Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy my work! Blessed be
The Captain (Simon Riley x Reader)
Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes
call sign: Freyja
warning: canon typical violence and death (ofc), blood, smut, MDNI
The Captain
Knackered & Insatiable
Let's Have a Baby
Visitors
A Square Go
Darling
Let's Have a Baby 2.0
Thunder
Hey, Jealousy
Part 9
An Austrian, a Brit, and a Scot
Too Fast
Side pieces
Riley house render!
Ask the author 1
Ask the author 2 (SPOILERS!)
Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader
Part 1: It Starts in a Bar
Part 2: Midnight Rain
In the Middle of the Night (Jason Todd x OC)
Melanie Withers and Jason Todd do everything together - including but not limited to stealing tires off Gotham's famous vigilante.
The newest additions to the Wayne family begin their new life journey, learning how to navigate their new family, life as vigilantes, adolescence, grief, and rebirth.
The Death of Peace of Mind | Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader
Part 2: Red
summary: a timeline of your first three “dates”
a/n: big thanks to @lethalchiralium as per usual
<< Previous | Next >>
Then
You met your future husband at a large, popular bar downtown.
“From the gentleman at the end.”
The bartender placed a shot of what you presumed was tequila in front of you and nodded his head in the gentleman’s direction. He was cute enough; oh, who were you kidding, he was a stunner. And he knew it, by the cocky smirk, toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth. His eye bore into you, setting your soul, stomach, and face aflame. You smiled back and raised the glass in his direction. He raised his as well, and you took the shot together from across the room. You both slammed the glass on the counter, and by the time you fixed your face, contorted by the hard nature of liquor, he was gone.
“Hi there,” a light, soft, but ostensibly manly voice says behind you. “I hope I’m not being too forward by coming over here.”
You looked over your shoulder only to be met with a broad chest encased in brown flannel. You tilted your head back, and your eyes up, up, up, until you found the man with the cowboy hat smiling down at you, his bright blue eyes sparkling. And he’s tall.
Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you couldn’t help but try to push it down. You refused to be a cliché. You refused to get picked up in a bar. But you were polite, and you had no issue flirting a bit. What could go wrong? There was nothing wrong with having a little fun. That was the whole point of going to the bar by yourself, anyway.
“Not at all. Thanks for the drink,” you said, turning in your chair to face him, your back straight against the bar behind you and your chin up. Some people may be intimidated by his stature, the way his presence swallowed up your space; his arms across both the back of your chair and the empty chair next to you crowded you in, showed off his impressive wingspan and the bulk hiding beneath his shirt. But you were confident. Confident in your ability to read people and pull whoever you wanted into your orbit. “What’s your name?”
“Hangman.”
You rolled your eyes and snorted. “Don’t pull that with me. Your real name.”
“And what am I pulling?”
“The military ego shit. It doesn’t impress me. You’re a dime a dozen here.”
His smile grew ten sizes as he mulled your comment over. You had hit the nail on the head. The callsign, the cocky grin, usually made women swoon. But you? He would have to work for it.
And he liked that.
“Jake. Jake Seresin,” he replied, and offered you his hand.
You took it, giving a not-gentle-yet-not-too-firm handshake. Jake’s hands were soft but strong, with a few calluses across his grip. He never took his eyes off you, like he was committing every detail of your face to memory, and you did the same as you told him your name, and the handshake lingered towards handholding territory.
“I like your dress.” He dropped your hand, motioning toward the dark red sundress you had on.
It showed a tasteful amount of your chest, not modest but not skimpy either. The A-line cut hit your waist perfectly, and flowed down over your hips to the top of your thighs where the ruffled hem just covered you. While you knew the sundress was an attention grabber, you also chose it for the movement. It twirled around you while you danced and made you feel like a princess.
“Wow, very original.”
“A guy can’t compliment a woman on her outfit anymore? I like the red. It might be my new favorite color.”
“Do you dance, Jake Seresin?”
His head bobbed side to side, a thoughtful look on his features. In truth, he would give anything to feel any part of your body against his. “I’m a Texan at a bar with a dance floor.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Yeah, I could dance.”
You gestured toward said dance floor. “After you.”
The two of you danced for quite a while. You made for fast partners, like you’d danced together dozens of times before. He led with strength and control, as if he could sense where you wanted to go and how you wanted to move. You had never had such an astute line-dance partner. You trusted his leadership, somehow knowing with complete certainty that he would never let you fall or crash into another dancer. After about an hour, the DJ took a break, and the crowd settled into the club playlist vibe, hot bodies bumping against each other. Your back was plastered to Jake’s firm chest, and his hands gripped your hips as they ground against his.
There was no earthly way you could miss the firm pressure under Jake’s jeans pressed against your ass. The energy between you was electric, for lack of a better term. The only question was what you wanted to do with it.
