank you for reading 💖

Length: 14.2k

Warnings: Angst; fluff! Huzzah!; Reader’s married surname is Hayward; reader is depressed for swaths of the chapter; unhealthy coping mechanisms; lovers to enemies to allies to lovers; explicit sexual content - vaginal sex, oral sex, hate sex, safe sex

Summary: Your life was four walls, a cruddy bed, rickety furniture. You spent too much time awake when you should’ve been sleeping; too much time reminiscing when you should have been moving on; too much time dwelling on the time that you spent with men in your life that probably wouldn’t spare you another thought. 

“Ross. Mike Ross.” 

“Cut the Bond schtick.” 

“I’m a contender.” 

“Not a chance. Besides, we’ve been over this; you’re Q at best.” 

“Could do a lot worse than Desmond Llewelyn or Ben Whishaw—Hang on, you think you’re Bond?” 

Harvey stopped, gesturing over his body sweepingly before scoffing, “Please.”

“Please is right,” Mike muttered, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You always go to this thing?” 

“...I’ve been once or twice.” In truth, Harvey hadn’t been to the New York City Estate and Properties gala in years. He hadn’t had occasion or reason; the last time he had, he’d made sure that she wouldn’t be there before he’d agreed. Tonight his purpose was manifold—drink good champagne, eat good food, and warn Hayward off of pursuing his lawsuits against his client’s property. 

His client. It wasn’t as simple as all that, but these days, he’d managed to separate her from the work. It was clinical—and clinical was exactly what he needed. 

“Did you see the menu for dinner? I didn’t see a menu.” 

“Get your fill of canapes. I’m talking to Hayward and then we’re going.” 

“What?” Mike pouted. “But I thought we were staying for the ceremony.” 

“You thought wrong. Keep your eyes peeled. Sooner we get this conversation over, the sooner we can get away from this den of cobras.” 

“Never have a mongoose when you need one.” Mike nodded over Harvey’s shoulder. “Found Mrs. Hayward.” 

“Thought she didn’t like you calling her that.” 

“She doesn’t, but around here, it might be better to use that rather than use her maiden name and have someone ask me who the hell I’m talking about…You gonna talk to her?” 

“What for?” 

“So she at least knows what suit to look for when she wants to avoid you.” 

Harvey’s chastising glare was met with a wide, smug grin. 

“Come on,” Mike groaned. “You haven’t spoken to her in weeks.” 

“And have you considered that that may be why things have been going so smoothly?” 

“Fine—I’ll give you another reason you should say hi to her.” 

“You better make it a good one this time.” 

“Jessica is catching on to the fact that you haven’t touched this case with a ten foot pole.” 

Harvey winced slightly as he swallowed the last of his champagne. 

“Fine,” He grudgingly conceded, setting the empty champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “Point me.” 

“She’s at your two o’clock.” 

Harvey turned accordingly, pushed out an annoyed sight—and then felt what breath he had left catch in his throat. 

‘Stunning’ was the first word that came to mind, but in his heart, Harvey knew that it didn’t do her justice. For his lingering, abiding annoyance with her, and with them—with the whole goddamn situation—there were moments when Harvey remembered why he’d fallen in love with her in the first place. 

She didn’t want to be there. Harvey didn’t need to ask to know that—it was common sense. But that didn’t stop her from showing her face, from being impeccably dressed, and maintaining what had to be a meticulously constructed poker face. 

“...You do know what staring isn’t talking, right?” 

Mike’s amusement cut into Harvey’s reverie, and he cleared his throat to refocus himself. 

“Keep an eye out for Hayward,” Harvey ordered before he forced himself forward, slowly weaving through the crowd. 

What the hell was he even going to say to her? Hi wasn’t going to cut it; Come here often? Was almost as stupid. How about something about her dress—Whether or not it was new? That had to be safe, neutral ground— 

Harvey had been so focused on what he planned to say that he hadn’t clocked her turning to face him. He chalked it up to panic radar—her hype-sesitivity given the current situation. He stared. She watched. And then—

“Come here often?” 

Damnit. Stupid, sure, but at least it wasn’t hi. 

-- 

“...Annually, at least.”

Was it your imagination, or was Harvey…Nervous? At the very least, he seemed as confused as you were at the fact that he was talking to you. 

“I’m a little surprised that you made a showing,” He admitted. 

“I could say the same for you. Does Jessica have you prospecting clients to get back in the good graces of the real estate department at the firm?” 

Harvey’s eyes narrowed with playful intrigue,and for a moment, you saw a flash of the man that you used to know—the man who gave you that same look when you slipped your panties off and tucked them into his jacket pocket to find later. 

“What did Mike tell you?” 

You shrugged nonchalantly, glancing around. 

“Nothing impor—...Tant.” You trailed off, falling still and quiet as your eyes landed on Steven. 

Well, he was hard to miss. 

Standing at 6’3, with a manufactured tan, swimmer’s build, full head of gracefully graying hair, and veneers that made his smile look like a neatly arranged row of chiclets gum, Steven Hayward was the very picture of the kind of health that only wealth could buy. With the stress of the last few weeks, you knew that you weren’t looking your absolute best. You’d had so many sleepless nights; you’d swapped out your favorite catered meals in favor of cheaper alternatives, or dollar slices of pizza, or ramen from the bodega down the block from your apartment, pulled gently from beneath the cat that seemed to always be napping on the exact flavor that you wanted. 

You were certain that Steven lost no sleep over the decision to divorce you, or to pull the rug out from beneath you. You expected him to be in tip-top shape—but you saw hints of his rage as he grew closer. 

“Oh—Hell,” You mumbled, tipping your head toward Harvey. “You might wanna clear out.” 

“You kidding? I’ve got a front row seat to the prize fight of the century.” 

“Target acquired.”

You frowned at the sound of Mike’s voice, but you didn’t turn to look at him as you muttered, “Target?” 

“Darling.” The term of affection oozed past Steven’s bleached-white teeth. He stopped just a couple of steps from you—not near enough to touch, but close enough to see the anger sparkling in his dishwater gray eyes. A pulse of vindication swept through your chest at the tense smile, and the tight pull of his jaw. 

“Steven,” You greeted cordially.

“I’m surprised to see you this evening.” 

“If I had a nickel.” 

“Oh, but you do. Putting all of those properties up for sale, I expect you plan on having more than a few nickels.” 

“What can I say? A girl’s gotta get by.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” 

“Have you considered unfreezing our joint account?” 

He chuckled humorlessly. “Anything but that.” 

“Then wire me half.”

“You haven't earned half.” 

It was meant to cut you down and lay you out, but you refused to bow to this man publicly when the other attendees must always hold you in such low regard as it was. 

“I agree,” You offered, and before Steven could preen in his false superiority, you clarified: “I deserve more.” 

Steven bristled, shoulders bunching tight. 

“Perhaps I should just take this evening’s expenses out of that half.” 

You furrowed your brow pointedly, shaking your head. 

“Mmm…I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” 

“Really.” 

“Mm…N—...No—?” 

“Perhaps you’ve been so busy hocking your clothes like a dog snuffling for scraps—” Your face flared with embarrassment as Steven pressed on: “But there was meant to be a reception at my penthouse this evening.” 

My penthouse. If it had only been the two of you in that room, you may have slapped him. How had he been able to detach, to force you from his mind and his heart so quickly? Had he ever loved you? Had any man? 

The heat of Harvey’s body suddenly seemed to flare just behind you. 

“Ah!” You nodded sagely, “It’s all coming back to me.” 

“What could have happened there, I wonder?” 

“You must not have taken care.” 

“Of what?” 

Of me. “Of anything.” 

Steven took you in for another long, cruel moment before he jutted his chin over your shoulder. 

“Friends of yours?” 

Ah yes. Your personal legal peanut gallery. You glanced back to confirm their positioning before raising your hand to gesture: 

“This is Mike Ross.” The name seemed to knock something loose in Steven’s mind as he shook Mike’s hand. 

“Ah, Mr. Ross. I saw your name on some documentation this morning.” 

“You’re about to see it a lot more, Mr. Hayward.” 

“And this is Harvey Specter.” 

Your stomach lurched as Steve’s eyes widened slightly, lips curling into a smile. 

“This is Harvey Specter?” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he proffered his hand. ”I didn’t realize I sent you the worst possible port in this storm.” 

“You didn’t,” Harvey insisted, grasping Steven’s hand firmly. “You sent her to the best.” 

“Try not to drop her this time. My arms aren’t open anymore.” 

Your hands tightened where they were clasped around one another. You forced yourself to keep your gaze set stalwartly on Steven, rather than watch the contentious (and no doubt, painful) handshake that the two of them were sharing. 

“Well,” You chirped. “This was a lovely little catch-up.” 

“Yes,” Harvey chimed in, finally extricating his hand from Steven’s and tucking it into his pocket. “We must do it again sometime. Preferably at a deposition.” 

“Maybe in court,” Mike added. You had to fight down a smile at the sudden swell of support, and a wave of warmth that swept through you. Steven’s eyes narrowed just a touch more before he nodded. 

“I do hope you’ll stay for my speech.” 

“Who’d you have write it for you this time?” You asked. 

“I took a crack at writing it myself.” 

If that was true, it was sure to be a mess and a half. You always had been the one to draft his speeches or remarks—or you paired down any drafts sent over by the agency’s PR department. 

“I look forward to it.” 

Steven gave you one last look before he turned away, slapping on his businessman smile as he went, and raising a hand to signal someone like a politician trying to garner votes. 

“...Why didn’t you mention the forgery charges?” Mike asked. 

“It’s too soon to tip our hand...What table are you sitting at?”

“Thirteen,” You sighed. 

“Lucky number,” Mike muttered. 

“Go change our place cards,” Harvey ordered. “Put us on either side of her.” 

You whirled around to face him, stunned at the tight irritation pinching his features. 

“So we are staying for dinner?” Mike grinned. Harvey blinked flatly at him before reiterating: “Go.” 

You watched Mike duck through the crowd, heading for the dining room.

“Were you not going to stay for dinner?” 

“I’ve gotta eat some time. Come on,” Harvey nudged your arm with his, “Buy me a drink.” 

“It’s an open bar.” 

“Good. Then it won’t break the bank.” 

The press of Harvey’s warm hand to your lower back was far more steadying than it should have been, and it managed to dampen the enraged fire in your belly. 

“How’s that good faith deposit doing, anyway?” 

“I threw 98% of it into an HYSA.” 

“Smart move.” 

“I should’ve made moves like it sooner.” 

“Better late than never.” 

“I guess.” 

“...You don’t have to stay for dinner.” 

“We’re going to.” 

“On either side of me as well, I’m flattered. I wasn’t planning on having guard dogs this evening.” 

“As long as you don’t try to keep us on short leashes.” 

“Depends on whether you plan on doing more barking or biting this evening.” 

“I’ve barked enough for now.” 

“Biting?” 

“If you play your cards right, sure.” 

You didn’t bother to hide your open shock at the blatant implication, but when you looked at Harvey, you found him giving you a surprisingly warm smile. 

“Looks like speaking with Steven has put a little pep in your step, Mr. Specter.” 

“I wouldn’t say that.” 

“What did?”

Harvey leaned heavily against the bar, focus set elsewhere as he tried to catch the bartender’s eye. 

“You and I both know that this is going to be a long road. I like a good fight.” 

“You don’t say.” 

“It’s important to me that you’re ready for it, too.” 

You nodded a little. “It may also be prudent for us to keep that fight directed at Steven, and not toward one another.” 

Harvey took the two proffered champagne flutes, passing you one and holding it up to cheers: 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

-- 

It wasn’t perfect right away. You and Harvey still butt heads from time to time. On the purchases that the judges ruled that you were able to move forward with, you disagreed over terms—purchase price, contingencies, negotiations. But the knots unpicked sooner and sooner, and you reached resolutions faster. Mike hardly had to intervene anymore. Harvey gave Jessica status updates openly, and you abidingly ignored the smug, self-satisfied smiles that she gave you as you left her office. 

With the service and tenancy contracts, the two apartment building sales that aren’t mired in paperwork still chugged along slowly. You knew that it was protocol, but it was excruciating. You felt ill every time you got an email from Mike or Harvey, expecting correspondence that spelled disaster. Every little bit of good news only brought marginal relief. 

You spent most of your days in your apartment, packaging clothing or jewelry that you’d sold online. You got your packages sent off by five in the evening, and the rest of your night was your own—though it often ended similarly. Your logical mind often gave over to your emotions in the evening, and you allowed yourself to slip into quiet, depressed oblivion. The methods varied—slurping down two packets worth of dollar-pack ramen, and chasing that with a few bottles of beer as one of your favorite shows played in the background; curling up in your bed and staring at the ceiling at 8 PM, and laying wide awake with your mind racing until the sun came up; hunting through property listings online and plotting a comeback that felt like it would never come.

You never had visitors. Aaron was so entrenched at work that you  only got the odd text from him. Your former friends seemed to have further aligned themselves with Steven after his triumphant speech at the gala—during  which he had gone out of his way to omit any mention of you from his historical record. You had avoided seeing much of Jessica outside of the office, certain that she would council you on a good divorce lawyer, or encourage you to begin dating, or level another lecture about the stupidity with which you had bungled your last marriage.

For as well as you knew she meant, you didn’t have the time or patience—and some little part of you, some stupid, naïve part that knew well enough that the war was already lost, was convinced that Steven would change his mind.

It was unlikely, considering the magnitude of his cruelty over the last couple of months, and further exacerbated by your actions before the gala. Steven would not let you back into his arms, his home, or his heart. You didn’t truly want to be let back into his arms, or his heart, but you missed his home. You had taken such care in the planning, the curation, the furnishing, the upkeep. You were proud of it. You had been happy, and comfortable, and so goddamn foolish.

Now you were tired, and lonely, and you spent so much of your day feeling stupid. 

Sometimes, when the wind blew just a little too hard and rattled the flimsy windows, you let the sound of it cover your sobs against the paper-thin walls that connected you to your neighbor’s apartment (you’d learned just how much sound bled through when you first became privy to your neighbor’s light argument, which had then turned into a full-on shouting match. They’d sounded like they were in the same damn room with you, wall be damned).

It was one such sob session that you managed to hear someone knock on your door. You sniffled, shifting on your bed. You were certain that the sound was from next door, or that you’d misheard the rattle of the window. But when you heard the second, insistent round of knocks, the source couldn’t be mistaken. You sniffled, setting your beer aside onto the bedside table crowded with empties and pushing yourself off of the bed. You swiped haphazardly at the tears on your face as you walked over to it, calling out, “Alright, for fuckssake!” When a third round of knocks rapped against the door.

You threw it open, finally, wincing at the invasive flash of the flickering fluorescent hall light. You weren’t sure what was worse: the flickering, harsh strobe, or Harvey’s stunned confusion.

It may have been a tie.

“…What is it?” You mumbled.

“Have you been crying?”

“Little bit.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Getting there.”

“…Get dressed.”

“What?”

“Get dressed,” Harvey insisted, nodding over your shoulder. “We’re going out.”

“Harvey, I’m really not in the mood,” You sniffled.

“We won’t go far.”

“Then why are we going at all?”

Harvey opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a sudden crash! and the swell of yelling voices from next door. His eyes darted toward it before he nodded.

“I’m not listening to that all night.”

“Who the hell says you’re going to be here more than five minutes?”

Your heart stuttered as Harvey’s hands planted firmly on your hips, steering you back into your studio before he nudged the door shut with his foot.

“Get dressed. And hurry up.”

You weren’t sure what it was—his touch, his firm insistence, or your own distaste for your screaming neighbors—but you turned around and began dutifully rifling through one of your remaining trash bags of clothing.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a diner around the corner.”

“A diner? How down heel of you, Mr. Specter.”

“I can appreciate the simple things.”

You snorted, straightening with a pair of jeans and a sweater. “Since when.” You glanced guardedly toward him before you nodded him toward the door. “Turn around.”

--  

“You can afford better than that place, you know.” 

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you shoved a handful of cheese fries in your mouth and leaned back to chew with laborious slowness. You expected Harvey to fill the silence, but he didn’t. He just watched, and waited, and stared at you until you swallowed. You nudged the plate toward him, offering: “Want one?” 

 You avoided his openly chastising gaze, tired of the fact that it was the only look you get from most of the lawyers in your life these days. 

“You have that good faith deposit.” 

“I told you where it went.” 

“The brownstone payment is on the edge of clearing escrow. Look for somewhere else to live.” 

“Not yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not a good idea.” 

“Steven isn’t going to weasel into every potential deal and hold it up.” 

“Forgive me for my skepticism, but I don’t exactly have many friends in this city anymore.” 

“...Are you planning on going somewhere else?” 

You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t crossed your mind. There were cities here you could rebuild your life and your practices, places where you were sure Steven wouldn’t bother to try and strike down your attempts to rebuild your life. 

“Maybe,” You admitted. “I liked Cambridge.” 

Harvey’s lips twitched with a gentle, regretful smile. It was his turn to reach out and swipe a few fries and chow down. 

“Realty up there is pricey,” You added. “Could make a polite killing on student housing.” 

“How does one make a polite killing?” 

“Decent rent and coin-operated laundry. Maybe some paid parking, a few overpriced but conveniently placed vending machines.” 

“Redbull?” 

“I was just thinking about snacks, but you know what, Redbull isn’t a bad idea.” You reached out, picking up a fry and drawing it through the splodge of ketchup remaining at the edge of the plate. “Why did you come over?” 

“I wanted to let you know that the inspections are finished.” 

“On which?” 

“The properties that you didn’t know about.” 

“Anything stand out?” 

“A foundational issue on one of the apartment buildings, but it doesn’t cost enough that it should’ve stopped work.” 

“What about the others?” 

“Nothing that popped as catastrophic.” 

“You have the print-outs?” 

“In my car.” 

“Why are they in there?” 

“I was going to offer to take you for a drink, but you seemed to beat me to it.” 

You scoffed, shifting in your seat. “Don’t get all high and mighty on me, Specter.” 

“You do that often?” 

“What, drink?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you accusing me of having a problem?” 

“I’m asking if you do that often.” 

“Once in a while.” 

“New for you?” 

“Relatively.” 

Harvey eyed you critically for a few moments before he nodded. “Call me the next time you want to have a drink.” 

“So you can talk me out of it?” 

“So you at least don’t do it alone.”

“I’m usually not in a talking mood when it happens.” 

“We don’t have to talk.” 

“Oh, please. As if you don’t love the sound of your own voice.” 

“Call me anyway.” 

You were quiet for a moment before you nodded. “You know, the thought of you dropping by may just be an effective suppressant.” 

Harvey’s smile widened a little. “Do you want to put the other houses on the market?” 

“I want to walk through the apartment buildings myself before I go through them.” 

“What about the ones in the Hamptons and the Cape?” 

“I’ll drive up.” 

“And Gstaad?” 

“A little trickier.” 

“Could bill it.” 

“I doubt it.” 

“You could, under discovery.” 

“This would not be covered under discovery.” 

“How would you know that?” 

“I’m sorry, remind me who used to quiz you for the bar?” 

Harvey scoffed softly, averting his gaze to the diner counter. “Well, this may surprise you, but a few laws have changed since then.” 

“And this may surprise you, but not only am I aware of that, I’ve also been pretty deeply entwined with lawyers since then. So I’m pretty comfortable making that assertion.” 

“And this? You think I’m not billing for this?” 

“Oh, I hope you are. I hope you bill for every second that it took you to walk up the steps to my apartment. I want Jessica to pay for my cheese fries. You know why?” 

“Because it would kill her?”

“It would drive her nuts.” 

“I can’t wait to give her the itemized total.” 

“I await the enraged phone call.” 

-- 

“You don’t have to walk me back up, you know."

“Sure I do. Gotta work off those fries. Besides, I’m billing for this until I officially drop you off.” 

You rolled your eyes, nudging Harvey’s shoulder with yours. Your depressed, tear-ridden, sobbing buzz had worn off over the course of dinner, and you didn’t think that the mood would creep back in once you were alone again. 

“I’ll walk through the apartment buildings tomorrow and see if I can get up to the Cape at some point in the next couple of weeks. The pictures and notes from the inspection look promising. If I dip into the good faith deposit, maybe I could get the Cape Cod house fixed up and sold before the summer.” 

“Or you could keep it as a rental property.” 

“Mm.” “You always liked the Cape in the winter…For some reason.” 

“I kinda like when it’s all grey and gloomy…and quiet.” 

“Be a good base for your Cambridge operation.” 

“Oh, please,” You chuckled. “It’s not even close. The red line doesn’t exactly go all the way to Hyannis.” 

The two of you slowed as you neared your landing, listening closely. 

“...Think the coast is clear?” Harvey murmured. 

“For now, at least.” You fished into your pocket for your keys. “Thanks for dinner.” 

“Sure. Remember what I said.” 

“I will.” 

“Call me if you need anything.” 

Anything. That was new. You nodded, gaze set on your keys as he turned to go back downstairs. 

“...Harvey?” 

“Yeah?” He stopped just a few steps away, and you had to scrounge up your courage to turn and look at him again. 

“I don’t, um…” You swallowed thickly. “I’m gonna wanna talk about it.” You watched Harvey’s face shift with grim understanding. 

“I don’t want to litigate that.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” 

“Not like this.” 

“Not tonight,” You reiterated, “But…Sometime. Please.” 

Harvey’s jaw went tight, but he gave you a short, firm nod before he turned away. You watched him round the corner, and listened until his footsteps faded and the front door opened downstairs. 

--  

The apartment buildings weren’t anything special. Stripped of most of their insulation, and with several of the windows already removed, the wind that pushed through them made the buildings sound like they were breathing. It was eerie, and chilly. You tightened your coat around yourself as you went from floor to floor, eyeing damaged pipes, areas where someone seems to have come in and rooted around for copper wiring, and the billowing plastic that marks off some doors that have been removed. 

The paperwork on this building listed the purchase date as nearly a year ago. 

A year ago, you and Steven had been discussing expanding your current operations. Maybe he hadn’t gotten sick of you yet. Maybe he’d bought you the buildings as a present and stopped work when things turned sour…Whenever that had been. 

There had been signs, sure, but Steven always had been temperamental. 

You pushed the thought away as you drew in a deep breath, turning toward the stairs. It wouldn’t do to overthink this just now. If needed, you could panic looking at the Hamptons, or Cape Cod…Or Gstaad, if you ever found a way to get to Gstaad. 

You reached into your pocket as your phone buzzed, drawing it out to find an incoming call. You groaned, stomping your foot petulantly before you raised it to your ear. 

“Jessica, I’m a little busy—” 

“I need you to come into the office.” 

Your fingers tightened around your phone as your palm began to sweat. 

“What happened?” 

“I’d rather discuss this in person.” “Jessica.” 

“Come to the office.” 

She hung up without another word. You swallowed thickly, lowering your phone and watching her call blink and then disappear. If she wasn’t willing to discuss it over the phone, whatever it was had to be very, very bad. 

-- 

“Cheese fries?” 

“Jessica,” You groaned, “Come on, there is no way that that’s why you called me here.” 

“No, it isn’t. But I’d like to remind you that you should remain fighting fit and cheese fries are not the way to do it.” 

“My life has fallen apart and dipped into a moderately humiliating place. I think I’m allowed to have a few cheese fries. Why did you tell me to come in.” 

“I have someone that I would like you to meet.” 

“I’m not going to start dating anyone now.” 

“Well, we can attack that another time. This is for your defense.” 

“Harvey’s on that.” 

“Your divorce.” 

“You know that I can’t afford a defense right now.” 

“I don’t mind getting a start while you get the pieces in place.” 

The man’s voice caught you off-guard, and you turned to find a man leaning in the doorway. Your brow furrowed a touch as you took him in—the long lean of his body, the neatly fitted charcoal suit and sky-blue tie, the curl of his dark hair, the twinkle of his warm chestnut eyes, and his small, intrigued smile. 

“Well that’s very kind of you, whoever the hell you are, but I don’t exactly have anything on the board right now.” 

“The fact that you even have a board is encouraging.” 

“...This metaphor is beginning to exhaust me.” 

“This,” Jessica stepped past you to gesture the man deeper into the room, “Is David Alford.” 

“Alford?” You repeated. “Like the plea?” 

“No relation. What would you know about an Alford plea?” 

“I know of it.” 

“How’s that?” 

“Well, I used to date a lawyer.” 

“Lucky guy.” 

“I don’t think he’d agree with you, as evidenced by the fact that he is no longer my boyfriend.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

You shook his hand lightly, still wary from the ambush. 

“Look, Mr. Alford—” 

“David, please.” 

“—I don’t know what Jessica’s told you about my situation—” 

“She didn’t have to tell me much. Forgive my bluntness, but your name has come up in our circles over the last couple of weeks.” 

“Well, forgive my bluntness, but it’s not my circle anymore.” 

“It could be again.” 

“Are you going to get me a circle back in the divorce?” 

“I’m gonna get you whatever the hell you want in your divorce.” 

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, unable to help yourself. 

“O-kay,” You lowered your hand. 

“Why don’t I see what we can do about getting some coffee,” Jessica offered. “You two talk.” 

Your brows furrowed as she waved the two of you more deeply inside. Jessica, at least pretending to get coffee? Damn, she really did want the two of you to talk. You gave David a polite smile as you lowered yourself to sit.

“I’m sorry she dragged you in here.” 

“Wasn’t much of a drag. My office is a block away.” 

“Well, then I’m glad you haven’t come far for nothing.” 

“Nothing?” His brows jumped as he sat beside you. “I don’t understand.” 

“I’m not currently looking for a divorce lawyer.” 

“You need one.” 

“That is beyond the point, Mr—” 

“David.” 

“...Mister David,” You bit out pointedly, and fought back a wave of annoyance at his amused smile. “I’m not sure how much Jessica has told you, but there are a lot of things up in the air right now. I’ve socked away some money for my defense, but not enough.” 

“How would you know what’s enough?” 

“...Let’s pretend that I don’t know anything about the law, or the legal quagmire that I’ve gotten myself into. Let’s pretend that all I know about my soon to be ex-husband’s business is that he has a lot more money than I do. The two of us went into our marriage with about 600 bucks and a dream held together with tape and spit. I have watched, and I have helped my husband build up his business for the last eleven years. I have signed contracts, I have signed purchase orders, I have signed mortgages, I have signed deeds. Even if I wasn’t paying attention to what I was signing, I would know that Steven has amassed a lot of cash, a massive legal team, as well as a significant number of holdings—in both our names. He has a lot of power in this equation, and I do not. Whatever comes down the pike, it is going to be a protracted legal battle. If I was optimistic, I would figure that this would take about a year, but I’m not, and I know that it could take a few.”  

David’s dark eyes darted fascinatedly across your face before he offered: “But you do know a lot about Mr. Hayward’s business.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Because it was your business, too.” 

You averted your gaze from him as that washed over you. His acknowledgement made your heart knock hollowly against your ribs, and it took all of your strength not to slouch dejectedly in your chair. 

“...Yes,” You agreed. “It was.” “I understand that you’re discouraged. I would be, too, a lot of women are in your position.” 

“Exactly what position is that, Mister David.” 

His smile flattened with nerves, and he let out a huffed, joyless laugh. 

“I mean, having been served—” 

“A piping-hot plate of out on my ass?” 

“If that’s what you’d like to call it—”

“I call it that because that’s what it is, not because I like it that way.”

“I understand. Look,” David shifted in his seat, twisting to face you a little more. “I think that regardless of when you get your pieces in place, you have a real case here. I think I can get you half.” 

If you had a touch less decorum, you would have jumped out of your seat and screamed—both from the excitement, and the certainty that David Alford was out of his mind. Instead, you blinked twice, and once you managed to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, asked:

“Half?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“There is no way.” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“I don’t think I would, because I’m almost certain that’s impossible.” 

“Well, it certainly would be before.” 

“What exactly has changed?” 

“You didn’t know me. You do now.” 

You smiled in spite of yourself at the brash, almost fearless way that he said it. As skeptical as you were, you knew that this was exactly what you needed: someone as bold, confident, and fearless as—

“What a cozy little conference this is.” 

You turned back at the sound of Harvey’s voice, smiling a little. “Looking to join the fun?” 

“If I can hazard a guess at Jessica’s matchmaking, Alford is the one joining the fun.” 

“Specter,” David greeted, pushing himself out of his seat. “Haven’t seen you at the squash courts recently.” 

“I’ve been trolling the back nine,” Harvey offered, shaking David’s hand. “Nice to see you, Pleas and thank you.” 

Your brow furrowed at the term. “What?” 

“It’s what some of the guys at the club call me. You know, my name—” 

“Alford pleas and thank you.” You scrubbed your hand across your brow. “God, that’s dumb.” 

“We can’t all be queens of quip.” 

“You poor things,” You shot back scathingly. Harvey shot you a wink before turning back to David. 

“So, David, whaddaya say?” Harvey plied. “You filling the gap?” 

“Yeah, I’d love to fill ‘er in.” 

You didn’t miss his innuendo, nor the speculative, open, sweeping gaze that David leveled at you. Your brows inched toward your hairline, stunned at his brazenness. Surely you hadn’t seen it right—

“Coffee?” 

Your focus was broken at the sound of Jessica’s voice, and the sight of a coffee tray being wheeled in behind her. You let yourself be busied by it. You focused on your coffee, made it the way you liked, and let Jessica and David and Harvey talk about what you could reasonably expect out of the divorce battle. 

Reasonably, as if this entire situation hadn’t been insanely unreasonable. 

But you let yourself sit, and listen, and save your speculation for the train ride home. 

You must’ve read his look wrong, or misunderstood. He didn’t mean it like that. 

And even if he did, finding that look intriguing was incredibly appropriate. But it didn’t matter! Because he didn’t mean it like that. 

…And even if he did, it was probably just something that he tried to bring you on board. But it didn’t matter, because he did not mean it like that. 

…

Though if he did, it really wouldn’t matter, because it would be grounds for him to be disbarred. Nothing was going to happen…Even if you did find him attractive, and found his blunt approach and self-assured nature very, very hot. 

But you were not going to fuck him.

--  

“Don’t fuck him.” 

You had expected the warning to come from Jessica, but to hear it from Harvey of all goddamn people made you gape at him in shock. He just gave you a knowing look before he turned back toward the beer that he was opening. 

Your urge to have a drink that evening hadn’t been strong, but it had been there, and it had made you think of Harvey’s offer from the day before. You hadn’t expected such a quick response to your simple text of ‘Beer?’, but he had turned up a mere half hour later, a fresh six pack in hand. He had shrugged off his jacket, tossed it on to your bed, and walked over to your kitchenette—where he proceeded to say the most heinous thing.

“Excuse me?” You finally managed. 

“You heard me.” 

“I don’t think I did, actually, not properly, because it sounded like you just gave me an order that you had no business giving.” 

“I have plenty of business.” 

“No—” 

“Don’t—” 

“No no no, you do not, not here, and not like that.” 

“I’m just saying,” Harvey turned from the counter, planting his hand on the cruddy formica, “That I know—” 

“Do not say that you know me.” 

His expression darkened, and you watched as he drew in a deep breath. “I know him.” 

“...He has to be good, or Jessica wouldn’t have pulled him on to my case.” 

“He’s a good lawyer, but he’s a scuzzy asshole.” 

“I know the type.” 

“You think I’m a scuzzy asshole?” 

Your gut dropped at the hint of anger seeping into his tone. 

“I meant Steven.” 

Harvey turned away, hand curling into a fist and knocking lightly on the counter. 

“Just…Be careful with him.” 

“You are the last person that has any right to lecture me on the care that I ought to take with the men in my life.”

“I’m not lecturing you—” 

“No, you’re warning me off, like a little kid that’s playing too close to an electric fence.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Fine by me, as long as you don’t fuck David.” “Alright, you know what,” You pushed off of your bed, striding over to your door. “Get out.” 

“We’re not done talking about this.” 

“Yes, we are. Get out.” 

“We’re not done until—” 

“We’re done when I say we’re done!” You began to yank your door open. Harvey was across your small space in a moment, palm flat against the door as he shoved it shut behind you. 

“And what the hell gives you the right to decide that?” 

“Because it’s my turn!” You barked. “I get to decide when we’re done now.” 

“It stopped being your turn when you stormed out of my office.” 

“Then make the damn decision yourself and get the fuck out of my apartment!” 

“If you want to ruin that man’s career and your chances of getting anything that you want out of your divorce, you go right ahead.” 

“I am not going to fuck him, and I’m not going to get him disbarred, you ass.” 

“Good.” 

“And I deeply resent the implication that I’m so sex-starved and desperate that I’m willing to fuck anyone who gives me any goddamn attention.” 

“I did not—” 

“Yes, you did, you did the second you opened your mouth. By rights, if that’s your view of me, I should’ve tried to not only fuck Mike, but you, of all people.” 

“I never implied that you were sex starved, but if you were, you could do a lot worse than Mike—” 

“Oh, really—” 

“And a helluva lot worse than me.” 

“Oh, please! There is no way that I could do worse than you. There are dictators that I’d sooner fall into bed with.” 

“If all you’re cutting out is the bed, I can work with the rest.” 

You could’ve slapped him. He was close enough, and you could just imagine it—the way the flush of red would look spreading across his cheek. 

“What makes you think I’d ever allow you anywhere near me again, Specter?” 

“I’m pretty damn close now.” He shifted closer, stopping as the tips of his shoes brushed your socked feet.

“Against your better judgment.” 

“You want to put me in my place, sweetheart, you go right ahead.” 

“Don't call me that.” 

“Why not.” 

“Don’t you dare call me that.” 

“Give me a good reason not to.” 

“You haven’t earned it back.” 

“Any idea of how I might do that?” 

You bit him. You grasped his tie, tugged him in, and sank your teeth into his lower lip. You expected an argument, but Harvey just groaned, grasping you by the hips and shoving you back against the door. You released his lip, groaning as he swept his tongue into your mouth. Your hand unwound from his tie, breath leaving you in harsh puffs as Harvey’s smearing kisses trailed down your jaw to your neck. You arched up into his touch as his hands slipped under your t-shirt, palming and squeezing whatever skin he could reach. You reached down, hands fumbling with nerves and heat as you worked off his belt. 

Every time your mind began to race, Harvey managed to quiet it, with his teasing tongue, and nipping teeth, and grasping fingers. For all of his big talk about getting David disbarred, Harvey suddenly seemed to not give a damn about his own career—

You whined as Harvey yanked down the cup of your bra, knuckles toying with your pebbling nipple. You palmed his hardening cock through the soft fabric of his trousers, thrilling in his moan, and the press of his hips up against your touch. His fingers snaked beneath the band of your sweatpants, sweeping against your clit before swiping slower. 

“You’re already so goddamn wet,” He growled, easing a finger into you. You pressed into his touch, gritting your teeth as he goaded: “You like pissing me off this much?” 

“Condom?”

“Left pocket.” 

You reached into his pocket, brushing against his cock as you drew out the foil packet. Why wasn’t it tucked somewhere discreet, like his wallet? You pushed the thought away as you ripped the foil packet open with your teeth. Harvey let go of you just long enough to shove his pants down around his thighs, then push your sweatpants. 

“Turn around.” 

You passed him the condom before doing as you were told, leaning heavily against the door. You expected a stretch, but slick heat pressed between your spread thighs. Your mouth dropped open in a moan, eyes squeezing shut as Harvey lapped and laved your slick, heated skin. You reached back, fingers scrabbling to grasp the neat coif of his hair. 

“Harvey, damnit,” You gasped. “Just fuck me already.” 

He groaned in dissent, giving your lips one more sucking kiss before straightening fully. You felt one palm smooth over to your thigh, and saw the other rest against the door as he eased into you. Your lips parted with a gentle whine at the pleasurable throb of his cock stretching you. You planted your hand on the door beside his, steadying yourself as you adjusted.

He didn’t give you long. Harvey drew back before his hips snapped sharply. You pressed your cheek to the door, skin growing clammy between the flimsy particleboard and the hot panting of your breath. The harsh slam of his hips forced your body uncomfortably against the door. You let your eyes slide closed as Harvey’s hands covered yours, drawing them just above your head as he intertwined your fingers. The door rattled in the frame with each thrust. You whimpered as Harvey pressed his face into your neck, felt his hot breath and the rumble of his groans against your skin. 

Your thighs ached, and your heart pounded, and your cunt throbbed, and goddamn it felt so fucking good. 

The swell of your orgasm rose and crested sharply, and you didn’t bother to hide the shuddering of your moan, your grip tightening on Harvey's hands. He followed close behind, hips pounding and juddering before he slowed. The two of you stood still for a few long moments, listening to one another’s panting and coming down. Harvey carefully extricated your hands from yours, drawing away and leaving you half-bare and chilly against the door.

“...I need a beer,” Harvey muttered, voice hoarse.

“You left one on the counter.” 

“You want one?” 