You placed your hands on top of his, and dragged them up your body - over your stomach, ribs, and breasts. You left his hands there to hold yours above your head, settling them behind you on his neck.
He gave your chest a gentle squeeze and dropped one hand to your stomach, pushing you somehow even more flush against him, emphasizing his hard-on. The man was in heaven, nibbling on your ear, copping a feel wherever he pleased, placing soft kisses down the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Jake could stand there in that bar, swaying along with your ministrations, forever. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so turned on; truthfully, he may or may not have been fighting against the instinct to finish in his pants like a teenage boy.
Wait.
My hat-
Jake’s head popped up from your jugular, and you pivoted on the balls of your feet to face him.
“Blonde,” you hummed, placing his wide-brimmed hat on your head. “I’m not sure what I expected, but I like it.”
He glanced back and forth from your shit-eating grin, to your mischievous eyes, to his hat on your pretty head in silence. He was awestruck.
“You’re playing with fire, Red,” he chastised and flicked the brim of his hat.
“Oh? We’ve moved on to nicknames already?”
“It suits you. Do you mind?”
“No, I like it.” You bit your lip and let your lashes flutter up at him. “And…who says I don’t know what I’m doing?”
Neither of you were moving anymore. Hadn’t since you stole his hat. Rarely was Hangman rendered speechless, but your audacity and mischief were unlike anything he had seen before, outside of himself. You were a girl who knew what she wanted, and knew how to get it. He had thought himself the hunter, and you his prey.
He couldn’t have been more wrong. He fell for your ploy – hook, line, and sinker.
His hands settled on your hips again, and he smiled into your ear. “My truck’s in the back lot.”
Mission accomplished.
“Lead the way, big boy.”
Neither of you bothered to get your clothes off once you were in the backseat of this truck, too impatient, swapping spit, pushing and pulling at each other’s bodies and clothes. You rode him with fervor, panties pulled to the side and your straps falling down your arms while Jake licked and sucked on your nipples.
Jake looked down where your hips met over and over. He could have drooled at the sight. The band of his underwear strained against his balls, his cock just out over it and his jeans unzipped and tugged down just enough.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he wheezed, one hand abandoning its place on your hip to spread your pussy apart. “God, I want you in my bed every fucking night, Red.” He was struggling to keep himself together, to make the mindblowing sex last as long as possible before blowing his load. But, truth be told, he could’ve filled you to the brim within the first minute of you riding him as your life depended on it.
A sharp gasp escaped you at his touch, followed by a deep moan when his thumb drew soft circles on your clit. Your hips jerked toward him, urging him to apply more pressure, and he adjusted. You nearly sobbed at the pleasure, the wet sound of your pussy slapping against his balls and the white-hot sensation from his ministrations edging you closer and closer to oblivion.
“Keep–Keep going, just like that.”
“Yeah? You gonna cum for me?”
“Keep ta-alking.” Your eyes rolled into your skull. “Oh my god–”
His other hand, still on your hip, guided you up and down, fingers digging bruises into the flesh of your ass. “Wanna see you, wanna see your pretty face when you cum on my fucking cock, princess. Show me, show me how good you are and milk me fucking dry,” he growled, nudging your chin with his nose.
Your walls clenched around him, and the corner of his eye twitched. “You want me to cum in this pussy? Fill you?”
“Fucking yes, Jake,” you sobbed, your legs starting to shake both from exhaustion and in anticipation of your inevitable release. Just a little more…
“Then make me, Red. Take it.”
The second time you meet Jake is at the same bar.
“Put her on my tab.”
You turn your head from accepting your first drink to find the same pilot hovering behind you, that wide grin hovering over you.
Talk about deja vu.
“Fancy finding you here! Two weeks in a row, sweets?”
“My usual spot dried up. I’ve heard the meat selection here is A-prime.”
He quirked a well-kept brow and rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. “Have you, now? And have your expectations been met?”
You let your tongue poke out a bit as you made a point to really think before you spoke. “Not sure,” you acquiesed. “The night’s still young.”
Jake’s drink, that you presumed to be whiskey, was drained while he playfully rolled his eyes at you. He chuckled as he reached by you to return his glass to the bartender. His hand lingered on the edge of the bartop, keeping him close to you. “I meant to give you my number the other night,” he said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“Because you want me in your bed every night?”
You didn’t miss the sudden pinky warmth in his cheeks, but he laughed and shrugged one shoulder. “What can I say?” he asked, tilting his head toward you. “It was a moment of weakness.”
“Ahh. Glad we cleared that up.” You stepped back from the pickup area, taking your drink with you and and sipping from the tiny straws. “Well, thanks for the drink, Hangman.”
He quickly followed, crowding your space again. Oddly enough, you didn’t mind. “Oh, no,” he challenged, tsking at you. “You’re mistaken. I’m buying all your drinks.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you pushed.
“I want to,” he pulled.
“What if I want to spend my night with someone else?”