“Yeah.” 

You reach down, tugging up your sweatpants as you gently peel yourself back from the door. 

“It’s probably going to be lukewarm,” Harvey warned.

“I don’t care.” You drew in a shaky breath as you walked back toward your bed. You’d already sworn that you wouldn’t let him into it. You lowered yourself to sit beside it, looking at the door as the swirl of confused thoughts shifted back to the fore. You watched Harvey tie off the condom and drop it into your trash bin. You tracked his movement—from cleaning up, to doing up his pants, to washing his hands. You didn’t bother to hide your open speculation as he opened another beer, then took the two up. You drew your legs together, biting your lip as your slick cunt pulsed.

Harvey lowered himself to sit beside you, holding a beer out and lightly knocking his against yours before you each took a drink. You winced a little at the taste. You should’ve listened to him—the taste of lukewarm beer was not appetizing. You saw Harvey reach up out of the corner of your eye as he loosened his tie. 

“...What was that about getting someone disbarred?” 

“Shuddup.” There was no heat to how he said it, and that was probably why it made you snort a laugh. 

“Harvey?” 

“What.” 

“Did you come over planning to fuck me?” 

“What?” 

“Why was there a condom in your pocket?” 

“I had a date.” 

Your brow furrowed as you took that in. 

“...When?”

“Tonight.” 

“Why aren’t you there?” 

“Because I’m here.” 

Harvey Specter broke a date. Harvey Specter broke a date for you. You leaned back against the bed again, biting the inside of your cheek to quell a wide grin. 

“Don’t read into it,” He added. 

“I’m not reading into anything…Apart from the fact that you seemed pretty sure you were going to get laid.” 

“I was.” 

“Arrange for that, did you?” 

“No need to arrange anything. I’m just good like that.” 

“Well. Can’t argue with that. For the record—” 

“What.” 

“You really have no say over who I do and don’t fuck.” 

“I know.” 

“Good.” 

“...You going to the Hamptons next weekend?” 

“Yeah.” “How are you getting up there?” 

“I was going to take the train.”

“I could give you a ride.” 

“You already have.” You cast Harvey a knowing smile, grin widening as he shot you a sidelong, unimpressed glance. Your smile turned to giggles as Harvey seemed to smile in spite of himself. 

“You really think we could stand to be in the car with one another for more than twenty minutes?” You prodded. 

“If not, we could always pull over and work out our differences.” 

“Pfft. No other weekend plans?” 

“Nope.” 

“Didn’t promise a rain check?” 

“Didn’t specify when it might happen.” 

“Mm. And why would you want to come with me?” 

“Steven could be watching those properties, waiting for you to turn up. You could benefit from having back up.” 

“You make it sound terribly sinister. Have you figured out how to bill Gstaad yet?” 

“I’m working on it.”

“Keep me updated.” 

“Sure.” 

“I don’t mean for, you know—I don’t want a vacation.”

“You’ve earned one.” 

“Whatever, I just don’t like to put something on the market without doing a walk-through myself.” 

“I understand.” 

You leaned back against the bed a little more heavily, gaze wandering toward the door, where a little bit of your makeup was smeared from the press of your cheek. 

“...Harvey?”

“Mm?” 

“Can we talk about it?” 

“The sex or the other thing?” 

“The other thing.” 

“I’ve already had one fight with you today. I don’t think I have the capacity for two...Do you?”

You shook your head. 

“Some other time,” He promised. 

“Sure.” 

-- 

You had seen the paperwork and the inspector’s notes, but to see the house in the Hamptons was a whole other story. The long gravel driveway was lined with a horse fence on the left, and a plain wood fence on the right. You didn’t bother to hide your open, stunned stares as you passed the stables. It was hardly the first time you’d seen a home like it, but it was unfathomable that Steven seemed to have not only put the house in your name, but completely forgotten about it. 

Harvey pulled the car into the neatly manicured lot. 

“Do you want to start in the stables, the house, the pool, the tennis court…?” He shut the car off, waiting for your reply. You shook your head. 

“I only care about the house,” You admitted. 

“So we won’t be walking the expansive lawns? I brought my sneakers.” 

“Do I even want to know how expensive those sneakers are?” 

“They’re worth more than your apartment.” 

“I’m willing to believe that.” You climbed out of the car, eyeing the inspector’s report as you rounded toward the front steps. You turned from the paperwork to take in the house’s appearance more clearly. It was…Ugly. The large, L-shaped, gray-brick building had the modernistic development of the fast-casual apartment buildings in the city, with some of the gauche touches of your penthouse, like the expansive floor-to-ceiling covering nearly the entirety of the bottom of the floor. You could see a balcony on the left side of the house, and another around the other end of the L. 

“...This is different.” 

“It’s criminal,” You muttered. 

“Are you saying that because he forged your signature, or because it’s ugly as sin?” 

“Both. Come on.” 

You walked up to the front door, punching in the code that the realtor had given you to get the door open. 

The foyer was as flat and uninspired as the outside of the house—white marble floors, grey walls, and sterling silver furnishings. You grimaced as you looked around. 

“Are we doing a complete walk through of this millennial grey gulag?”

“If you’re going to hate it, you can wait in the car,” You offered, glancing toward Harvey. “Apparently there are fifteen bedrooms and nine bathrooms, and I don’t know how much of your cute commentary I can deal with today.” 

“Seemed to handle it fine in the car.” Harvey turned left before you could say or do anything else, and you followed him, looking down at the property’s map. 

“This place oughta have one of those fricking mall maps with a star labeled ‘You Are Here’,” You grumbled. 

“Now who’s making cute comments.” 

– 

“My feet hurt,” You groaned, plopping onto a boxy, stiff-cushioned couch. 

“You’d think after the last couple of months of living in that walk-up, you’d be in better shape.”

“You’d think.”

“It’s all those cheese fries.”

“Oh—shut up.” 

“So, what do you think?”

“I think we throw it on the market for 18 million and I forget that it ever existed.”

“Why list it in your name, though?”

You shrugged, looking around. “Maybe it was in both our names when he bought it and the outcome was such a disaster he decided to leave my name on it. I think he designed it.”

“Really?” Harvey’s brows rose as he looked around. 

“Oh, god yeah. Steven can be smart, but he’s never really had any design sense. I wound up taking charge on some of our early flip projects because he just didn’t have the eye for it. He always tried, but I kinda wound up following behind and fixing his messes. If I had to guess, he bought this place to show me that he really could do it, and he just…Can’t.”

“Do you think Cape Cod and Gstaad will be the same?” 

“Doubtful. The report for Cape Cod said that the house was originally built in 1950…what. Four?”

“Something like that.” 

“It looks like he gutted it like he did the apartment buildings and realized how much of a project it would be. Gave up on it.” 

“And Gstaad?” 

“Work out how to expense the trip and we can talk.”

Harvey chuckled, wandering closer. “Should we christen it?”

“Christen what?”

“This house.”

“How?”

Harvey’s brows waggled salaciously, and you laughed, pushing yourself off of the couch. “Oh no, Specter. No way—”

“Why not?”

“You wanna christen every room? You don’t have the stamina for that—And I don’t have the patience.” 

“What about just in here?” He curled his arm around your waist, drawing you closer. “On that stupid couch, over the piano…How about up against the windows?” His voice dropped to a murmur. “There’s no one around for miles.” 

You rolled your eyes despite your amusement. 

“If you said that with the Kubrick stare, I’d think you were going all Jack Torrence on me.”

“Heeeeeeeere’s Harvey.”

“Ugh! God, let’s just go,” You pushed out of Harvey’s arms, heading for the door. “It’s kinda creepy being here, you know. Like Steven’s watching.” 

“The house can’t be haunted, he’s not dead.” 

“He is to me.”

–

“When are you planning on going to Cape Cod?” 

“Mm…Probably next week.”

“Driving up?”

“Taking the train.”

“Again with the train.” 

“I don’t have a car and I’m not going to rent one.”

“Are you staying overnight?”

“No.”

“You’re going to go up and back on the train in one day? That is a long day.”

“I can handle it.” 

“You’d be more comfortable in a car.” 

“Yeah, obviously—Eyes on the road, Specter.” You reached out, poking his cheek as he glanced over at you. He batted your hand away lazily before turning back to the road. 

“Why do you always insist on doing things in the most difficult way possible?”

“Because in most cases, the most difficult choice is also the most cost-effective. Efficiencies can be cruel, Harvey.”

“Cruel is an understatement.” 

“I can handle a day on the train.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so, thank you.” 

“Stubborn.” 

“...Do you wanna come up when we get back to my place?”

“What for?” 

You tipped your head to the side, waiting for Harvey to glance over before you teasingly waggled your brows.

“Oh, so now you want to?” 

“I wanted to then! But I couldn’t do it if I felt Steven looming over me. C’mon, Specter,” You reached out, gently teasing your nails along the back of his neck, and grinning as he shifted slightly in his seat. “See if you can get me any more out of breath than walking up six flights of stairs.” 

--  

“Hey, there you are! Jessica needs to—What’s that face for?” Mike’s concern fell away at the sight of Harvey’s self-satisfied smile as he stepped off of the elevator. Harvey gave a dismissive shrug. What the hell was he going to tell Mike? That he’d spent the weekend somewhere other than his place? That he had fallen asleep with her, and remembered how serene it used to be to wake up with her? That they’d hardly left her cruddy apartment—hell, they’d hardly left her bed? 

“Nothing. What were you saying?” 

“Jessica needs to see you.” 

“Right now?” 

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Jessica step out from around the corner, drawing him up short. 

“Yes,” She insisted firmly. “Right now.” 

Harvey had the strange sense of a child being marched to the principal as she led her way to her office. She shut the door behind the two of them, striding past him to her desk. 

“Can this wait?” Harvey hedged. “I’ve got coffee going cold on my desk.” 

“Well then, I’ll make this quick. Did you have a nice time this weekend?"

That should've been his warning. It was a solid leading question, and one that, on any other Monday, he would not have hesitated to answer. His eyes narrowed slightly, before he decided—Yes, she must have known that he drove to the Hamptons. Someone would have told Jessica: Mike was still in the habit of offering updates when he thought they would be helpful.

"Yes," He finally answered.

"Was it a productive trip?"

A second warning. Jessica was a strategist, and Harvey knew that any lawyer worth a damn didn't ask a question that they didn't already know the answer to. Still, he chose a carefully middle-of-the-road answer:

"She was happy to go through the home herself, set a listing price. Hopefully we can get it on the market and on its way as soon as possible.”

Jessica took that in thoughtfully, lips set in a placid smile.

"Were there any outstanding features?"

A third and final warning, but Harvey couldn't help but lean into it:

"Are we talking about the tennis court, the pool, the stables, or the thousand lawns?"

Jessica let out a tepid, flatly amused, "Hm," Before beckoning him closer. "Well if those all caught your eye, it would explain why you missed the cameras."

Harvey froze in his step, blood running cold. There was no way—Cameras? His gaze dropped to the laptop that she turned to face him. The black and white footage was grainy, but clear enough. Harvey watched as he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her into his chest. He could still feel the heat of her body, and the plush slide of her sweater beneath his fingers. He could see the gentle, adoring way that she gazed up at him before she nudged him away, leading the charge out of the house. 

‘It’s kinda creepy being here, you know. Like Steven’s watching.’ He didn’t know how, but she had felt it. 

"Where did that come from."

"I'll give you three guesses."

"Let me explain—"

"Explain what!" Jessica slammed the laptop closed, rounding the desk with self-righteous strides. "Explain what idiotic idea led to you putting on a show?"

"We didn't know that there were cameras."

"How long has this been going on?"

"We only went to see that one house."

Jessica's expression darkened as she shook her head.

"Don't play dumb with me, Harvey," She warned lowly. "How long have you been sleeping with her."

It hit him low in the gut. For a moment, he was too stunned to speak.

"She told you?"

"No, she didn't tell me. She didn't have to. It'll be plain as day to anyone who sees that footage."

"That’s not true, we were just—"

"Just what?"

"I was teasing her! It didn't mean anything."

"If I call and ask her, she'll say the same thing?"

He was certain of it. "Yes."

"Would she swear to it under oath? At a deposition? In court?"

His surety faltered, and his mouth worked wordlessly before he pursed his lips tightly. Jessica shook her head again.

"I am not the only one with access to this. Luckily for you—for both of you—she still has a friend or two on the inside. Aaron Delaney sent this to me before he deleted the original. He works closely with Steven, and has access to a few property accounts. He got an alert on his phone that someone had used the keypad to open the door."

"Has Steven seen it?"

"He isn't sure, but I'm not willing to take that chance. Louis will be taking over the Hayward case, and Mike will be assisting him."

"No, Jessica, that's not happening."

"It is, because I'm telling you that it is. You should be relieved. You never wanted it in the first place."

"Things are different now."

"You're damn right they are! What the hell were you thinking? Both of you?"

"Let me see this case through."

"If you see this through and Hayward does have access to this footage, you could be disbarred. You're going to hand the files over to Louis by the end of the day. He is expecting them. Mike will bring him up to speed and assist him until this mess is cleared up."

Harvey lowered his gaze to the floor as Jessica stepped around him, opening the door and waiting beside it. He curled his hands into fists in his pockets as he strode resignedly from the office.

"And so help you," Jessica warned as he passed, "If I hear that you are holding Louis up in any way."

Harvey only made it a few feet from the office before he pulled his phone out of his pocket, hurriedly dialing her number. It rang once...Twice...Three times...And went to voicemail.

"Damnit," He hissed, lowering the phone to redial. "C'mon, c'mon..." It rang once, "Pick up." Twice...

"Hey you."

"Where are you?"

"What do you mean?" She laughed, "I'm on my way to see Jessica for our check-in."

Fuck.

"How close are you?"

"I just got off of the elevator. Why?"

Harvey whirled around, eyes desperately searching for her through the gaggle of associates, paralegals, and lawyers going about their business.

"She knows."

"What?"

He could hear her frown. Harvey took three steps toward the elevator bay before he saw her come into view—and lock eyes with Jessica. He saw her body go tense, before her shoulders sagged with dejection.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Hell," She sighed before hanging up.

--

"I'm not going to even begin to approach what you may have been thinking—"

"Jessica—"

"—Putting not only your future, Harvey’s future, and the future of this firm in jeopardy."

"I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly."

"We didn't even do anything at the house!"

"That doesn't make the slightest bit of difference."

You slid down in your seat as Jessica paced in front of you, her pace and turn reminiscent of a caged tiger.

"I did you a favor and this is how you repay me?" She finally stilled, nailing you with a cold gaze. You folded further under the crush of her look, so similar to the disbelief that she had leveled you with at her apartment not too long ago.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be." Jessica strode around her desk. "Your case has been reassigned to Louis Litt. Mike will stay on, provided you haven't fucked him, too."

Christ. "I made a mistake, alright? I told you I was sorry, and I meant it," You insisted. "Don't bring Mike into this when he hasn't done anything wrong."

Jessica bristled as she lowered herself into her seat.

"I don't want you associating with Harvey until this is over."

"Oh—Come on."

"If this footage were to come out, Harvey's conduct and ethics will be called into question. He'll be dragged into your divorce proceedings. Is that what you want?"

Your stomach churned uneasily as you considered it. You knew she was right. You shook your head a little, trying desperately to swallow past the lump that was forming in your dry throat.

"Louis and Mike will be in touch."

"Okay." You turned, heading for her office door, and stopping just before you opened it.

"...Is now a bad time to remind you that bringing Harvey onto my case was your idea?"

The chilling glare that she leveled with answered for her: Yes. It was a very bad time to remind her.

--

“You slept with—” 

“Shut the door and keep your voice down,” Harvey warned stonily. Before either of them could move toward his office door, Donna hurried into view, reaching for the handle. 

“You don’t wanna hear this?” Mike’s brows rose. “You of all people?” 

Donna waved him away, offering, “Intercom,” Before she shut the door. Harvey sighed heavily, lowering himself into his chair. 

“What happened?” Mike stepped closer to the desk. “I’m just—You two hate each other.” 

“Thank you for the reminder. I forgot about that.” 

“Harvey, c’mon,” Mike shook his head as he tried (and failed) to keep from smiling. “What happened?” 

“I went over to hang out.” 

“At her apartment?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, and? Instead of hanging out you…Let it all hang out?” 

“Get out of my office.”

“If that was at her apartment, what happened in the Hamptons?” 

“Nothing happened in the Hamptons. The footage just…We got close, that’s all.” 

“That’s not enough to disbar you.” 

“Because you’re the expert on being disbarred? It’s enough to call my ethics into question…And Jessica’s right, no one needs that headache right now.”  

“So I’m stuck with Louis because you got close? Where’s the Specter spirit? No way are you going to watch this one from the sidelines.” 

On any other case, no, he wouldn’t. Harvey would insist on backseat driving. But on this one…He grimaced, dropping his gaze to his desk. 

“I want regular updates,” He insisted. “That’s all.” 

Mike nodded slowly, conceding: “Okay. But I’ll be ready when you change your mind.” 

-- 

"I'll come over."

He sounded so positive about it—like nothing had happened, or changed. You eyed the remaining trash bags, trying to scrounge up the conviction of an excuse. 

"I don't think that's a good idea right now."

"Why not?"

You know why. You shifted your phone from one hand to the other, tucking it between your shoulder and your ear as you reached out, gripping a bag to make it crinkle loudly.

"I've still got some sorting to do."

"I'll help you."

"Not tonight, Harvey."

"...She's not in charge of us, you know."

You tipped your head back against your wall, closing your eyes. "She's actually very much in charge of you."

"At work."

"I know, but I just..." You winced. "I think she's right. We should lay low for a while. If Steven did see that video before Aaron sent it to Jessica, we're both going to have a whole new mess that we're stepping into."

"I'm ready for it."

"...I don't know if I am."

His silence on the other end made you want to crawl out of your skin. "I can only fight one battle at a time, Harvey—And right now, I'm barely managing the big ones."

"Fine."

You knew that fine coming from him. It wasn't fine. It was I'm shutting down. It was I'm finished with this conversation. It was I'm finished with you.

"Harvey—"

You lowered the phone from your ear as the line cut off, watching the inevitable flashing and darkening of his contact. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. How, after all this time, was Harvey Specter still able to make you cry?

-- 

You became solitary again. Life narrowed. You saw Aaron a time or two, but he was so busy either working or gathering intel that you were hardly able to keep up with him. For as much of a lifeline as she had been, Jessica was still pissed, and you hardly spoke more than you needed to. Mike was a dear, checking in to see how you were doing, but most correspondence led inevitably to discussing closings, proceedings, contracts (and you couldn’t blame him for it; he was only doing his job). 

Louis was…A lot. He was very eager, that was clear, and had been working hard to push the sales of the apartment buildings and the home in the Hamptons through. David and his firm were digging into discovery, and were making headway. 

But you had so little life outside of your divorce. Most of your pieces were sold off, so you hardly had any day-to-day tasks to keep you busy—and everything in New York was so goddamn expensive. It felt like you spent $50 just stepping out your front door. There were days when you simply didn’t. It was cheaper to stay in, and quieter (so long as your neighbors didn’t have a screaming match that day).

Your life was four walls, a cruddy bed, rickety furniture. You spent too much time awake when you should’ve been sleeping; too much time reminiscing when you should have been moving on; too much time dwelling on the time that you spent with men in your life that probably wouldn’t spare you another thought. 

--  

Walking back into the firm was uncomfortable. You’d avoided it for as long as you could, but Mike insisted that there were a few documents that absolutely had to be seen and signed in the office. You’d made it an entire three weeks without so much as getting anywhere near the building. You found yourself avoiding even glancing in the direction of Jessica’s office. It was alright, though—Donna was a smiling, comforting presence the second you stepped off of the elevator. 

“Find the place alright?” She teased. 

“I did, thank you. I’ve only been here a dozen times in the last couple of months.” 

“It’s been a few weeks. We thought you’d forgotten where we were.” 

You smiled tightly. You were certain that she knew everything that had gone on—she was the eyes and ears of the place. 

“You know, it’s the funniest thing,” You drawled sarcastically, “I kept coming to the right building and getting off on the wrong floor.” 

“Happens to the best of us. C’mon.” 

You frowned as she led you away from the usual conference rooms, and even further away from Louis’ office. You couldn’t imagine where the heck she was taking you—and your confusion deepened as she opened the door to a room lined with files. She nodded you inside, a knowing smile on her lips as she warned: 

“Two minutes.” 

Two minutes? Until what?

“Thanks, Donna.” Harvey’s voice made you freeze, and you could do nothing but watch Donna close the door behind herself. You looked down at the floor, your hands wringing as you heard Harvey come closer. You felt him stop close behind you, close enough to feel the heat of him.

“...Are you going to look at me?” He hedged softly. 

“No need. I know what you look like.” 

He sighed softly, stepping around to stand in front of you. You watched as his shoes and pant legs came into view. 

“...And you’re just going to look at my shoes now?” 

“They’re nice shoes. Look expensive.” 

“They are.” 

“Figures.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

You looked at him fully, finally, stunned. You were surprised at how drawn he looked. Sure, his suit was impeccable, and his hair was frustratingly perfect, but you could see tiredness around his eyes. 

“You’re going through hell right now,” Harvey went on, “You don’t need me to pile on to that. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” 

You nodded slowly as you took it all in. “Well. We should never have, um…” You cleared your throat, averting your gaze again. “It was stupid.” 

“You regret it?” 

“It’s not worth risking your career over.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” Harvey closed the space between the two of you, and you had to force yourself not to lean into him the way you wanted—the way you’d missed for weeks. 

“Harvey,” You warned softly. “I can’t keep playing tug of war with you like this. I’m already at the end of my damn rope.” 

“I know.” 

You closed your eyes at the feeling of his palms sliding warmly over your arms, trailing down until he could gently intertwine your fingers. 

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” He promised, “Until we’re on the other side of this, and your business with the firm is closed out.” 

“And then what?” 

“And then I’ll give you hell.” You spluttered a laugh, unable to help it. Harvey chuckled softly, his nose nudging yours gently. 

“I should go,” You warned softly. “Louis will come looking for me.” 

“Donna will keep him at bay.” 

“She said two minutes. It’s been at least three—” You hardly had time to finish your protestation before Harvey kissed you. You swayed into him, lips slipping tenderly against his as he used his grasp to draw you flush against him. You wiggled your hands from his, curling your arms around his shoulders to keep close. You startled at the two knocks on the door, and smiled as Harvey groaned in irritation. 

“I should let you go,” He mumbled. You nodded, murmured,

“Probably.” 

But neither of you rushed to move. 

-- 

“I'm sorry to see you go. I've enjoyed our time together."

You sort of believed it, given the pinched, almost pained look that Louis leveled you across the desk. And, for all of your work with him over the last three months, you'd gained a sort of affinity for the man...Even if he was a little intense in a way that sometimes confused you. You smiled, taking up the final few documents that you would need for your record.

"I appreciate that, and thank you for all of your hard work, Mr. Litt. It's been..." You weighed your words carefully, "Interesting."

"For me, too. Reach out if you need anything else—doc review, mover recommendations, tickets to the ballet. Anything."

"Tickets to the ballet? I'm impressed." You held your hand out, smiling as he stood and pumped it enthusiastically. "Thank you again."

You were hardly four steps out of Louis' office when you found yourself flanked in the hallway.

"We should celebrate," Harvey insisted.

"And how would we do that?"

"Dinner at La Belle Vache."

Your brows rose as you glanced toward Mike.

"’The beautiful cow’?"

"Harvey's idea."

"With a restaurant name like that, it would have to be."

"Hey, that is not fair! I could be posh."

"It wouldn't suit you, Mr. Ross."

"Is that a yes or a no to dinner?" Harvey plied.

"When?"

"You busy tonight?"

"If I told you I had plans, would you believe me?"

"Not for a second."

"Well, I do."

"Cancel 'em."

"It's with my divorce lawyer."

"And here feels like a good stopping point for me." Mike wheeled around, striding back in the direction that he came.

"What the hell does David want with you after hours?" 

"Deposition starts next week. We're drilling testimony."

"As long as that's all he's drilling."

"Watch it, Specter." You reached out, jabbing the down button on the elevator before turning back to Harvey. He pouted contemplatively before offering: "What about this weekend?"

"I think I could swing this weekend. Is dinner on the firm?"

"It's on me."

"Do you think..." You trailed off, glancing toward Jessica's office, "That the powers that be will approve?"

"Honestly?" Harvey lowered his voice,"I don't give a damn. It's been months. Your business here is wrapped. If Jessica wants to give me a good reason why I can't see you, she's welcome to try—but it won't work."

You bit the inside of your cheek to quell a smile as you reached out, gently straightening Harvey's tie.

"Very forceful, Mr. Specter."

"You like it?"

"It's kinda hot." You turned back and stepped onto the elevator as it chimed.

"This weekend," You finally agreed. "Invite Mike—He's earned several dinners."

"He sure has."

The doors began to close, but Harvey darted in, catching them before they could shut all the way. He darted in, pressing a swift, warm kiss to your lips before he drew away again. You grinned as he stepped back, allowing the doors to close.

--

"As long as that's all he's drilling."

The memory of Harvey's teasing warning was on your mind throughout your time with David, and you found yourself fighting back smiles all evening.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?"

David watched you from beneath his lashes as he asked, and where that look had intrigued you once, you knew better. You gave a short, firm nod, and insisted: "I have a date."

Your battle with Steven was far from over. You still had forgery cases pending, and your divorce case had hardly begun. But things felt a little lighter these days.

You had a direction, you had cash flow...But you didn't quite have the plan that you once did. You had told Harvey months ago that you were considering moving to Cambridge. It hadn’t completely ceased to be true, but it wasn’t your only consideration anymore. 

There were moments when you could see the glimmer of a life to carve out for yourself: a smaller real estate firm with a few employees—maybe Aaron, if you could lure him away from Steven; a more comfortable apartment than where you were now, but you could live with where you were for a few more months as you got things in order; and, at the very least, a friendship with Harvey. You didn’t know if what the two of you were doing would be sustainable, and you weren’t sure whether either of you really wanted to know—but after all this time, you thought that maybe the two of you deserved another chance. 

--  

“Impressed?” 

It was a fair question, but you were doing your best to school your expression. You didn’t want Harvey to know outright how much you did like his apartment. It was nothing less than you expected—large (though not quite in the palatial way that your old penthouse was), tastefully decorated, with a gorgeous view. You knew why Harvey had brought you up, of course, but now he was just showing off. 

Dinner had been its own round of grandstanding. You and Mike had watched, bemused, as Harvey had gone out of his way to pronounce all of the dishes in a French accent to the clearly not French (but feigning awe) waiter (who you were sure had to deal with this multiple times a day). Harvey had also taught you and Mike a thing or two about wine—or he had tried to, until Mike seemed no longer able to help himself and corrected Harvey on multiple facts about the Rhône valley in the south of France. 

It had been a far more pleasant evening that you had expected to have, and far more jovial than you’d had in a long time. Mike and Harvey were close; you and Harvey had a history; you and Mike had become friends over the course of your time working with him. When Mike had insisted that you all had to do this again sometime, you believed that he meant it. And when Harvey had invited you both up for a nightcap, Mike had politely declined with a smile and a shake of his head, offering:

“I think I should let you two have some time to do…Whatever it is that you need to do.” 

You hadn’t been entirely sure what he’d meant, or what Harvey had told him. You were almost certain that he would’ve been told why Harvey had been taken off of your case in the first place. And sure, now and again, over dinner, you and Harvey had caught one another’s eye, maybe shared a smile. Maybe he’d rested his hand on your knee a time or two, given it a squeeze—because he could. Because the two of you were close and on even footing for the first time in a while. 

“It’s…” You trailed off, shrugging. “Certainly an apartment.” 

“Oh, please,” Harvey scoffed, taking two wine glasses down from the cabinet. “You’re impressed.” 

“It’s nicer than I thought it would be.” 

“You’re dazzled.” 

“I like the kitchen.” 

“You’re helplessly turned on.” 

“‘Helplessly’ is pushing it.” 

“So you admit that you’re turned on?” 

You rolled your eyes, no longer bothering to fight your smile off. 

“Maybe,” You offered, settling onto the couch and kicking off your shoes. Harvey joined you moments later, passing you a glass of wine and gently clinking his against yours before you each took sips. His gaze remained heavy on yours, and he leaned in for a gentle kiss as soon as you lowered your glass. You hummed, raising a hand and cupping his jaw. You leaned back just a touch, smiling as he crowded closer, dipping his head to brush kisses along your neck as his warm palm gently smoothed up your thigh. 

“...Harvey?” 

“Sure, I can show you the bedroom.” 

You laughed softly, shaking your head a little. “Can we talk about it?” 

He groaned, forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. “Why do you always insist on ruining a perfectly good time?” 

“Like when?”

“Like when we were in the Hamptons.” 

“You thank your lucky fucking stars that I put a stop to that.” 

“Yeah,” He grumbled, leaning back. You watched him swirl his wine in his glass. 

“Please,” You pleaded softly. 

“...I didn’t write the note.” 

Fuck. 

“Okay.” 

“I wrote a note, but…Not that one.” 

“Who wrote that one?” 

“Scottie.” 

“...Okay.” 

“I couldn’t find the one I’d written, she insisted that I couldn’t leave you with nothing.” 

“Well, she was right.” 

“Yeah.” 

You that that sink in for a moment before you pressed: “Why did you leave?”

“I had doubts.” 

“About me?” 

“About us. You know how my parents were, you know…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You know what I saw.” 

“And you thought I would do that to you?” 

“I was afraid of it.” 

“If you were afraid of it, then you thought I was capable of it.” 

“—And when you got married to Steven so quickly—” 

“Oh—!” The heavy, stunned, indignant laugh was pained as it left you. You pushed off of the couch, standing and walking out of Harvey’s reach. You heard him sigh heavily behind you, chased by the clink of him setting his wine glass down as he muttered, “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this.” 

“Do you know why I got married so quickly?” You whirled around to face him. 

“Because you loved Steven?” 

“I never said that. I thought I loved him a bit, sure, but I was afraid that this,” You waved a finger between the two of you, “Would happen again. I thought he would leave. I was afraid that I would spend my entire life being left. So when Steven showed me the slightest bit of attention, I latched on. We eloped. He wanted a big wedding, but I just,” You waved your hand around, “I couldn’t do that a second time. Any of it. I didn’t get a new dress, neither of our families were there, because I knew that they would all watch me, and him, and they’d be thinking it: Is it going to happen again?” 

“You’re saying your entire life with Steven was my fault?” 

“I’m saying that I made a choice, and that what happened with you was a factor—Not a fault, a factor. And why!” You let out another harsh hysterical laugh as tears welled in your eyes, “Why didn’t you just talk to me? What did I do then to make you think that you couldn’t talk to me?”

“I wasn’t ready!” 

“And we could have talked about that! What made you think that I wouldn’t have been alright with moving the wedding back, or going to counseling with you, or whatever you would have needed to get us there?”

“You wanted to get married.”

“I wanted you, Harvey! I would have waited, I—” You turned away, sniffling heavily as tears slipped from your eyes. “Fuck. Ugh.” You raised your glass, draining it before striding over the counter, desperate to put some more distance between the two of you. You set the glass down and yanked a paper towel off of the roll, swiping at your under eyes to clear away any running mascara. You blew your nose as well before balling up the tissue and lobbing it toward the trash can. You heard Harvey’s approaching footsteps, and you pulled in a deep, stuttering breath as he rested his hands on your shoulders. 

“...There’s no way for me to take back or change what I did.” 

“Would you if you could?” 

“Yes.”

“...Okay.” 

“Do you believe me?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He sighed, pressing a kiss to the back of your head as his hands soothingly rubbed over your arms. You sniffled again, swiping away a stray tear before resting your hands on the counter. 

“You changed the way that I love, Harvey,” You shook your head. “For better or worse, whether you meant to or not, you changed it.” You glanced back toward him. “I can’t get those bits of myself back. You took them from me.” 

“I know. I took them from both of us.” 

You nodded, slowly letting yourself lean back against him. His arms curled around your middle, and you heard a soft, almost relieved groan leave him. You let your eyes close as he pressed a kiss to your temple. The two of you stood there in silence for a few moments, allowing yourselves to settle. 

“...Stay tonight?” He murmured after a few moments. You nodded, smiling as his hold tightened on you again, as if wary that you would change your mind. 

-- 

He had a few more smile lines. His hair still mussed the same; he still made little mumbling noises as he slowly rose from sleep to consciousness. He was still a furnace to sleep beside, and he still held you through the night. It was almost a relief that none of that had changed. 

Waking up in his arms made you feel like it had when you were younger: safe, and loved, and wanted. You hadn't appreciated it when you'd had it just a few months ago, but you were desperate to catch on to every little bit of him now.

You were never going to be able to turn back the hands of time—to go back and warn him, or yourself, or someone that your first wedding day would be a disaster, that it would set you off on a path that you could never have anticipated for yourself. Discussing what had happened hadn't truly healed any of your old wounds.

But as the sun began to creep over the Manhattan skyline and seep into Harvey’s bedroom, you felt closer to peace than you had in a long, long time. 

Harvey snuffled, nuzzling your shoulder as his fingers curled in your borrowed nightshirt. 

“You awake?” He mumbled, the same low, gravely murmur that you had once loved, and missed. 

“Mmmhm.” 

“Want coffee?” 

“Yes.” 

He yawned widely, pressing his face into your shoulder and warming your skin through the fabric. “Bagels?” 

“Sure.” 

“‘Kay.” 

Neither of you made a move to get either. Instead, you combed your fingers through his hair, closed your eyes, and listened to the steady rise and fall of his breathing as you both fell back asleep. 

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @gina239 ; @technicallykawaiisoul ; @coldheart-lonelysoul ; @kathrinemelissa ; @jacxx2 ; @pillowjj ; @chanaaaannel ; @avampirescholar ; @kmc1989 ; @mythical-goth ;

[almostgenerallyalways]

One of my all time favs too

Baby let’s play house has to be one of my absolute fave Bradley fics of all time

🥹🥹🥹 i don’t deserve this praise but i love you for giving it to me anyway amen

#tgm fic recs

[almostgenerallyalways]

this was masterful and beautiful as always

this also caused me to go reread knew you for a second which just killed me

you next to me (aka 3 times there was only one bed and 1 time there were too many) found here

#tgm fic recs

[almostgenerallyalways]

My Top Gun hyperfixation came out of nowhere like one minute I was scrolling through a tag on ao3 and then before I knew it all of my thoughts are of gay little pilots

[almostgenerallyalways]

The Worst Best Man

Notes: Based on this post. Working on the companion Rooster piece now. Not beta-read

Warnings: enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; reader tipsiness; ends happily

Rating: M (mostly for the amount of cursing)

Length: 6K

Summary: You’d at least hoped that you’d get some help from the best man, but so far, you’d gotten jackshit. Jake Seresin was, quite possibly, the worst Best Man you could’ve wound up with. 

Don’t you think it’s too soon?

Aren’t you rushing this?

You’ve known each other for, what—four months? How—How did this even—

Those were among the questions that had bubbled up when Jenna told you that she and Thomas were getting married, and asked you to be her Maid of Honor—for a wedding that would be happening in three months. Now, you were a month out, and the wedding was feeling like even more of a circus than it had at the outset. The timeline was pinched, the budget was tight, the bride’s demands were high, the groom was preoccupied, and the Best Man was such a dick. 

You’d at least hoped that you’d get some help from him, but so far, you’d gotten jackshit. Jake Seresin was, quite possibly, the worst Best Man you could’ve wound up with. 

He had no interest in helping you in any meaningful way. He was more than happy to tag along for the fun stuff like cake tastings, but when it came to the things that you have to actually spend time on—things like arrangements for the photographer, decorations and centerpieces for the venue (because Jenna was too busy to do them), place settings (because Jenna wanted them done, but didn’t want to deal with it), and arranging the favor bags (because someone had to do it), Jake wouldn’t so much as lift a finger. Oh, you’d asked. Toward the beginning, you had asked him for a lot of help. But once Jake Seresin gave you a third, “Sounds like you’ve got this one, sweetheart,” you just stopped asking. 

And that was why it was wholly inexplicable when he decided to turn up to the florist’s. You hadn't even bothered to hide your dismay at the sight of him. In fact, your scowl had deepened as he’d held the door open for you and waved you inside. You greeted the woman behind the counter warmly, folding your arms across your chest as you waited for her to gather the arrangements that she’d made for the reception. Jake dropped into one of the seats around the small table, scrolling through his phone. You set your bag down on the seat beside his and instead wandered around the space, eyeing photos of other arrangements. 

“...Would you sit down?” 

“What for?” 

“Just, relax for a minute,” Jake sighed. “What are you so antsy for?” 

You weren’t antsy. You just didn’t want to be anywhere near him if you could help it. 

“I’m not,” You excused. “I’m just looking.” 