“We both know that’s not happening.”
“Cocky.”
“Just enough.”
Your cheeks hurt, and you couldn’t do anything but stare at him. And he stared back just as well. It was like you were having an entire conversation with your eyes. Jake was good; maybe a little too good, and you wondered how many other women had fallen prey to the same antics. Nevertheless, he was handsome, smelled good, and then there was the big cock.
He broke first.
“Do you wanna dance?”
“I dunno…You stepped on me last time,” you teased. You twirled one of the strings attached to the collar of your blouse and bit your bottom lip. “Sounds kinda risky.”
To say he was appalled would have been an understatement. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’ve never stepped on anyone’s toes in my life. You’d better take that back.”
“I’m so glad to be your first. Gonna prove me wrong?”
“Absolutely.”
You found yourself in the same position as last week. What some (most) would consider heavy petting in the middle of the dance floor, breathing hard, salty rivulets gathering at your hairline. You slowly sank to the floor, twisting your hips as you went, and dragging your hands down the clothes planes of Jake’s chest, stomach, thighs and crotch with your tongue caught in your teeth. You rose back up just as slow, watching him watch you, before turning your back to him. You knew what you were doing.
“Hey.” He tugged on the back of your belt, his index and middle fingers dipping below the waistline for your jeans.
You tilted your ear toward his mouth.
“You’re comin’ back to my place, right?”
You smiled and shrugged. “Buy me another drink–” you drawled back, drunk on the tension and a little buzzed from the booze, “–and I’ll think about it, pretty boy.”
The ride to Jake’s apartment felt like both a lifetime and the quickest drive of your life. On one hand, you blinked, and suddenly your door was being opened; on the other hand, time seemed to stop as you couldn’t take your eyes off the red scrunchie around his rearview mirror.
Your scrunchie. The one that had been strangely missing for the last week.
You spent the length of the drive, and the walk up to his floor, letting the image of him marinate; him finding your hair tie in his back seat and intentionally putting it on display. What kind of game was he playing? Was it a trophy? Was it a war—
Suddenly, you were much taller, your hands resting on his neck and your legs tight at his firm waist as Jake hiked you up by the backs of your thighs.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, smirking up at you.
“You can get your clothes off.”
“I like the way you think.”
The man was set on leaving his mark, making sure you were ruined for any man who could possibly come after him. The weight of Jake’s body on yours was delicious, perfect in every way. He knew just where to place his weight on your back to not be too overwhelming while providing the right amount of control. You saw stars while his crooked arm applied pressure to either side of your throat, restricting enough pressure to make you gasp for air without suffocating. Your nails dug into his forearm and bicep, leaving stinging crescent moons in his skin.
The sound of skin snapping against skin, layered with your deep, drawn out, breathless moan punctuated by his thrusts made Jake weak in the knees. He could feel your muscles quivering around him, on the brink of yet another orgasm for the night. You tilted your hips up just the slightest amount, letting him take you impossibly deeper, he laughed.
“Just can’t get enough of me, can you, Red?” The blonde latched his mouth on your neck for a moment, sucking and kissing the spot gently. “Pussy’s fucking made for me. Can you be good and give me another?”
The next morning—more accurately, afternoon—when he woke up to an empty bed and cold sheets beside him, Jake’s heart sank into his gut. He had expected you to at least let him bring you back to the bar to get your car. He wondered to himself how you managed to get out from under him without alerting him to your departure while he looked for his phone. When he found it on the breakfast bar, his brows furrowed.
Ubered to my car. Thanks for the drinks ;)
He plucked the sticky note off the screen and flew to text the number you’d left on the bottom.
Just the drinks?
Thirty seconds passed where Jake stood, leaning against the counter, waiting for your reply with baited breath. His tired grin reached his ears when three bubbles appeared.
I put out, you should be thanking me
He was not falling in love.
Definitely not.
More dots appeared on his screen.
I don’t have enough data for a performance review
He could fix that.
The third time you saw each other, Hangman was already several drinks deep, planted next to his flight partner. He and Vegas were good friends; they got drinks together a couple nights a month. But that week, he decided to sit at the same bar you’d met at, on a night he’d never seen you before, to contemplate his life choices.
Jake’s forehead thudded against the bartop, having just finished a long winded rant about you. He was unbelievably frustrated, both sexually and emotionally. You weren’t texting back, not for drinks or a booty call. It had been days. He was a great lay, and he knew that, but you refusing to give him the satisfaction of praise was…
What was it? Why was it bothering him so much?
Vegas watched with a raised brow, and eventually busted out cackling.
“I know,” Jake groaned, sighing loudly.
“Man, you’ve got it bad.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
Vegas finished off his drink and shook his head. His long, dark hair fell far past his shoulders, but was well kept and sleek. Each side was tucked back behind his ears, displaying small gold hoops in each lobe. “The dramatics, dude.” He looked at his partner, who appeared both confused and bewildered. Turning his torso to face him fully, Vegas continued, “You…You like her, Hangman. You know that, right?”