You felt Jake cast a speculative eye back toward you. You stalwartly ignored it, looking between the photos until you heard, “Here we are!” From the florist. You turned, smiling when you spotted the arrangements of peonies, garden roses, and hyacinths, offering a clean, white pallet with pops of blue. 

“This is beautiful,” You stepped closer to the table. You dipped your head, eyeing the stems, and the fullness of the vase. “I do think that this may be a little tall for what we need, though.” 

“And what does the groom think?” The florist asked, casting Jake a bright smile. Your eyes widened slightly, turning to find Jake smiling smugly at you. 

“Oh—No. No no,” You shook your head. “This is not the groom—And I’m not the bride. Maid of Honor, Best Man,” You clarified, pointing from yourself to him. 

“I’m so sorry!” She laughed. “You two just had the look of a couple when you came in. I see it a lot, you know, the tightness and stress that can come from arrangements, floral or otherwise. So!” She pushed on as if she hadn't just horrified you, “We can absolutely do lower vases, if that’s what you’re needing.” 

“The tables at the venue are fairly small, they seat five,” You told her as she noted it down, “And I just don’t want people having to lean around the uh…Around the arrangements to speak to one another.” 

“Understood,” She nodded.

“Do the vases come with the flowers?” Jake asked, taking up the arrangement. 

“No. Put it down,” You ordered flatly. 

“What are we gonna do for vases?” 

“I took care of that. And since when is any of this a we situation?” 

“Don’t look so sour, sweetheart. I’m just trying to help.” 

“This is not helping, this is annoying. Put it down.” 

“Do the vases look like this?” 

“No. We’re repurposing mason jars.” 

“Why?” 

“Because Jenna has a lot of them that we can use and it cuts down on the expense. Would you please put it down?” 

“How much would vases like these cost? They’re nicer.” 

“Would you just—Stop tipping it!” 

“What? I’m just looking for the price tag—” 

“Jake—” 

“Gimme one second—” 

“Stop, stopstopstopstopstop!” You screeched, darting around the table to him. You weren’t fast enough. Jake tipped the vase just a little too far, sending water spilling into your open bag. He hissed a curse, righting the vase as you scrambled to your bag. You yanked it open, your insides bubbling with rage as you looked inside. You could hear the retreating footsteps of the florist, and the scrape of Jake’s chair beside yours. 

“Shit…How bad is it—?” 

“Don’t,” You warned, cutting him off as you try to shift things around in your bag and assess the damage. “Don’t talk to me right now.” 

It was a stony moment of quiet before the florist came back in. You managed a tight smile as she held out a wad of paper towels, taking them with a mumble of thanks and hurriedly dabbing at the bottom of your bag. 

“...How bad is—” 

“Seresin, I am serious.” 

Jake went blessedly quiet beside you. You only just managed to keep your cool as you finished discussing the arrangements with the florist. You steamed your way out of the shop, determined to leave him in the dust—and with no such luck.

“Would you slow down?”

You didn’t answer his call, just sped toward you car, even as he added, “Look, I’m sorry—“

“Why are you here!” You whirled around, forcing him to stop short to keep from slamming into you. He looked stricken for just a second before he blinked his usual cocky demeanor back into place. 

“I’m here to help.”

“With what?” You laughed hysterically, “Since when? I asked for your help before and you did nothing! Why now?”

“Thomas said you’ve been twitchy and working overtime on this stuff, so—“

“So you thought you’d come and dump some water into my purse? Thank you,” You cooed sarcastically. “I couldn’t have asked for better assistance.”

“That was an accident,” He insisted.

“Well, it was more than enough. Consider yourself released from whatever help you thought you might give me.” You turned from him, pressing the unlock button on your key fob. You rounded to the driver’s seat, yanking the door open and slamming it shut once you’re inside. You jammed the key into the ignition, practically peeling out of the parking lot before he could knock on your window or get into his car and follow you.

—

You did see him, of course. He was hard to avoid. Jenna and Thomas insisted on the odd check-in with the four of you, whenever it was convenient for Thomas and Jake. They tended to have schedules that were set in stone. Both were in the Navy; Thomas was a month out from changing bases, which was why the wedding was on such a tight turnaround in the first place. 

You sat around the small dining room table in Jenna’s apartment, mostly keeping to yourself. Jenna, Thomas, and Jake just chatted like you didn’t have things to get done—like you hadn’t come with a list of status items and questions that have yet to be answered. Instead, you just waited, drank their beer, ate the pizza they bought, and smiled until they came around to it. Once they did, you ran through your list with militant efficiency. You came away with answers, plans—and Jake’s pledge to help you with the favors.

You wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, that you didn’t want water poured into the favor bags, but you just forced a tight smile, and gritted out your thanks through your teeth.

—

“Why don’t you like Jake?”

It was a trap of a question. You didn’t answer right away, choosing to pretend that you hadn’t heard it the first time.

“Hm?” You managed after a moment, glancing from your notes to look at her. Jenna tipped her head toward you, brows raising in disbelief. You shrugged nonchalantly, turning to look down at your notes and checklists.

“He’s a good guy,” Jenna added, walking around the table. “Tommy said he’s half the reason he even made it out of basic.” 

“I somehow doubt that.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Other than him being a self-centered purse-ruining ass? Nothing in particular.” 

“He said the purse thing was an accident. He felt really bad!” 

“Yeah, it really showed,” You muttered. You glanced up, brows raising as you spotted Jenna’s disbelieving gaze. You sighed softly.

“Look, he’s gonna help me with these favors, we’re gonna get through the wedding, and then I never have to see him again. So,” You shrugged. “This is gonna be fine. Your day is going to be perfect. I promise.” 

“Making an effort to get along with Jake would make my day perfect,” Jenna insisted, giving you a wide, sweet smile. You could see a glint of deviousness in her dark eyes—one that you didn’t trust. 

“...Alright,” You conceded, nodding. “I will try.”

--  

You would not try. You were going to white-knuckle your way through the favors, hopefully in absolute silence. 

--  

“So do you like doing this stuff?” 

So much for absolute silence. You cast Jake a surly gaze before you looked back down at the small favor bag and counted out ten hershey kisses from the bowl on the table.

“You mean favors?” You asked. 

“I mean wedding stuff.” 

You shrugged a little. “It’s fine, I guess.” 

“It seems pretty important to you.” 

“It’s important to Jenna. Jenna’s important to me.” 

Jake grunted softly. You could see him nodding in your periphery. You tied the favor bag closed, setting it into the box beside you. 

“You worried?” He asked. 

“About what?” 

“Them.” 

Your eyes darted to Jake. You expected a smug smile, but you found something more contemplative there. You pursed your lips. This felt like as much of a trap as Jenna’s question. “...I guess when you know, you know,” You shrugged. “And with his move coming up, you know. It makes sense.” 

You tied the next bag closed, setting it into the box. You glanced over, brows raising as Jake tied ribbon with laborious slowness. For every bag he finished, you finished three. You were certain he was drawing this out to get under your skin—and you were sorry to say that it was working. 

“You seem to have put all of this stuff together really fast,” He said. 

“People get booked out so far in advance. I just wanted to make sure Jenna and Thomas had everything they needed.” 

“So that’s why you took the steamroller approach?” 

Your frown deepened, brow furrowing at the question. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You totally took over the planning.” 

“Jenna wasn’t going to get to most of it,” You defended.

“You could’ve left her to it.” 

“She asked for my help.” 

“Your help, not your dictatorship.” 

Your eyes narrowed at the assertion.

“You know what?” You smiled. “I’ve got this. You can go.” 

You dropped the next favor bag into the box before taking up an empty one. Jake chuckled, and the sound raised your hackles. 

“You really don’t like pushback, huh?” He asked. 

“And yet, you keep talking.” 

“You doing all of this in case you never get to do it for yours?” 

It made you go still, your stomach twisting with indignation. 

“Excuse me?” You asked, tone icy and low. 

Jake shrugged. “You know, plan the wedding you’d like for yourself in case you don’t have one.” 

“Where the fuck did that come from?” 

“From your planning with an iron fist.” Jake leaned closer, dropping the favor bag into the box before he settled back in his seat. 

“Someone had to do it,” You insisted. “Jenna’s work schedule is nuts, you and Thomas are swamped at the base, and neither of them have family here. Would you rather I didn’t do anything?” 

Jake was quiet for a moment, his gaze sweeping your face. 

“...Okay,” He conceded after a moment. 

“Okay?” You repeated, watching him pluck up a new bag. 

“You’re right,” He shrugged.

“Then what the fuck was with the third degree?” 

“Just wanted to see you squirm a little.”

“...Nice of you to do it without damaging any bags this time,” You sniffed, turning back to the favors. 

“There’s still time.” 

“I will cut your dick off.” 

Jake just laughed loudly, tipping his chin back with the force of it. You glanced over at him, feeling a slight lightening toward him. He held his hands up in concession, and you each turned back to your favors. You reached out for the candy, going still as his hands brushed yours. 

“Ladies first,” He insisted, drawing back. You mumbled your thanks, grabbing a handful of candies and leaning back in your seat again. You found that you didn’t mind the light small talk that Jake made after that. The questions leveled at you were less probing, and far less irritating. As the evening went on, you didn’t even mind the way Jake smiled at you, or the feeling of him watching you. He was still an asshole, sure—but he was an asshole that was making favors way faster than before. 

--  

“What do you have to do this week?” 

“Uh,” You sighed, then trilled your lips as you clicked through your email. “Not a ton, actually. I have to pick up my dress…And the bachelorette party is tonight.” You shifted your phone between your shoulder and your ear, eyeing your work email. “What about you guys?”

“Not much, far as I know. I was calling you for my marching orders,” Jake insisted.

You smiled a little, shaking your head.

“There isn’t a ton this week. We’ll have to pick up the flowers next week and get those and some of the other things over to the venue—you know, the favors and stuff.” 

“You gonna need my help with that?” 

“TBD.” 

“Gimme a call if you do. I’ll be happy to lend my strong arms to those flower arrangements.” 

“I’m never letting you anywhere near a vase again.” 

“You ever gonna get over that?” 

“Fuck no.” 

“Seriously, though. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know your schedule is hell this week.” 

“Tom tell you that?” 

“No, Jenna did—though presumably, Thomas told her, so technically.” 

“If you change your mind, I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Yeah, I will.” Then, against your better judgement, “Thanks, Jake.” 

“Anytime, sweetheart. Can’t have that pretty little head popping off from stress.” 

And there it is. That was what you got for being nice to Jake fucking Seresin.

“I’m hanging up now,” You warned. 

“Alright,” He chuckled. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Yep. Bye.” 

You pulled your phone away, hesitating for just a second before hanging up. He was ridiculous. But Jenna wasn’t completely wrong—he was sort of a good guy, when he wanted to be. And he was sort of attractive, in an All-American, smarmy, smirking kinda way. His lips were nice, and his eyes were sort of…Entrancing…But he was fine, whatever happened. He was sort of fine to you now. 

And you had yet to have another purse incident, so maybe he really was trying. 

--  

“Are y’all havin’ a nice time?” 

The smile was clear in his voice, and you wanted to damn it. But, something in your belly went sweet and warm at the question. Then again, maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was the tequila shots…Or the espresso martinis…Or the vodka soda. 

“Why do you—Seems like…Weird to ask,” You managed before pressing your hand over your mouth to swallow a burp. 

“Saw you on Jenna’s instagram.” 

“Oh,” You frowned. That must’ve been why she’d been holding her phone up at you and crowing, Wooo! while you'd all taken shots a few minutes ago. You cleared your throat before reaching for your drink. 

“Why are you calling me?” You added. 

“Just makin’ sure you have a safe way home.” 

“Pfff, it’s fine. Tom’s gonna come get Jenna.” 

“I know. I didn’t mean Jenna. I meant you.” 

“I’ll get a car or somethin’.” 

“I’d feel better if I came and got you.” 

“I dunno how much longer we’re gonna be—and don’t you have a super early morning?” 

“Who says?” 

“Jenna…And probably Tom, which is how I got the—” 

“Right,” Jake cut you off. “I’ll be fine. Just lemme know when you need me to come and getchya.” 

“Why Mr. Sersin, that might be the nicest—” You winced as you hiccuped. “Nicest thing you’ve ever done.” 

“For you?” 

“I’m thinking, like, ever, probably.” 

Jake chuckled on the other end of the phone, and you slid down in your seat a little, stomach twisting with the sound. 

“Lemme know,” He repeated. 

“Yessir.” 

“You gonna thank me again?” 

“Maybe when you get here.” 

--  

“You gonna thank me now?” 

“Nope,” You shook your head, buckling up. 

“Why not?” 

“I want nuggies and fries. Can we go to McDonald’s?” You tipped your head to the side, smiling widely at him. 

“Oh, so now I’m getting you food, too?” Jake asked, pulling into traffic.

“S’what you get for volunteering me to take me home…And for ruining my purse.” 

“How many times do I have to apologize for that?” 

“I’ll let you know when you hit capacity,” You slid down in your seat, resting your head back and closing your eyes. Oh—No, bad plan, bad plan. Your stomach twisted, and you forced your eyes open again, swallowing thickly. Very, very bad plan. You tipped your head to the side again, eyeing Jake. He looked quite handsome, his eyes flashing with the odd shine of streetlights. You blinked slowly, taking him in. Was he always this attractive? The guy’s face should be on posters or something. 

“You doin’ okay over there?”

His voice was nice, too. It was warm and soothing, and sweet. You turned to look forward again as you saw him shift to look at you. 

“Fine,” You mumbled. “Hungy.” 

“Hungry?” 

“Hungy,” You insisted. 

“Still want nuggets and fries?” 

“Uh-huh. Please.” 

“Alright,” He nodded, turning the car into the McDonald’s drive thru. 

“And a Sprite,” You added.

“You’re getting water.” 

“Water and Sprite.” 

“...Fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Say it again.” 

“Get fucked.” 

He grinned, teeth shining in the glow of the drive thru's fluorescent light. You watched him as he rolled his window down, leaning out to give your order. You reached down, taking up your purse and poking through it. 

“Put that away,” Jake waved you off. 

“What? No. It’s my food.” 

“I don’t care. Put your money away.” 

“No.” 

“You’re not paying.” 

“I’m gonna pay!” 

“No, you’re not.” 

You pouted as Jake reached out to pay with his own money. You glanced around the car, frowning. You reached out quietly, carefully opening the glove compartment and tucking the money inside. Then you rooted around innocently as Jake turned back to you. 

“What are you looking for?” He asked. 

“Hand sanitizer or something,” You shrugged, shoving the glove closed again. 

“It’s right there,” Jake pointed to where it sat in his cupholder. 

“Ah, neat,” You smiled smugly, taking it up and leaving room for him to set down your Sprite. 

“Here,” He added, setting the bottle of water and bag of food down in your lap. 

“Fuck me, that smells good,” You mumbled. Jake chuckled softly, steering the car toward the parking lot. You pushed yourself up in your seat, opening the bag. 

“You get something, too?” You asked. 

“Nope.” 

“Then why are we stopping?” 

“So you don’t get queasy, eating while we’re stopping and starting.” 

“Shockingly nice of you.” 

“Why is that shocking?” 

“Cause you’re kind of a dick.” You didn’t even think about saying it. You just rooted through your bag and stuffed a handful of fries in your mouth. 

“...You really think that?” 

Your chewing slowed at his question. He didn’t even sound like he was teasing that time. You glanced over nervously, surprised to find him watching you. You swallowed thickly before you shrugged, picking up your sprite and taking a sip. 

“I dunno,” You mumbled.

“You sounded pretty certain a moment ago.” 

“You were a dick when I met you…And then for like two months after that.” 

“Am I dick right now?” 

“Mm…” You hummed, considering. “No. You’re kinda sweet now. It’s actually weirding me out a little bit. But,” You shrugged, drawing the nuggets out. “Maybe it’s not that weird. Jenna said you’re a good guy. She’s usually got a pretty good sense when it comes to people.” 

“That’s what Thomas said.” 

“Thomas was right. Is right.” You waved a hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. Want a nug?” 

“Sure.” 

You opened the box and plucked one out, holding it out to him. You were still digging into your fries with your other hand; you didn’t see Jake lean in. You just felt his lips and tongue brush your fingers as he took the nugget with his lips. Your heart stuttered in your throat, and you stayed perfectly still for a moment. 

“S’good,” He mumbled, snapping you back into action. 

“Hope so, you paid for it.”  

“I’m not gonna go broke ordering from the Dollar Menu.”

“And getting a Sprite.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

 You glanced over, smiling a little as he took up the soda and took a sip. 

“Get going on that water,” He added, nodding toward the bottle in your lap. “We don’t want you waking up with a hangover.” 

You hummed, opening the water and taking a long, greedy sip. 

“...Jake?” 

“Mhm?” 

“Why’d you offer to drive me home?” 

“Wanted to make sure you got home okay.” 

“Could’ve just asked Thomas to make sure I got in a car or something.” You turned to look at Jake, frowning as he reached into the bag and fished out a few fries. 

“I’ll feel better seeing you get in myself.” 

You watch him raise his fistful of fries, shoving a couple into his mouth. 

Himself? He could’ve just let it go. He could’ve texted you or Jenna in the morning to make sure. You bit your lip, taking hold of the sprite and swirling the ice around a little in the cup. 

“...Jake?” 

“Mm?” 

“You’re not a dick.” 

“Careful, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you saying something you regret while under the influence.” 

You rolled your eyes a touch, shaking your head and looking down at the food in your lap. 

“...Think you may have been a little right, too,” You mumbled. 

“What do you mean?” 

“About…You know. Taking the wedding over. I don’t think I’m gonna get there, you know?” The admission thickened your throat as it left, and welled tears up in your eyes. You found yourself glaring down at the food, as if that would fend off the way your tipsiness and insecurities were mingling. Jake’s enduring lack of response did nothing but make you feel even more silly, and even more exposed. 

“...You don’t have to worry about that,” Jake said after a moment. You huffed out a bitter little laugh, shaking your head. 

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly the easiest person to deal with.” 

“You can be a little prickly,” He agreed, making you smile in spite of yourself. “But you’re pretty damn sweet once you let someone in. I don’t think I know anyone more loyal, more hardworking. Jenna and Thomas are lucky to have you.” 

The compliments surprised you, and you couldn’t help but turn to look at him. You turned, expecting his usual cocky, teasing grin again. Instead, you found Jake watching you with a soft, kind smile. It made your heart leap into your throat. You hurriedly dropped your gaze back to your food, unsure of how to answer. He’d knocked you speechless. 

“Finish your food,” Jake advised, reaching out and snagging another one of your nuggets. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” You grumbled, even as you fished into your bag for a few more fries. 

“Watch that attitude, sweetheart. I’ll pour out that Sprite.” 

-- 

You wake up with a throbbing head, a dry mouth and a text: 

JS (Asshole)

Hope you listen to your alarm this morning

You couldn’t help but smile a bit, pushing yourself to lean back against your headboard. You hesitated before you opened your phone, texting back: 

Thanks for the ride home. and the nugs. 

You pushed yourself out of bed, groaning as you headed for the bathroom. By the time you returned you had three new texts from Jake: 

And the fries? 

And the water. 

Not to mention the sprite.

Not to mention, but here you are, mentioning it. 

Need me to do anything in the next couple of days? 

Pick up your dress? 

Your brows raised at the question, surprised that he remembered that that was on your list. 

I can get it. Thanks, though. 

Np

You bit your lip, peering down at the phone. You found yourself wanting to keep talking to him—to ask how his day was going, what he had to get done that day, something—but instead you tossed your phone back onto the bed, scrubbing your hands over your face. Fuck, alright. You needed to get ready for work, and to stop thinking of why Jake’s name appearing on your screen made your belly flutter. 

--  

“You can unclench now.” 

Unclench what? Your ass? Your jaw? You didn’t ask for clarification; you just threw a fireless, surly gaze back toward Jake. It didn’t hold at the sight of his easygoing smile. You couldn’t help but smile before you turned your head, turning to look at the checklist in your hands. You only had a few more things to do for the wedding tomorrow. The favors were at the venue; the flowers were arriving in the morning; you and Jake had set up the tables and chairs in the reception space, and in the ceremony space. The other bridesmaids, groomsmen, and the scant family members had already turned up and were milling about, but two very important people were missing. 

“I will,” You raised your hand to use air quotes, “‘unclench’ when everyone is accounted for. Honestly,” You reached down, plucking your phone out of your bag and peering at time. “If Jenna’s late for her own rehearsal, I’m gonna…” 

“Gonna what?” 

“...Scream?” 

“You’re really gonna scream?” 

“Just, like, in my head.” 

“Would you scream aloud if I told you I didn’t have my suit ready?” 

Your fingers flexed around your notes, your eyes narrowing at Jake as he shifted to sit in the ceremony seat in front of you. 

“...Depends,” You spoke slowly. “Do you really not have it ready, or are you just fucking with me?” 

“Just fucking with you.” He smiled cheekily up at you. 

“Why are you like this?” 

“You mean perfect?” 

Before you could answer, you heard Jenna call out, “Sorry! Sorry, we hit traffic.” 

You turned to see her and Thomas coming in together, their hands joined. You strolled over to her, meeting them in the middle as Thomas broke away from her. 

“Did y’all really get stuck in traffic?” You asked.

“No. We pulled over to fuck in a parking lot.”  

You snorted a laugh, unable to help it.

“Speaking of which,” She added, looping her arm through yours. “Have you met Tommy’s brother?” 

“I think we, like, said hi,” You shrugged. 

“I’m sitting you two together at the rehearsal dinner.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause you need to get some, lady. This wedding’s got you all wound up—and you’re not even the one getting married.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue, or a chance to analyze why your gaze absently darted to Jake at her assertion. Jenna was already waving to the others. 

“Alright!” She called out. “Let’s get this over with, I’m fucking starving!” 

--  

“What are you doing here?” 

You couldn’t help but ask. It was early, and stunning to see him there, surrounded by mason jars, bundles of flowers, and bites of twine. Jake hardly looked away from his work. 

“What’s it look like?” He asked. 

“It looks like you’re winding up to ruin some purses.” 

He did smile then, peering up at you from under his lashes. 

“You gonna stand there and sass me, or are you going to help?” 

You smiled, shrugging your bag off of your shoulder as you joined him at the table. 

“You been here long?” You asked. 

“About ten minutes.” 

“Could’ve told me you’d be here early, I would’ve been here with you.” 

“Figured you could use a bit of a break.” 

You reached out, untying a bundle of flowers and tucking them into a half-filled mason jar. You could feel Jake glancing toward you. You’d become so familiar with his side-eyed speculation over the last couple of weeks that the feeling was unmistakable. 

“...You seemed to be having fun last night,” He said. Your brow knitted together. 

“At the rehearsal?” 

“Dinner,” He clarified. You shrugged a little. 

“It was a nice dinner.” 

“Looked like you were having a nice conversation with Chris.” 

Your hands went briefly still with confusion for a moment. Sure, Jenna had made the introduction to Thomas’ brother, and sure, the two of you had spoken a little, but…Well, you didn’t think it was anything that Jake would’ve noticed, or anyone else for that matter. 

“It was alright,” You shrugged. “We were just talking. He’s nice.” 

“Gonna save him a dance later?” 

You chuckled, shrugging. 

“Probably not.” 

“...Gonna save me a dance later?” 

You pushed the jar aside, reaching for the next bundle. You didn’t dare look at Jake as your face heated. 

“Play your cards right, Seresin, I might even save you two.” 

It felt dangerous to offer, and silly to say. But—

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” He leaned in to promise it; the murmur of it brushed against the shell of your ear. You swallowed thickly, fighting off a shiver as you reached for the next bundle of flowers. 

--  

You had the silliest thought as you walked down the aisle—as you took careful, even steps in your nude-toned heels, the fabric of your jewel-toned dress swirling around your ankles. You couldn’t think of anyone else—not Thomas ahead of you, or Jenna behind you. Your eyes were set on Jake—on the way he was grinning at you, watching you as though you’d hung the sun in the sky just for him. You took your place alongside the other bridesmaids, hands flexing around your bouquet. You caught Jake’s eye on the way to watch Jenna come down the aisle, grinning as he shot you a wink. 

It had been a long few months, a hellish experience at the start. But Thomas and Jenna were having their day the way they wanted it. The DJ was ready, the catering was setting up, the photographer was on deck to take photos of the ceremony and the wedding party—and so long as all of that stayed on track, you might be able to relax. 

--  

“Thought I’d find you out here.” 

You looked up, smiling tiredly as you spotted Jake. You’d taken refuge in the area outside of the reception hall, on one of the few benches in the unoccupied smoking area. You’d drawn your feet out of your shoes, resting your heels in them as you flexed your aching toes. 

“I needed some air,” You shrugged, “And some quiet. It’s been a loooong day.” 

Your eyes darted to Jake’s chest as he nimbly undid the buttons of his jacket. He settled onto the bench beside you before he reached around, setting his jacket around your shoulders. You smiled, reaching up and tugging it closer to yourself. 

“Such a gentleman.” 

“Don’t get too excited. I still owe you a purse.” 

You laughed, tipping your head back against the wall.

“I think we’re even.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah,” You nodded, smiling at him. “I’m sure.” 

You were both quiet for a moment, just taking one another in as the sounds of the party drifted out to the two of you. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Jake warned. You frowned, but he added, “Think you can stand those shoes just long enough for that dance you owe me?” 

You chuckled. “You were on such good behavior, I think I owe you two.” 

“We can start with one,” He offered, standing and holding his hand out to you. “Sock the other one away for later.” 

You smiled, slipping your feet back into your shoes properly and taking hold of Jake’s hand. It felt easy—warm and welcoming as it delicately cradled yours. His hand smoothed under the jacket and over your lower back, drawing you close as you raised your other hand to his shoulder. The two of you swayed gently with the music drifting from the reception. You found yourself holding Jake’s gaze, and wanting to hold it. Just a little ago, you might’ve shied away. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even taken his hand. 

“Thank you for your help for the last couple of weeks,” You said. “I’ve really appreciated it.” 

“Happy to.” 

“Happy to the whole time?” 

“I took a little warming up…But so did you.” 

“Yeah,” You conceded, “I did.” 

Jake’s brows rose, chin tipping down in amusement. 

“Did you just agree with me?” 

“It’s happened before,” You laughed. 

“And I savor it every time.” 

You rolled your eyes at his insistence, playing at annoyance. The feeling was promptly shaken as his thumb swept over your lower back. 

“You’re a drama queen, Seresin.” 

“I won’t be a groomzilla. You have my word.”

“Oh, do I?” You chuckled. “Why would you need to give me your word for that?”

“Because I realized something today.” 

“What’s that?” 

“The next time I see you walking down the aisle toward me, I want you wearing a white dress.” 

Your stomach flipped, your feet freezing in their place. Jake didn’t belabor the swaying. He went as still as you did, holding your gaze with sweet stubbornness. Your heart thudded roughly in your chest; your mouth went dry. 

“...That’s a very bold statement, Seresin.” 

You wanted to sound firm, imposing, but you knew that you sounded unsure, and nervous. Jake nodded. 

“I know.” 

“What if you’re wrong?” 

“I’m not.” 

“What if you change your mind—?” 

“I’m not going to change my mind.” 

“You hardly know me.” 

“I know you better than you think. And I’m not asking you to marry me tomorrow.” He tipped his head to the side, holding your gaze. “But I am going to ask. You can count on that.” 

You could dismiss it. You could tell Jake that he was being silly. You could tell him that he was drunk, that he didn’t mean it. You could pull back, go inside. 

But you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to draw away; you didn’t want to pretend that this was some drunken rambling. You just swallowed thickly. 

“Are you going to get me an engagement purse?” 

Jake’s grin was bright and beautiful, and you were pressed so closely to his chest that you felt the rumble of his laugh. He drew you closer, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I will get you whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

You grinned, looping your arm around his neck and drawing him closer. Your heart stuttered as Jake’s nose nudged yours, his breath brushing across your lips. You tipped your chin up toward him, unable to stop your smiling as Jake closed the gap. Your eyes slipped closed as you allowed yourself to melt into his chest, enraptured with the feeling of his tender kiss. You giggled as his hand slid down your lower back, hovering just above your ass. 

“Watch it with that, mister,” You warned. “You gotta buy me dinner first.” 

“The nugs don’t count?” 

You leaned back a little, considering. 

“Alright. One squeeze,” You warned, raising a finger to point at him. Jake laughed. 

“We got time, sweetheart. I’ll save it up.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @tropes-and-tales

[almostgenerallyalways]

hell yes can’t wait to read this weekend

you next to me (aka 3 times there was only one bed and 1 time there were too many) found here

[almostgenerallyalways]

after reading so many stories where their actual names are used like Jake Seresin, Natasha Trace, Javy Machado, etc., it’s so crazy to me that not once did they say any of the pilot’s real names in the actual movie except for Bradley who has both Cyclone and Maverick say his first name (his last name is said a lot more) and Maverick (for obvious reasons)

not even like a Lieutenant Trace or a Lieutenant Seresin, they were always just simply referred to as “Lieutenant”

the only time we really see their names are on the beginning screen where Cyclone is showing Mav the 12 pilots and their last names on the tags of their uniforms in the bar scene

everyone is simply referred to as their callsign and even in cast interviews, they introduce themselves using their call signs and never the actual names

come to think of it? i genuinely feel like they weren’t in the movie THAT much because i saw a post that calculated Glen’s screen time and it was like less than five minutes total?

all this to say, fan fiction is SO powerful because this was such a minuscule detail of the movie that we could’ve forgotten about but everyone kind of just took it and ran with and now I can’t see it any other way

[almostgenerallyalways]

i recently found your page and i became instantly obsessed, you're such a good writer!! i'm not sure if you're taking requests rn (if you're not, ignore this hahaha) but i saw a post somewhere saying that when spencer is in love he loses the sense of direction 😭 we saw moments like those with lila and maeve (like he starts walking but then it's the wrong direction <33) and i was thinking about that with bau!reader!! they're on a case and he gets distracted by her and starts walking on the opposite direction or says something wrong and the team is all like??? because he never gets things wrong and maybe morgan teases him or something like that

sorry for the veryyyy long message!! i just thought it could be so cute, and you would write it perfectly!! obviously if you want to write it in a different way it's okay, i would be happy if you wrote it (but again, if you're not feeling it it's completely okay!! 💗) thank you and have a good day :))

Thank you sweetness <3

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 539 words

There’s an eyelash on your cheek. You’re staring at the board, and your lips are all pursed, and you’re sitting forward on your elbows, and there’s an eyelash on your cheek. Spencer has no idea how you haven’t noticed it, sitting there with both ends curled upward, precipitous on the curve of your cheekbone.

You’re saying something to Hotch about the overly gruesome nature of the case, how it points to a connection with the victims. Your cheek moves as you talk. The eyelash looks like it should be a breath away from falling off, and yet it stays stubbornly in place. Spencer really, really wants to get it for you. It’d be such a tiny gesture, the quick brush of his finger underneath your eye, so brief no one would have the chance to question it. He wonders if you believe in wishing on eyelashes. He’s seen you throw salt over your shoulder more than once, but you claim it’s more a habit from childhood than actual superstition. Still, you’re more a romantic than you like to let on. But the origin of the salt tossing is more rooted in Christianity, Spencer thinks, whereas the practice of wishing on eyelashes is more recent and often suspected to be rooted in Paganism. It supposedly emerged only in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, when someone in the British isles spread word that blowing an eyelash off your finger was the equivalent of blowing away the Devil, and eventually the belief morphed into good luck and wishes. Spencer wonders what you’d wish for. 

“And it’s pretty clear what this is hailing to.” Prentiss’ voice is weary. 

“Paganism,” Spencer says quietly, absentmindedly.

“What?” 

Spencer blinks, returning to the room to find the entire table has turned to look at him. “Sorry, I—I was thinking about something else.” He glances at the board. “Jack the Ripper. The degree of mutilation is the same.” 

“Right,” Hotch says, instantly back on task. “And if we’re right, he’s going to act again soon. Wheels up in twenty.” 

Spencer picks up his bag, but doesn’t leave the room. “Hey,” he says as you stand, stepping closer to you. “You’ve got an eyelash.” 

You blink, almost knocking it askew, but hold still as Spencer brings a hand to your face, brushing it onto his finger. 

Your cheek pushes upwards as you give him a lopsided smile. “Thanks,” you say.

“Wanna make a wish?” 

You make a soft, amused sound. “I don’t believe in that, and I know you don’t either.” But when Spencer holds up his fingertip, you lean forwards anyway. Your mouth purses prettily, a tiny little o, and you blow softly. It’s a small puff of air, but the eyelash whirls off into the air. The both of you track it until it reaches the ground. You quirk an eyebrow at Spencer as if to say satisfied? and go, passing your hand along his arm fondly as you exit. Spencer follows after you like you’ve got him on a leash, and it’s only once he’s in Garcia’s office that you say “Do you need something, Spence? I just came to bring Penelope something,” and he realizes he’s completely forgotten where he was supposed to be going.

[almostgenerallyalways]

To all the lovely people who still have active Criminal Minds blogs (icons/gifs, fanart, fanfics etc.):

Please be so kind and interact with this post. A lot of the blogs that used to be pretty active in the fandom have moved on from Criminal Minds and I am looking for new people to follow! (If you're a minor please only interact with this post if your blog is 100% sfw)

I'm still here reading and writing fics and reblogging gifs! (You can find my masterlist here.)

I have a lot more stories to tell and thoughts to share about Criminal Minds and would really like to make some new friends here who also refuse to let the fandom die.

[almostgenerallyalways]

And You Will Find Me

Summary: The last thing Bradley expected when he was assigned to the unofficial “singles without a plus one” table at an old friend’s wedding was to meet who he thinks might just be the love of his life. But that’s exactly what happened. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)  (can be read as Forgetful Boy and Pumpkin from RYEWID, but not necessary to read that first)

Word Count: 3.8K 

Warnings: Language, fluff, love at first sight. 

Notes: Written for @roosterforme's ‘80s Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge, and as part of The Forgotten Moments Collection, but can very much be read by itself. Song selection is Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper. 

The Forgetful Boy and Pumpkin first meeting one shot that I’ve been wanting to write since I referenced it in part three of RYEWID. The fact that I could do it for a challenge for one of my favorite people makes it even more exciting for me.  

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Bradley Bradshaw: Table Four 

He grabbed the gold trimmed cardstock with his name on it, sipping on a glass of bourbon as he made his way into the reception hall. It didn’t take long to find his placement with the elaborate centerpieces displaying calligraphic numbers. 

There were only two open seats left at the table, which was occupied by a group of people who were all staring down at their phones. He glanced around the rest of the venue, seeing all of the other tables bustling with conversation and laughter. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the awkward silence that seemed to hang over this one in particular. No one seemed to know each other, and it didn’t look like they planned to make any effort to change that. 

He groaned to himself and wondered, not for the first time, why he had thought attending this wedding was a good idea. 

He hadn’t seen Sean in years, and had never even met Lucy. The two had been roommates for two years at UVA and had somewhat kept up with each other over the years, if only barely. They had always joked about how on the off chance either of them got married, they’d make each other's guest list. Bradley had laughed when he got the invite in the mail. He had waited until the last minute to send in the RSVP, but had ultimately decided why not? He wouldn’t know anyone there, and hadn’t managed to find a date in time, but he hadn’t been to Philly in way too long. He’d make a quick weekend out of it and see an old friend.  

He hadn’t realized until he got into town how awkward going to a wedding on his own would be. 

He sat in one of the empty seats, nodding to the guy on his right who forced a smile that looked just as awkward as it felt before turning his attention back to his phone. 

Bradley was glad he had thought to refill his drink before cocktail hour ended. 

He was scrolling through his phone when he saw a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye at the same time the seat next to him was pulled back. 

He glanced up briefly to offer a quick smile to the new arrival and looked back down at his emails, only to do the quickest double take of his life. His breath caught in his throat and he swore his heart stopped, only to start again three times faster. 

Holy hell. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” you asked, and Bradley had to blink a few times before he realized you were talking to him, because your voice was mesmerizing. 

“All yours,” he managed to say. He would have winced at how his voice cracked if he wasn’t trying to remember how to breathe. You offered a warm smile as you gracefully sat down. You were a vision in a long sleeve, burnt orange dress that looked like it would be silky to the touch. When he glanced down, he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop from groaning when he saw the slit going up the side and the nude heels on your feet. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you were sitting beside him fiddling awkwardly with your place card as he stared at you.

“I’m Bradley,” he finally managed to introduce himself, extending a hand out. You looked at him in surprise. 

“Oh! Hi.” You took his hand with a soft, gentle grip, your eyes locking onto his as a spark went through his whole body. Your eyes widened a fraction and he wondered if you felt it, too. He almost didn’t catch your name when you said it because he was so distracted by the feeling. “So, bride or groom?” 