“Of course I like her,” Jake scoffed. “I’m having sex with her.”
“Not…oh sweet Jesus. No, brother. You like her. You’re catching feelings.”
An emotion flared in Jake’s chest that he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) quite identify. Anger? Shame? “I don’t do feelings,” he hissed, placing his hat back on his blonde quiff. The same hat you—
Nope, don’t even go there, Hangman.
“I know you don’t. Which is why this is hilarious.”
“You’re delusional.”
“You wouldn’t be this annoyed if you didn’t care.”
Being a cocky asshole was his whole personality. Hangman was notorious, both in civilian and military life, for being a shameless whore. He loved the hunt, chasing down a good looking woman for a fun night, no strings attached.
Why fix what wasn’t broken?
“Fuck you, Vegas,” he drawled with a dramatic eye roll. “I’ll be fine once I find another hole to fuck.”
He slid off his seat and, in the midst of a quick turn in his heel, nearly slammed into a body just behind him. The person staggered, and he grabbed them by the shoulders to keep them vert—
Oh, goddammit.
His heart fluttered within his ribcage when faced with your bright smile, with enough force to almost send him stumbling.
“You should watch where you’re going, handsome. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Likewise, pretty girl.”
Your brow arched slightly, but your lips didn’t budge. “Is that seat taken?”
“No—” He heard a sudden couch behind him and blinked a few times, coming back to reality. “Uh, yeah, actually. This is my buddy, Vegas. Vegas, this is Red.”
You peeked around him to the man waving behind him. “Nice to meet you, Vegas,” you said and shook his hand. You snorted at the pair of dice tattooed on his palm. “Funny.”
“Likewise. His description didn’t quite do you justice, though.”
“Oh, so you were talking about me?”
“Only a little.” Vegas leaned forward. “Red, have you ever been to Paris?”
Fuck this shit. Jake’s eye twitched.
You laughed. You fucking laughed. “Why? Are you offering to take me?”
“Wanna roll the dice and find out?”
“ALRIGHT!” The roaring in Jake’s head finally became too much to bear, and he stepped into your line of sight. Yours and Vegas’s hands broke apart. “He’s just playing. We’ve gotta head out, get this one home before his bedtime.”
You hummed, eyeing his far too calm expression, not a lingering grin in sight. He could feel you picked him apart, baring his soul for the whole goddamn world to see.
Vegas was a dead man.
“Well, I’ll leave you two be then. Too bad, I had some free time later to spare.” Already he recognized the smug mischief behind your lashes. “I’ll see you around, Jake.”
His eyes didn’t leave your form until you disappeared into the huddle that was your friend group. He was positively glued to his spot, fists slowly relaxing as you put distance between yourself and Vegas.
“Congratulations, Bagman.” Vegas clapped a tanned hand over Hangman’s shoulder. “You’re hooked.”
Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy my work! Blessed be
The Captain (Simon Riley x Reader)
Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes
call sign: Freyja
warning: canon typical violence and death (ofc), blood, smut, MDNI
The Captain
Knackered & Insatiable
Let's Have a Baby
Visitors
A Square Go
Darling
Let's Have a Baby 2.0
Thunder
Hey, Jealousy
Part 9
An Austrian, a Brit, and a Scot
Too Fast
Side pieces
Riley house render!
Ask the author 1
Ask the author 2 (SPOILERS!)
Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader
Part 1: It Starts in a Bar
Part 2: Midnight Rain
In the Middle of the Night (Jason Todd x OC)
Melanie Withers and Jason Todd do everything together - including but not limited to stealing tires off Gotham's famous vigilante.
The newest additions to the Wayne family begin their new life journey, learning how to navigate their new family, life as vigilantes, adolescence, grief, and rebirth.
Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy my work! Blessed be
The Captain (Simon Riley x Reader)
Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes
call sign: Freyja
warning: canon typical violence and death (ofc), blood, smut, MDNI
The Captain
Knackered & Insatiable
Let's Have a Baby
Visitors
A Square Go
Darling
Let's Have a Baby 2.0
Thunder
Hey, Jealousy
Part 9
An Austrian, a Brit, and a Scot
Too Fast
Side pieces
Riley house render!
Ask the author 1
Ask the author 2 (SPOILERS!)
Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader
Part 1: It Starts in a Bar
Part 2: Midnight Rain
In the Middle of the Night (Jason Todd x OC)
Melanie Withers and Jason Todd do everything together - including but not limited to stealing tires off Gotham's famous vigilante.
The newest additions to the Wayne family begin their new life journey, learning how to navigate their new family, life as vigilantes, adolescence, grief, and rebirth.