“What?” 

You laughed softly, and he worried about going into cardiac arrest at the sound. “Are you here for the bride, or for the groom? I assume since you’re at this table it’s either one or the other and not both.” 

“This table?” 

You glanced around at your other tablemates, still busy with doing everything they could not to make eye contact with anyone else. Then you leaned closer to him, and he couldn’t help but do the same. You whispered to him like you were sharing something salacious. “The singles table. The ones who came alone and who wouldn’t know anyone else, and who they’re kind of surprised RSVP’d ‘yes’ to begin with.” 

Bradley let out a loud laugh, and you giggled right along with him. The sound was like music. It earned you both curious and maybe even annoyed looks from all those at your table. He hadn’t considered that before, but now that he thought about it, you were absolutely right. 

“Groom,” He replied, “College roommates. You?” 

“Bride,” you told him. “Ironically, also college roommates.” 

“Well would you look at that,” Bradley smirked, and he knew the amusement that sparkled in your eye was mirrored in his. 

He was interrupted from saying anything else from the DJ tapping on the microphone to formally start the reception. As the bridal party danced their way into the room to Celine Dion, he kept stealing glances at you. To his pleasure, you were stealing them right back. By the time Sean and Lucy were seated at the front table and the DJ announced that dinner would be served momentarily, Bradley could barely look away. There was a smile on your face that indicated you didn’t mind at all. 

It continued that way through the meal that was eventually placed on the table. You didn’t speak much as you ate, both of you feeling like you were disrupting the other six people spread out on either side. But you kept catching each other’s eyes and smiling before you looked away, and his cheeks were nearly hurting at how big his smile was.

Fuck. 

Bradley barely even knew your name, and he was already down bad. 

You leaned over to him during the speeches that started immediately after dinner, and he caught another whiff of your perfume. He tried his best not to noticeably take a deep breath of the scent. “Do we think the best man is already drunk?” 

“Oh, he absolutely is,” he confirmed. The man in question was laughing hysterically at a joke he just told, already swaying on his feet. “I saw him throwing back an entire flask right before the ceremony.” 

Your nose scrunched up in the most adorable cringe he had ever seen. “Yikes. I don’t really blame him though. The maid of honor is his ex-fiance. I’m pretty sure she left him for groomsman number three, but I can’t confirm.” 

He looked at you with wide, curious eyes. “Did Lucy tell you that?”

“No,” you laughed, mindful of keeping your voice down to not draw any attention to yourselves as the slurred speeches continued. “I drove up last night and then was bored before the ceremony today. Social media is very informative, you know.” 

Bradley choked out a laugh, absolutely amazed at you. “Are you a private investigator or something?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

You picked up your wine glass with a smirk, and you winked at him before you took a sip. “A journalist, actually. But close enough.”  

A journalist. Bradley filed that information away in a new folder in his brain that had your name on it. 

Clapping drew his gaze away from you, and he realized he had completely shut out the rest of the speech. He cleared his throat and joined in, and the two of you watched as the bride and groom did their first dance. It felt like it lasted forever, but that was probably because he was itching for it all to be over so that he could talk to you again. He wanted to know more about you. In fact, he found that he wanted to know everything about you. 

Everyone clapped again when the dance came to an end, and Bradley was turning to you before the DJ even finished announcing the beginning of the party. 

“What are you drinking?” he asked, and he thought the look you gave him was a mix between delighted and amused. Your eyes cut to your mostly empty wine glass where he could very much see exactly what you had been sipping on. He felt heat creep up his cheeks in embarrassment. 

“White wine,” you said anyway. “What are you drinking?”

He fought the grin that was threatening to take over his face. You were keeping him on his toes, and he found he quite liked it. “Bourbon.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m about due for a refill.”

“Is that so?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. You glanced around the table where the other occupants were back to scrolling through their phones or focusing on anything that wasn’t another human being. He almost laughed at the look on your face when you turned back to him. You grabbed your clutch from the table and the two of you rose out of your seats at the same time without even having to say anything. 

“After you,” he grinned, and your smile made him dizzy. He ordered another whiskey while you got Pinot Grigio. He laughed when you told him you weren’t allowed another glass, because too much white wine apparently made for a very interesting night. He filed that little tidbit away, too. 

With fresh drinks in hand, you turned to walk back to your assigned seating. The lights had dimmed and the music had turned to something upbeat and very cliche, and the majority of the attendees had converged on the dancefloor. You navigated around them carefully. His hand hovered over your lower back, not quite touching, but wanting to. You drew to a stop when you were only a few feet from the table, your head tilted to the side. 

“I hate being seated at these tables,” you muttered. “Always makes me feel like maybe I shouldn’t have come.” 

Bradley had been thinking the same thing until you had sat down beside him and shook his hand. He couldn’t help but flex his fingers as he remembered how his skin had buzzed at your touch. He glanced around the whole venue again, not quite knowing what he was looking for until he caught sight of the patio through the large windows.

“Do you want to ditch and go outside with me?” he found himself asking before he could stop himself. He held his breath when your eyes snapped to his, slightly wide in surprise. But they softened quickly, and you nodded, tucking some of your hair behind your ear with your free hand. 

He held out an arm, and after only a moment of hesitation, you slipped yours into it. He almost felt like he was floating as he guided the two of you toward the open doors. 

The patio was decorated beautifully. It stretched almost the entire length of the building, and twinkle lights lined the ceiling and the pillars holding it up. Smaller tables and furniture were spread out amongst the concrete and the two of you settled into the soft cushions of one of the outdoor coaches. 

It was a mild night, even for early February in Philadelphia, and the heat coming from the fire pit in the middle of the table in front of you was enough for it to be comfortable. You sat in silence for a beat, but it wasn’t awkward. Your fingers danced over the rim of your wine glass and Bradley’s gaze followed as you brought it to your lips. You caught his eye as you swallowed, and he felt the heat creep onto his cheeks at being caught staring at you again. 

He cleared his throat, taking a sip of his own drink to gather himself. “So. A journalist. What do you write about?” 

“The hypocrisy of old men, mostly,” you shrugged, and Bradley’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You laughed at his expression. “I cover politics,” you explained. Your joke registered with the context and he chuckled. 

“So just how hypocritical are the old men of Philadelphia?” he asked, and you seemed delighted that he was going along with it. 

“Eh,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Very, I’m sure. But I cover Washington, which is definitely worse. I live in DC.” 

Bradley’s breath caught in his throat. Excited disbelief had his eyes widening. There was no way. In the back of his mind he had admittedly already been thinking of how often he could feasibly make the drive from Andrews to Philly, because he knew he had to see you again. Tonight couldn’t be the only time, not with how he was feeling and how he was pretty sure you were, too. 

“Small world,” he finally managed, trying to keep his voice steady despite his racing heart, and now your eyes were widening back. The happiness in them was hard to miss, and, holy shit, you were excited about this. He felt the urge to pinch himself. 

“You live in DC?”

“I’m at Naval Air Facility Washington doing extended training at Joint Base Andrews,” he told you, still in a bit of disbelief, but feeling giddy. 

“Ah. Navy man, huh?” 

It took a moment for Bradley to realize his cheeks were red again. He doesn’t think anyone has ever made him blush before, or at least not as many times as you had tonight already. 

“Naval Aviator,” he elaborated. 

You smiled, and it felt like the whole world disappeared except for the two of you as you held out your glass. He raised his to tap against it in cheers. “Here’s to small worlds, then.” 

“And to college roommates,” he added, and your laugh took his breath away. 

The two of you sat there with your drinks in hand, and the conversation flowed effortlessly, talking about everything and anything. He found himself hanging onto your every word. He couldn't help but be drawn in by every single thing about you. He learned that you grew up here in Philadelphia and, like him, you were an only child. You got your undergrad in journalism and then a masters in political science and moved to DC before the ink was even dry. You were a little bit addicted to coffee and true crime podcasts, and you were a huge Philadelphia Eagles fan. He told you about growing up in Virginia and being in the Navy, and about his love of the 80s and playing piano. 

But you talked about more than just the surface level stuff, too. As the occasional sound of laughter drifted outside from the dancefloor and the fire pit glowed in front of you, you told him how sometimes, you wondered if you were really cut out for your career, because the nature of what you had to cover drove you absolutely crazy, and you felt like people focused on the wrong things. You tended to have a self-imposed terrible work/life balance and your anxiety crept up on you because you’d ignore it for too long. You weren’t close with your parents, and your bucket list was full of things you were scared you’d never be able to do. 

In return, he let you in on the reason he wanted to join the Navy in the first place, and growing up with a single mother and what it was like when she got sick. He confided how he had a bad habit of hesitating both in and out of the air, and how he didn’t really have any connections or relationships outside of the Navy that went more than just skin deep or a memory of what used to be. 

He shared more with you than he had with anyone else, and somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. It was like he had always known you, or at least like he was meant to now. 

You were so caught up in each other that neither of you realized just how much time had passed. Before you knew it, the music from inside was starting to soften and the lights were turned back on, and the servers came outside to start collecting empty glasses and trash. 

“Oh wow,” you breathed in surprise, “We missed the whole reception.” 

You stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then at the same time, you burst into laughter. 

“Can I walk you back to your hotel?” he asked you once you had calmed down. You had mentioned how you were staying just a few blocks away, and the thought of you walking alone or getting a car this late at night didn’t sit right with him. It was strange, how he already felt the urge to protect and care for you. 

Plus, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. 

“I’d like that,” you said softly, much to his relief. 

The bride and groom were inside wishing everyone goodbye, and you both took a moment to speak to your respective reasonings for being there. Neither of you lingered for long, and the balmy night air greeted you again when you exited the building after collecting your coats. 

You didn’t hesitate to link your arm with his when he held it out this time. He felt warm all over with you this close to him. Despite the late hour, the city was still alive with people out and about and laughter and conversation spilling out onto the sidewalk from every business you passed. He held onto you a little tighter when you walked by some decidedly way too drunk people, but you didn’t seem to mind. You kept the conversation going just as easily as it was when you were sitting on the patio, swapping embarrassing stories from your college days. You were walking through the park, nearly at your hotel, and it was when you mentioned something about dancing on a table at a frat party after too many shots of Fireball that he came to an alarming realization. He stopped so abruptly that you were slightly yanked back into his body, and you looked at him in concern. Before you could ask what was wrong, he was blurting the words out. 

“I never asked you to dance.” 

You gave him a confused look and then snorted in amusement. “I suppose you didn’t.” 

“Oh my god,” he groaned, tilting his head back and slapping his palm to his forehead. “I had the perfect opportunity to dance with you and I never asked.” 

You were still laughing, your feelings clearly not hurt at his lack of consideration. But he was already digging his phone out of his pocket and swiping open his music app. He held it out in your direction. “Pick a song,” he told you. 

“What?” you laughed. “Bradley!” 

“I’m serious! Pick a song.” 

He pushed his phone a little closer, and with an amused look, you finally took it. You bit your lip as you thought for a moment before you started typing, and then the soft sounds of Time After Time were floating in the air. 

“You said you loved the 80s,” you said almost shyly. But Bradley smiled, taking the phone back and slipping it into his jacket pocket. The music was muffled now, but you could both still hear it. 

“It’s perfect,” he told you. He held out a hand for you to take, and once you slipped your palm into his, he pulled you close. You rested your head on his shoulder as you began to sway. The night was quiet and serene as you danced, and he didn’t know what he did for his night to turn out this way, but he was so glad that it did. 

When the song came to an end, you stopped moving, but didn’t separate. You picked your head up and looked at him, your eyes locking together. You didn’t say anything at first, but eventually, you sighed and a soft, reluctant smile tugged at your lips. 

“I should probably get back,” you whispered.

“Are you sure?” he asked, desperate to stay in your presence for as long as possible. You had entered his life so unexpectedly, and he was wishing with everything in him that you wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon. “You aren’t going to turn into a pumpkin once the clock strikes midnight, right?” 

You shook your head at his joke, giving him a playful wink in return. “I don’t know. This does feel a bit like a fairytale.” 

Your words made him grow a little more serious, and he swallowed thickly as a charged energy seemed to settle over both of you. You bit your lip as you stared, your gaze wide and saying a million things at once. You had the most expressive eyes he had ever seen. He wanted to look at them forever. 

"You know," he said, his voice lower now, like he was afraid to disrupt the moment by being too loud. He brought a hand up to your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.  “This is not how I anticipated my night going.” 

The air between you crackled with unspoken words, his hand still lingering near your cheek. Then, in a move that felt natural and inevitable, he leaned in, and you met him halfway. Your lips touched softly, a spark of electricity passing between you. It was a kiss filled with promise, a taste of what could be. It was as if time stood still, the world around you fading away until it was just the two of you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless. Bradley looked at you with a mixture of desire and genuine affection that should have scared him, but it didn’t. 

"Wow," you whispered, your lips curving into a shy smile. He knew exactly what you were feeling with that one word, because he felt it too.

He brushed his nose against yours, breathing you in. “Tell me I can see you again when we get back to DC,” he begged. 

You let your hand rest against his chest, and he was sure you could feel the pounding of his heart. “I was hoping so,” you said, and he breathed out a happy laugh of relief before kissing you again.  

Standing there under the soft glow of the lampposts, Bradley thought he might love you already. 

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Masterlist

Notes: I hope y'all loved this one as much as I did! I miss these two so much.

Special thanks to Mak and Em for all of their help, and to Mak for the banner!

Tag List: @roosterforme @mak-32 @wildxwidow @gretagerwigsmuse @lilyevanswhore @too-fangirl-to-fuction @fav-fanficssss @notroosterbradshaw @teacupsandtopgun @sometimesanalice @sunflowersteves @littlezee80 @je-suis-prest-rachel @khaylin27 @infamous-reindeer @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yanna-banana @avengersfan25 @wkndwlff @sylviebell @lt-spork @indynerdgirl @greatszu

@mssleepy876b @kassieesworld @mizzzpink @a-serene-place-to-be @sexualparkour @sadpetalsstuff @almostgenerallyalways @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ccbb2222 @taytaylala12 @shelbycillian @mavrellover91 @vici111 @lunamooncole @blackwidownat2814 @pisupsala @bellaireland1981 @jynxmirage @shanimallina87 @na-ta-sh-aa @callsign-magnolia @chaoticassidy

*I do not give permission to copy/steal, translate, or publish elsewhere*

#tgm fic recs

[almostgenerallyalways]

Something I found on Twitter that really puts things in perspective as a creator.

[almostgenerallyalways]

We love a girlie who’s informed of her rights and not afraid to stand up for herself!!!!!

This Love Came Back to Me (7)

Summary: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: second chance romance, language, allusions of smut and potential full smut, stalking, unhealthy obsessions, delusions of feelings, unwanted attention.

Part Seven Word Count: 5.1K

Part Six :: Series Masterlist

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You were slow to get up on Monday morning. Your body was reluctant to move from beneath the covers, your mind even more so. The dread of the week ahead had already settled in your stomach before your eyes had even fluttered open. 

Something told you that it was going to be a bad day, and as you got ready for work, that thought grew stronger and stronger. You had used the wrong moisturizer, and then had gotten toothpaste on your black blouse and had to change. You spilled your favorite hard-to-find coffee creamer, and to top it off, you couldn’t find your favorite necklace that you wore more often than you didn’t. You were almost positive you had put it on the jewelry plate on your dresser last night like you always did, but it was nowhere to be found this morning. A quick check behind the dresser and in the drawers proved no luck, and it wasn’t on your bathroom counter, either. You wondered if maybe you had left it at Bradley’s on accident, but you swore you had been wearing it when you came home. 

Nerves prickled at your skin once you left your house, growing steadily the closer you got to the office. You prolonged going in for as long as you could, sitting in the car until the very last minute before you forced yourself inside and up the elevator. You breathed a sigh of relief when you noticed you were the last one to make it in and everyone else was already focused on what they were doing. You don’t bother with any pleasantries as you start toward your desk - your very flower and coffee free desk, as it was. 

As you did every morning, you checked your calendar to remind yourself what was on the agenda for the day. You swallowed thickly when you noticed a calendar invite with your boss that definitely hadn’t been there when you left on Friday. Glancing down at the clock in the corner of your screen, you cursed under your breath and shot to your feet. 

You paused outside of Gretchen’s door once you got to it, taking a second to catch your breath from your mad dash from your desk before knocking. Her voice was clipped when she told you to come in. 

“Good morning,” you greeted, forcing as much chipperness into your tone as possible. Your boss didn’t have the same courtesy and barely looked up from her computer screen.

“I need you to pick up the Randolph and Jackson accounts while Deana is out the next few weeks. There should be notes in her files. I need some preliminary drafts to present to them by the end of the day.” 

Anxiety formed in your stomach at having something else thrown on your already very full plate. You truly were at capacity with your workload. Normally, you would grin and bear it.  But you had stopped interpreting her giving you more as her trusting you a while ago. You knew it was just a power play and too high blind expectations to follow it on her part. 

“Am I being partnered with someone on this?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Like who?” 

“Lauren? Or maybe Joey, or Shante?” you listed off anyone you could think of. The clicking of Gretchen’s keyboard halted as she stopped typing, finally looking up at you from her spot behind the cluttered desk. She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. 

“Can you not handle the extra work?” 

“Well, I-” 

“I was going to partner you with Paul,” she said, and the stress you were feeling deepened, your skin crawling at even the thought. “But because of the open HR investigation you insisted upon, I was advised against it. So unless you want to drop that, you’ll be handling these solos. You wanted more responsibility anyway, didn’t you?” 

It took all of your willpower not to flinch. She didn’t bother trying to hide her opinion on the matter, her words laced with disdain and sarcasm. You felt scolded and embarrassed at how she was blatantly judging you, and feeling that way in turn made you angry, too. You had no reason to feel those things - you had done nothing wrong, here. You remembered what Bradley had told you. He was insistent that this wasn’t your fault. Deep down you knew he was right, even if it took you some time to reach him there. You knew that it wasn’t fair that you were being looked at and spoken to this way, by your boss, nonetheless. 

You breathed in deeply, silently centering yourself. You didn’t like confrontation, but you hated being belittled even more. You cleared your throat and stood a little bit taller, squaring your shoulders. 

“I won’t be dropping it.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked, and you’d be blind not to see the challenge written all over her face. You couldn’t believe that once upon a time, when you first started at this company, you admired this woman. 

“I’m positive,” you stated. You were so glad that your voice didn’t shake, because you were trembling on the inside. You continued on before you lost your nerve, the words rushing out of you once they started. “It was within my rights just like it would be within anyone else’s. So I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t ask me things like that, or imply that I’m being punished for standing up for myself by forcing me to handle the work of an additional person on my own, when I'm already doing the work of two people on a regular basis. That’s retaliation. And it’s not okay, nor is it fair.” 

Gretchen’s expression was one of surprise, no doubt shocked at the backbone you had suddenly grown in response to her. She wasn’t used to people questioning her authority, or anything that she did, really. You hadn’t seen a single person challenge or talk back to her the whole time you’ve worked together. You were probably the last one she expected to break the streak, but god, you were so damn tired.   

“Well then,” her voice dripped in sarcasm when she finally spoke, “I see someone paid attention to the policies in the employee handbook.” 

“It’s not a policy,” you corrected without skipping a beat, “It’s a law.” 

She stared at you for a long, tense moment. Slowly, you watched as her face morphed into something colder. Her lips curled into a sneer and her hazel eyes narrowed. Her thin arms folded over her chest as she leant back in her chair. But you refused to squirm under her glare, instead meeting it head on. 

Gretchen was the first to cave, whether it be because she sensed you weren’t going to or because she knew she was in the wrong. You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t care. 

Her blonde hair swayed when she shook her head in your direction, a poorly contained scoff leaving her mouth as she returned her attention to the computer screen, resuming the typing she was doing before you got here. “I expect the information needed for the Randolph account on my desk by the end of the day,” she said, “I’ll have someone else work on Jackson. Get to work, and shut my door on the way out.” 

There’s more you could have said - more that you wanted to say. But you knew a dismissal when you heard one, and you had pushed the boundaries further than you ever had before. And truthfully, you were desperate to be out of her presence. You spun on your heel and left her office without another word. In a split second show of defiance, you didn’t close the door all the way like she had requested. You heard her call after you, but you kept walking. 

Oh my God, you thought. You couldn’t believe you had just done that.  

You glanced at your phone when you got back to your desk and saw a text waiting for you. Based on the timestamp, it must have arrived shortly after you had shot up to go to the last minute meeting. 

Bradley🐓✈️❤️:Going up in the air soon. How’s work? 

Your hands shook as you typed out a message in return. The adrenaline from your anger still pulsed in your veins, but you could feel yourself coming down from it, your nerves starting to buzz under your skin instead.

Cross your fingers that I get responses on applications this week, because I might be getting fired. 

To your surprise, the dots that indicated Bradley started typing back popped up almost immediately. You breathed a sigh of relief that he still had his phone on him, because you needed some sort of interaction right now that wasn’t from people in this office. 

Bradley🐓✈️❤️:What?

You gave him the short version of your interaction as a headache started forming at your temples. You dug around in your bag until you found the bottle of ibuprofen you kept there, swallowing the pills down quickly with a sip of your coffee. 

Bradley🐓✈️❤️:That’s my girl. I’m proud of you, baby.  

You had a tendency to cry when you were angry, something you hated because it made you feel weak, and combined with the stress and the sweetness of the words, you weren’t all that surprised when you felt the tears prick the back of your eyes. You took a deep breath and chewed your bottom lip, fighting to keep them at bay. 

You were at your desk in the middle of the office and you refused to let these people see you cry.  

You tried to think of something to say in return. Three words flashed in your mind, your fingers itching to type them for the briefest of moments before you push them away. You didn’t think you could handle trying to figure out those emotions right now. You must have taken too long, because your boyfriend was sending another message before you could reply at all. 

Bradley🐓✈️❤️: Heading up now. Don’t worry about work. None of those people are worth it. 

It was exactly what you needed to be told in that moment, and your heart swelled for this man. You wished you were with him now. 

Let me know when you’re safely back on planet earth, please. Fly safe, aviator❤️

____

You weren’t naive enough to think finally standing up to Gretchen would solve all of your problems. You also didn’t expect to become something of an office pariah by lunch that day though, either. 

It seemed that suddenly everyone knew what had happened not only with Gretchen, but with Paul, and about the multiple complaints you had filed against him. You felt the stares and heard the whispers, not having to try hard to accomplish either because no one was going out of their way to hide it. Judgment came off of people in waves, making you feel like the worst kind of center of attention. You were hot and itchy with discomfort. 

It was a struggle to stay focused to hit the deadlines you had, and when you emailed everything over to Gretchen a little bit after 5:00, the immediate response you got was her informing you that you were ten minutes late, and that a deadline for another client that you normally handled was moved to tomorrow. Every part of you wanted to respond by telling her that would have been nice to know in advance and so it sounded like a her problem. But the client in question was someone you genuinely enjoyed working with. They were always so good to you, and you didn’t want to let them down because of Gretchen’s thoughtlessness of telling you this last week. You gritted your teeth, wishing you would have listened to Bradley when he suggested taking off of work. 

By Thursday, you felt like you were going to crawl out of your skin. The whispers had turned to full fledged talking now, people vocally making it clear that they didn’t believe you and weren’t on your side. The rumors that floated around were starting to get vicious. Each one was more outlandish than the one before. They made the days longer, each minute feeling like an hour, and considering you hadn’t left earlier than 8pm due to the extra work given to you, you felt like you were slowly but surely losing your mind; you didn’t know how much more of it you could take. 

To make matters worse, you hadn’t seen Bradley all week, though not for a lack of trying. You missed him. Your nightly phone calls were one of the only things getting you through, and last night you had been so tired that his voice had lulled you to sleep barely 10 minutes into the call. Your phone was below 10%, but you could have cried when you woke up and saw that the line was still connected. Bradley hadn’t hung up, and he was there when you called out for him. When you switched the call to Facetime, you could see he was getting ready for work, his uniform already on and a toothbrush in his mouth. 

“Morning, beautiful.” 

You could practically feel the bags under your eyes, and you knew your hair was all over the place. You didn’t feel very beautiful right now, but you smiled at him anyway, the compliment making you feel warmer than the blankets you were still laying under. 

“Good morning. I don’t want to get up,” you groaned pathetically, burrowing yourself further into the pillow under your head. Bradley chuckled lightly, but didn’t say anything as he finished brushing his teeth. When you forced your heavy eyes back open, the thoughtful, contemplative look he was giving you reflected through the screen. His brown eyes were full of something that your tired mind thought was worry. “What?” you asked quietly. 

“I’m going to come see you tonight,” he said. “I’m tired of things getting in the way. I want to see my girl. I don’t want to wait until the weekend again.” 

The early morning rasp in his voice made you shiver. Your heart raced in anticipation, suddenly feeling a little bit more awake. You weren’t going to point out that the weekend would have just been one extra day at this point, because truly, you felt the exact same way. “I’d like that.” 

You told him you’d do everything in your power to leave as close to 5pm as you could, and he promised the same in regard to leaving the base. You had stayed on the phone for as long as you could before hanging up. In the beginning of the day, thinking about seeing him had been the only thing getting you through. But by the middle of the afternoon, the snide comments and judgy looks from people had consumed you. 

You knew you were strong, and you did everything you could to remind yourself that they were just words, and that these people meant nothing to you. But god, you could only handle so much. 

Your last meeting of the day was a departmental one with your whole team, Paul included. You sat as far away from him as you possibly could and avoided eye contact, though you could feel his, as well as everyone else's, on you. Your skin itched at the attention and you resisted the urge to tug at the collar of your blouse. It was made worse by Gretchen telling everyone how she was reassigning one of your favorite accounts to him, a comment about divvying up resources to improve work/life balance. She looked at you directly as she said it, and you didn’t miss the twitch of her lip as she fought off a self-satisfied smile. You have no doubt that it was a dig at how you had said you were overloaded. You tried not to regret standing up to her earlier in the week. 

It was the longest hour of the week so far, and when it was over, you were the first one out of your chair. You still had work to do, but after returning to your desk and sitting for almost an hour without accomplishing anything due to how utterly miserable you felt, you just…couldn’t. You kept your head down as you made your way to the elevators, only glancing up once you made it to the lobby. Instantly, your breath caught and your heart rate picked up. You didn’t see his face, but you knew it was Paul standing there, his back to you as he waited for one of the lifts. Before he could spot you, you escaped into the bathroom. You waited for five, and then ten minutes just to be safe. It was after 6:00 when you finally made it down to the parking lot and started toward home. 

You had gotten so overwhelmed the latter half of the day, the week catching up with you, that Bradley coming over had almost entirely left your mind. So when you pulled into your driveway and saw him sitting on your porch steps waiting for you, the first tear slipped. 

Bradley rose from the porch and was already walking toward you by the time you stepped out of the car. He gave you that devastating smile of his that you knew was reserved just for you, his eyes sparkling in the setting sun. 

“Hey you,” he greeted, “I was getting worried.” 

You realized then that you hadn’t even bothered checking your phone to see if he had texted or called you before you left the office, and another tear slipped down your cheek. 

The last thing you wanted was this: this whole situation having you so stressed that you forget him, or push him to the side. And that’s exactly what had happened today. That place, those people, they were ruining everything. And you were letting them. That, more than anything, upset you. 

“Sorry,” you choked out, your voice hitching as the word got stuck in your throat. Bradley’s smile faded at the same time he clocked the dampness on your cheek and heard your apology. His eyes widened as he quickened his stride to you. 

“Bug, what-” 

You gave him no warning before you closed the remaining distance. Your bag clattered to the ground as you slammed into him. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you in return, holding you tightly against his body. Your face buried itself into his chest and your hands gripped the back of his shirt as you clung to him, and right there in your driveway, you finally let yourself cry. 

“Hey,” Bradley soothed, running a hand up and down your back, never easing his grip on you. “Hey, hey. Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” 

You shook your head, unable to find the words you were looking for. It was like all the stress from the week, the whispers and stares and rumors, hit you all at one time, and you couldn’t stop the tears now that they had started. They silently streamed down your cheeks as you let yourself find comfort in your boyfriend’s embrace, all the emotions slowly slipping out of you as he kept you locked in his arms. 

You could hear the concern in his voice as he repeated the question, and you felt so bad for making him worry.  

“Sorry,” you stammered, not pulling away. “I’m okay. Sorry.” You tried your best to take a breath, but it came out shaky. Your bottom lip quivered again, more tears spilling. 

“No, hey, it’s okay.” 

Bradley shushed you gently, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He stood there holding you, running a large palm up and down your spine, whispering in your ear that it was okay, and to let it out. He didn’t even know what was going on, yet he was an unmoving presence, offering you comfort with no expectations. 

When your tears finally dried and your crying transitioned into sniffling instead, you tilted your head back. Bradley moved with you, peering down with concern shining in his brown eyes. You tried to smile, but the most you could manage was a twitch of your lips. There was an urge to say I’m sorry again, which he must have read on your face. 

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, before the apology could leave your lips. He kissed your forehead, lingering for a moment. You felt him breathe in against your skin before pulling away. “Come on.” 

He scooped up your fallen belongings and guided you to the front door. He unlocked it himself with the keys he had picked up and let you go in before him. He didn’t stop touching you the whole time, his hand firmly on your lower back, and when he locked the door and set your stuff down on the entryway table, he didn’t hesitate to draw you back into his arms. You practically melted against him. The grip he had on you was the only thing keeping you upright, and for a few minutes, you just let yourself be. You felt lighter than you had in days and you knew it was because of him. 

Not for the first time, you wondered what you had done to possibly deserve him. 

Bradley didn’t rush you, but you eventually detached yourself from him. He squeezed your hips before he released you, encouraging you to go take a shower and put on something more comfortable. 

“I’ll order something,” he said when you started to make a comment about cooking for him. He stepped forward again and leant down for the first kiss you had shared since Sunday night. It was only a soft brush of lips, neither of you even attempting to deepen it, but it helped loosen the grip of the remaining anxiety around your throat. The smile you gave him before you walked toward your bedroom was one of the first genuine ones you had mustered all day. 

When you came back into the living room, there was food and wine on the coffee table, but no Bradley in sight. You didn’t have a chance to call out for him before your backdoor opened and he came through.

“I took your trash out,” he explained, a small frown on his face. “Did you know your backdoor was unlocked?” 

Your eyebrows pinched together at his question. You hadn’t known that. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had gone through it. 

“My landlord was supposed to come by and look at the bathroom window,” you said with a shrug, brushing it off even as your earlier anxiety threatened to come back. “He usually comes in through the back when I’m not here. He probably didn’t lock it on the way out. It wouldn’t be the first time, especially since sometimes it looks locked until you tug on it. It’s…quirky.” 

“It's sucky, is what it is,” Bradley said, his voice flatter than you had ever heard it. You couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as you agreed with him. “Will you call him tomorrow and make sure? Or I can, if you want?” 

“I will,” you promised, accepting the kiss he gave you. “Can we eat?” 

Once the pizza he ordered was finished and the glass of wine he had poured you emptied, you crawled onto his lap on the couch. He was warm and solid beneath you. 

“Will you tell me what happened?” he asked gently, his calloused fingers brushing your bare thigh. You nuzzled your face into his neck for a moment, inhaling the comforting smell of his skin and the remnants of his cologne. 

“Just got overwhelmed, I think,” you whispered. You kissed below his chin before lifting your head enough to meet his eyes. “I feel better now.” 

Bradley’s eyes studied you like he was trying to see if you were underplaying it, but you weren’t lying - you did feel better now. Maybe not 100%, but better. 

“Are you sure?” he finally asked. You nodded, but you told him about your day anyway, not wanting to keep him in the dark about anything. His jaw clenched when you mentioned one of the new rumors floating around today claiming that you had filed the complaint because you were jealous Paul turned you down when you asked him out. You pressed your lips to the spot where the muscles ticked until he relaxed. 

He looked like he was contemplating something by the time you finished your debrief. You waited him out with your fingers running through the soft curls on the top of his head; the motion was something that calmed both of you down. 

“You know I’ll take care of you, right?” he asked after a quiet moment, like he was still thinking over how best to say it. “If you wanted to quit now, or if-” 

You shifted so that instead of sitting across it, you were straddling his lap. You kissed him soundly in interruption, your skin warm beneath his hands where he cradled you against him. Your forehead laid against his when you pulled away, noses brushing and breaths mingling. 

“You already are,” you promised him, voice nothing higher than a whisper. You knew that he didn’t just mean emotionally, and he knew you knew that, too. But he didn’t call you out on it, instead trusting that you would come to him if you needed to. He trusted you, and that meant more than anything. Those words from before played on your tongue again, but you swallowed them back by kissing him once more. 

Now wasn’t the time for them, either. 

___

You and Bradley spent the weekend together, and just like the ones before, you’re able to forget about work and everything that came with it for the two full days in each other’s presence. When Sunday rolled around, this time you didn’t force yourself to leave when the sun went down. The almost hour drive to your office from Bradley’s apartment on Monday morning wasn’t ideal, but waking up tangled in his sheets with his arm wrapped around you had made it all worth it. 

The rumors slowed with the time off, but only marginally. You were still the punch line of several ill-intended jokes and you couldn’t go anywhere without feeling someone’s eyes on you. You lost count of how many raised eyebrows you saw before the person who sent them your way turned to whisper to whoever they were sitting beside. 

You wondered how these so-called professionals had nothing better to do with their time. But you also wondered, deep down, why no one believed you. That was one of the toughest pills to swallow.

You had taken to reserving one of the conference rooms during the day, hiding away in there with your laptop between meetings and only venturing back to your desk after the office emptied out in the evenings. By the end of the second week, you were exhausted all over again. 

You were lying stretched out on your couch with your feet in Bradley’s lap on Friday night when your phone buzzed with a new text message. You groaned out loud when you opened the group chat with your friend group. 

“Oh no.” 

Bradley tore his gaze away from the political documentary he had been zoned in for, looking over at you in question. “What’s wrong?” 

“I forgot about brunch.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Your monthly meetup?” 

Your face softened, warmth spreading through you at the fact that he remembered. You weren’t sure why you were surprised - he had proven time and time again that he remembered damn near anything. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. 

He looked thoughtful for a moment, his fingers never ceasing from where they were pressing into the sore soles of your feet. You hadn’t even had to ask for him to rub them, and that in and of itself made pleasure shoot through you at his touch. 

“You usually love these things,” he said, not as a question, but simply as stating a fact. “You should go,” he encouraged.

You let the phone fall onto your chest without responding to the messages coming in. You did usually love these outings. You looked forward to them, even. But this time you were tired even at just the idea of it. Your friends tended to be a lot and you were already so overstimulated from the last two weeks of absolute hell at work. The thought of just you and Bradley in a bubble together for two straight days sounded so lovely. You shrugged in reply. 

“I don’t really want to go out,” you said, “it’s been a long few weeks.” 

“I know it has. But maybe seeing your friends could get your mind off of it?” 

“I know someone else who does a great job of that all on his own,” you said, digging your toes into his thigh playfully. He laughed softly, tickling you in retaliation. You squealed at the sensation, trying to get your legs away, but Bradley held onto you and continued his attack. You nearly had tears in your eyes from your laughter by the time he had mercy. He had ended up hovering over you, his arms bracketing you in and holding himself up to avoid crushing you. You let out a hum of pleasure when he kissed you, pouting when he pulled away after just a few seconds. His mustache twitched when he smiled. 

“I think you should go,” he told you. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to keep you all to myself. But I think it would be good. Catch up with your friends. Have a mimosa or two. Forget about all the shit going on for a while.” 

You considered his words for a moment. Truthfully, the thought of going out caused nervousness to thrum in your chest and your mind to race. It was easier being at home or at Bradley’s apartment. 

The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized that by letting that unnerving feeling win, you were letting him win. Paul. You hadn’t felt this kind of uncertainty of living your life until he came along, and that realization made you sad. You loved going out with your friends, and you hadn’t done it in awhile now. 

“You’re right,” you said. You leant up to press your lips to his again. “I’ll go.” 

It would be fun, and it was just brunch. What was the worst that could happen?

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

Part Eight :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: Famous words, Bug. Famous words.

I had a scowl on my face writing pretty much this whole chapter because people being mean to Bug make me angry. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! The next one is a goodie!

Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement for posting more🖤

Thank you to Mak and Em for all of your help making this story come to life. And thanks to Mak for the AMAZING banner!

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#tgm fic recs

[almostgenerallyalways]

casual arguments

[almostgenerallyalways]

i know i'm supposed to be writing my series but i've had 0 brain space and now i'm writing a hangman oh-no-there's-only-one-bed fic instead -_-

[almostgenerallyalways]

sorry I’ve been so absent! I’m not home, just getting married really soon and that’s taking up all my non-work time lol

[almostgenerallyalways]

happy pride month everyone💓

#❤️