While I’m here, it feels illegal to change my long-standing header now that I don’t identify as queer, especially given how long it was a central part of my identity
As it turns out, sexuality was incredibly fluid in my case! It wasn’t that I was queer and didn’t like sex!
But rather, I had only ever looked at the antithesis of what ended up being my real type, which is short, blond, intelligent, buff gamer boys! I was grossed out by sex because…they weren’t my type!
The life of a writer is having a hyper-specific dream one night that you need to consume that definitely doesn’t exist, so you’re stuck with either finding a way out of a writing block funk to create a fic of that dream, or…
In my defense for being late with this, the HEATED RIVALRY fandom has been putting out not just bangers, but longfic bangers that update regularly, where multiple fantastic authors are still in their feverdream state and I am but a simple reader who is trying desperately to keep up. It's so far beyond being a problem that it's wrapped back around into being the best thing pretty much ever! I still can't believe this fandom that had like 2k fics when I joined will soon have 20,000 fics, what a time to be in a fandom!
This set has a whole bunch of fics that changed my brain chemistry, like that incredible Irina fic or that fic that humanized Alexei for me and now I can't go back or the Bears sort-of-not-really kidnapping Shane because the Voyageurs suck or some absolutely incredible explorations of Ilya's self-harm tendencies or the funniest Kip portrayal I've ever read or Shane being a competitive freak vs being a horny freak for his husband: FIGHT, all of it is absolutely wrecking my id. Nobody save me, I'm exactly where I want to be.
HEATED RIVALRY - NO I WON’T BE CHILL ABOUT THE GAY HOCKEY PLAYERS SHOW:
Sinking While Swimming by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle, ilya/shane & hayden & alexei & svetlana & cast, 28.2k
“Maybe you don't have to-” “Uh-uh. No backtracking now.” Hayden pointed a finger at him. “If you tell Shane, fantastic. Would love that, quite frankly, but until you do, I want those goddamn pictures, Rozanov. Am I clear?” Ilya wanted to make some quip about Pike trying to get a different kind of picture out of him, but given the circumstances... He just nodded. “Good. My kids tragically love the fuck out of you, so figure this out.” Ilya nodded again. “Alright then.”
Mama's Boy, Mama's Boy by WhimperSoldier, ilya/shane & irina & cast, NSFW, 68.3k
Shane's first mistake was going to talk to Ilya Rozanov before their game. His second was immediately, stupidly, meeting the eyes of Rozanov’s very much dead mother hovering at his side.
(We Could Be) Something Great by Anonymous, ilya/shane & bears, nsfw, 77k wip
When Ilya Rozanov goes down on the ice, the Boston Bears are already moving to defend their captain. No one expects Shane Hollander, captain of the Montreal Voyageurs, to be the one who throws the first punch. Or: the Boston Bears figure out Ilya and Shane’s relationship first—and decide that instead of letting their captain move to fucking Ottawa, they’ll just kidnap a his boyfriend instead. Shane Hollander would make a better Bear anyway.
tongues a-wagging by Anonymous, ilya/shane & oc & cast, 29k
Barstool Sports Canada reports that Montreal Metros captain Shane Hollander has started learning Russian from new teammate and Russian rookie Sergei Dovonchezky. Ilya has some thoughts. None of them are particularly kind.
Live Through This (And You Won't Look Back) by Snaptic, ilya/shane & scott/kip & hayden & cliff & j.j. & cast, 49.9k
Shane rolls onto his side and stares at the faint outline of the window. The darkness presses in, but it doesn’t feel as suffocating as usual. Before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches for his phone. The screen lights up the room, too bright. His thumb hovers for a second, then he opens the thread. Shane: I think we should tell Scott.
let me give you innovation (got that good good) by splatticus, ilya/shane & centaurs, NSFW, 9.6k wip
Ilya can't keep out of the box, so he's not allowed to put it in anymore.
A Sacred Ottawa-Pike Peace Treaty by Mooeyeddie (mooeyeddie), ilya/shane & hayden, 9k
Forced into ridiculous ‘bonding’ playdates by their spouses, Ilya and Hayden are adamant about doing it their own way
Grady v. Rozanov by Pickle_Chips, ilya/shane & scott/kip, nsfw, 19.9k
Kip can't believe no one else can tell how outrageously gay Ilya Rozanov is, but he's not complaining, he's happy to have someone else to talk to at all the hockey functions. Or: Perfect gaydar haver Ilya Rozanov finally gets a taste of his own medicine. A series of looks into Kip and Ilya's friendship, starting after the cottage.
A Dozen Forget-Me-Nots by technicallyverycowboy, ilya/shane & hayden/jackie & hayden/shane, 6.2k
Hayden coughs up the first petals the night Shane's trade to Ottawa is announced. Hayden doesn't have hanahaki and if he does, it's purely platonic and if it's not, nobody ever has to know. Especially not Shane.
Pull it Off by smugrobotics, shane(/ilya) & oc, 1.2k
Shane hires a stylist.
shane hollander boy kisser confirmed! by chuyasexual, ilya/shane & hayden/shane & hayden/jackie & centaurs, 16.1k
In 2021, Shane Hollander reveals his relationship with former rival Ilya Rozanov to the shock of chronically online people worldwide, who’ve spent the last decade convincing the world he’s secretly in love with his teammate Hayden Pike
you're gonna go far, we'll all be here by writinginasnowglobe, ilya/shane & luca & centaurs & ocs, 3k
Ilya: everyone welcome luca haas new rookie 🫨 Ilya: i gave him all your numbers do not introduce yourself Ilya: i do not need phone buzzing i am busy
One for the Road by PastyPirate, ilya/shane & centaurs, NSFW, 28.4k
“You can’t go two weeks without fucking me anyways,” Shane heard himself saying, and instantly felt like he’d chosen the wrong dialogue option. He should’ve said something like I’d like to see all the ways you can figure it out or maybe not sharing a room has never stopped us before. Ilya let out a laugh, “Please, you beg for me all the time.” “I’m not the one who can’t go more than a day without jerking off —” shut up Hollander, SHUT UP “I can totally go two weeks without fucking.”
The chips are set to fall by icopythefax, ilya/shane & scott & cast, 17.8k wip
At the 2017 All Star Weekend, Ilya takes fate into his own hands to produce at least one out MLH player by the end of the season. Thus begins his part-time side hustle as community organizer, mastermind, and Commander-in-Chief of the Gay Hockey Army.
The Condom Cartel by CognitiveMiser, ilya/shane & ocs, 5k
Team Canada is undefeated, the Olympic Village is buzzing, and Shane Hollander just wants to focus on hockey. Unfortunately, his husband has discovered capitalism. When the Olympic Committee announces a condom shortage across the Village, Shane assumes it’s just another chaotic headline in an already surreal tournament. What he does not expect is to discover that Ilya Rozanov has been quietly selling their unused “complimentary health supplies” to stressed-out rookies and possibly half the international athletes...for five euros each.
Scotty Didn’t Know (but he sure does now) by halfbaked_ziti, ilya(/shane) & scott, 1.8k
“You have problem, you bring it to me,” Rozanov growled. “Not him. Me. I am not so easy of a target, not like boring Canadians. And you keep that shit off the ice. Chirping, yes, fine. Not that. Never that. You are older than the game of hockey, should understand difference by now.” Canadians? “Wait,” Scott said slowly. “Is this about what I said to Hollander the other day?”
bad bluetooth by goldengalaxies, ilya/shane & hayden & j.j., 1.8k
“You have a message from: Lily.” The automated voice read out. Shane almost swerved into the other lane trying to press the mute button on the dashboard.
Our Cup Runneth Over by Ottawacentaursstan, ilya/shane & centaurs, 6.9k
The rise and fall of a Cool Party Guy (aka the Centaurs win the Stanley Cup and Shane gets uncharacteristically drunk to celebrate)
Wrap It Up by alchemystique, ilya/shane & scott & wyatt & cast, 3.1k
The Olympic Village runs out of condoms on day three. Luckily for Olympians, Shane Hollander took note of exactly how often this has happened previously.
I can see it, your face is glowin' by joldiego, shane(/ilya) & hayden(/jackie), 4k
Shane is stooped over to strap on his shin guards when his phone buzzes once in Hayden’s hand. He doesn’t mean to tap the notification. And oh god, does he wish he could un-tap the fucking notification. Because why the fuck has Lily, Shane’s mysterious Boston hook-up of several years (no matter how fervently he denies it), sent him a picture of a fucking sonogram. Black and white, blurry, and undeniably baby-shaped.
MORE RECS UNDER THE CUT because I have some fucking manners. Sometimes.
No Angry Kitten by AkirasStories, ilya/shane, 2.1k
ilya sends shane yet another picture of an angry kitten. (a texting & social media fic)
oh my god you should see your faces by writinginasnowglobe, ilya/shane & hayden & scott & centaurs, 13.2k wip
A few months after the FanMail incident, Yuna Hollander decides to do what she does best. With the added benefit of having another son to lovingly manage, of course. The internet, unsurprisingly, loses its shit. Or, Shane and Ilya go on the press run to end all press runs, courtesy of Yuna Hollander.
Gotta catch 'em all. by mnamosyna, ilya(/shane) & cliff & oc, 1.8k
CLIFF: I think my rookie may be one of yours. ILYA: Russian? CLIFF: No, dumbass. Gay. Marlow accidently helps Ilya add to his collection of hockey queers.
Statement for Immediate Release by katie_606, ilya/shane & hayden & farah & yuna & harris, ~1k
Shane feels it necessary to release a subsequent statement following too many people questioning his on ice integrity against Ilya. But he does it on Instagram where the comments go a little wild, thanks mostly to Ilya.
shane hollander's guide to bottom prep by bisexualbuckley, ilya/shane, NSFW, 13k
Ilya shrugs and runs his hand from Shane’s waist down to his ass and back up. “But you are so good at it. What is English saying? Having it with science?” “Having it down to a science.”
I saw your face and you blew my mind by juniperjensen, ilya/shane, 1.8k
It's that one Reddit post where the guy wakes up from surgery and doesn't remember his wife. But make it Hollanov. That's it.
The Heat by dntat, ilya/shane, NSFW, omegaverse, 6.2k
The flight home seemed to take forever. So did the drive, even as he broke every speed limit. His hand was shaking when he tried to get the key in the door. Once, twice, he missed. Then it was flung open. Shane was standing there. He was dressed only in the smallest pair of briefs, the black fabric stretched over the curve of his muscular thighs and ass. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin and his chest was heaving with shallow, panting breaths. His eyes were hazy and dark. He smelled like sweat and sweetness and Shane. Like everything Ilya had ever wanted since he was just a boy of seventeen. Or: Shane's suppressants are failing.
English Lessons with Ilya by taliiaa, ilya/shane & luca, 1.1k
Luca: if we are holding our horses that means we want to go outside? Luca: take a break and go see animals? Ilya: yes Ilya: exactly
Lily & Jane Take Over Twitter by winter1477, ilya/shane & centaurs, nsfw, 4.6k
The hockey twitter world explodes when a new Shane fan account under the name "Lily" pops up. And all she tweets about is how bad she wants to fuck Shane Hollander.
MINE MINE MINE by Anonymous, ilya/shane & david/yuna, 3.6k
“So,” Yuna says, as she polishes off her third glass of cabernet. “When are you boys going to get started on kids?” Shane chokes on his tiramisu. - Or: Maybe Shane doesn’t want kids.
20 Questions & Mutual Destruction in Elevator 2T by fringe_problems, ilya(/shane) & scott(/kip), 3.6k
Ilya takes out his phone and swipes to Jane and types quickly, eyes on Hunter: I am trapped in elevator. With Scott Hunter. I am coming soon as I can. Shane responds immediately: Please don’t kill Scott Hunter
Shane Hollander, Man Who Would Eat Hockey If He Could by elumish, ilya/shane & scott & centaurs, 2k
[Scott Hunter]: thanks [Shane]: I meant it. [Scott Hunter]: I know [Shane]: Please don’t have sex in the locker room. [Scott Hunter]: lol (or: four moments throughout the years, as seen through the eyes of the camera)
Vibrate by NotEvenCloseToStraight, ilya/shane, NSFW, 6.6k
One day, Shane will learn not to take the “you are scared.” bait from Ilya. Today is not that day.
Snowed In by Evilharlowe, ilya/shane, 4.5k
Shane and Ilya sneak away to a cottage for a rare weekend together. Then the snow starts falling, and it doesn't stop.
Scott Hunter Night by that1friendguy, ilya(/shane) & scott(/kip), 1.9k
Ilya Rozanov was perhaps the last person Scott expected to show up at his impromptu Hunter Night. After post season awards. In a gay bar. Which could mean nothing.
Did he just…? by anarchyat4am, ilya(/shane) & scott(/kip), 1.2k
Rozanov flinches when a loud laugh breaks the white noise from the party inside, and Scott realises that Rozanov’s been doing the same thing he has all these years: cataloguing who is or isn’t safe, watching, noticing, waiting.
meat ugly by thathastu, ilya/shane, 1.7k
When Ilya agreed to let Shane adopt a cat to join their family, he did not expect Shane to fall in love with a hairless cat named Pork, the fattest, meanest, and ugliest creature that the shelter had to offer. And he certainly didn't expect for Pork to be his sworn nemesis.
Peeled Rotisserie Chicken by Nimming, ilya/shane, nsfw, 1.4k
Moving back to the cottage meant relaxing and spending every second with his husband. Instead, he's having to fight for attention. Insert a two step plan for Ilya to steal back his husband's affection.
finsta by Marmeladeskies, ilya/shane & centaurs, nsfw, 1.7k
LaPointe tries to catch him, but Holmberg leaps from his chair, holding his phone high and reading the post out loud so everyone can hear. “-following her from his main professional account. The transgender creator specializes in-” All heads whip around. Shane quickly grabs the laptop because Ilya is already on his feet, reaching for LaPointe who, Shane thinks, is seconds away from punching Holmberg to stop him from reading more.
Hacked by Masterless, ilya/shane & david/yuna, 2.1k
Heated Rivalry AU where the relationship reveal happens because David Hollander's phone gets hacked and approximately 5,000 pictures and videos of Shane and Ilya being cute (both together and individually) get dumped onto the internet.
10,000 Condoms for Russia's Greatest Love Machine by Lexi_Leckstar, ilya/shane & oc, nsfw, 2.2k
Or: At the 2026 Winter Olympics, Ilya doesn't get paired to room with Shane because of the Coach's stupid 'no-sex rule'
like the back of my hand by xianvar, ilya/shane & hayden, 1.3k
Hayden is the person who knows Shane best. Even if he sometimes feels like he doesn’t know him at all. Surely, that fear won’t be proven right after Shane’s concussion… right?
the tape measure incident by 17darwinism, ilya/shane & centaurs, 1.3k
Harris does the tape measure TikTok trend on the Centaurs, and he learns more than he ever wanted to know. But at least the internet seems to love it.
Let’s stay professional by jumpsuit_en (jumpsuit), ilya/shane & centaurs, 2.8k
Calling your own spouse a coward in public takes nerve. Goading a three-time Stanley Cup champion takes another kind. Ilya Rozanov is the only player capable of unlocking both achievements in one breath. Or: Shane’s first day on the Ottawa Centaurs, and Ilya supporting him in his unique way.
Washed Up, Irrelevant by lavery, ilya/shane & centaurs, 1.3k
“The third player.” Shane clarified, “In the big three of active players? I mean it’s me and Ilya, right?” Amelia nodded mutely whilst Luca Haas, who had been asked the question, stared at Shane with wide eyes. “So, who’s the third?” Shane’s face took on a contemplative look. “Scott Hunter?” Amelia said with confusion. “Hunter?” Shane looked surprised. “Why?” Across the room Roz let out a bark of laughter.
the pda police by goldengalaxies, ilya/shane & centaurs, 1.6k
Roz We are good looking and married and in love, is normal to be sexually active Hazy I’m sorry but no. There’s sexually active and there’s YOU TWO Shane @Hazy I’m confused. We only have sex everyday? Shane That’s not that much, is it? Dykstra I can’t tell if you’re joking or not???? Shane How often is normal? Roz Shut up Roz Everyone is banned from speaking Roz No more talking
Hello! I’m trying to find a fic I read years ago. The only thing I remember is that it was either a fake relationship to make Ron jealous, or Draco was showing her how she should be treated. I feel like it had art made for it?
I’m sorry I don’t have more for you to work with! 😭
This?
Jealousy by rainsrabble - M, 23 chapters - “If I’ve harmed her?” He seethed, snaking into Harry’s space, his voice dropping to a menacing hiss. “She comes to me crying and you have the nerve to question how I’ve treated her?”
Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy my work! Blessed be
Call of Duty
The Captain (Simon Riley x Reader)
Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes
call sign: Freyja
warning: canon typical violence and death (ofc), blood, smut, MDNI
The Captain
Knackered & Insatiable
Let's Have a Baby
Visitors
A Square Go
Darling
Let's Have a Baby 2.0
Thunder
Hey, Jealousy
Part 9
An Austrian, a Brit, and a Scot
Too Fast
Side pieces
Riley house render!
Ask the author 1
Ask the author 2 (SPOILERS!)
Melanie Withers and Jason Todd do everything together - including but not limited to stealing tires off Gotham's famous vigilante.
The newest additions to the Wayne family begin their new life journey, learning how to navigate their new family, life as vigilantes, adolescence, grief, and rebirth.
The Death of Peace of Mind | Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader
Part 1: Altitude. Altitude.
summary: life with a pilot isn't all it's cracked up to be.
a/n: hi friends! welcome! entry, please! i told you i would be back :) unfortunately, it took a lot longer than i expected. i moved states this year, started a new job, found a loving and healthy relationship, traveled internationally for the first time...
i.e. i have been super busy, but i'm out of my depressive slump and finally got the urge to write (and post) again. i won't say that consistency is back, as my social calendar has obviously been slammed, but i will try my best <3
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Thunderous.
That’s the only way to describe the sound of hundreds of boots pounding down the ship’s stairs toward the dock below. While Hangman had only been aboard for a few weeks, many of the crew had been deployed for months on end. He, and a few other Top Gun members, made the vessel their temporary home while they completed a brief mission. Nothing like the Dagger mission, just simple recon; but the security was top-notch, and the admiral wanted his best on the case.
Hangman rolls the toothpick between his teeth with his tongue and shrugs his duffel higher up his shoulder. He laughs at a dig Phoenix makes at Rooster and claps a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, Phoenix. How I’ll miss you and your quick wit,” he sings, the sun hitting his face as his boot hits the dock beside her.
Phoenix shakes her head as she pulls her aviators from her shirt and settles them on the bridge of her nose. “And I will miss nothing about you, Hangman.”
“Ouch! Brutal! You wound me, Natasha.”
“See ya next time, Hangman.”
“You won’t have to suffer too long, Rooster. I’ll be in your dreams tonight, per usual.” He nods in the other man’s direction. “Rodeo, it’s been a pleasure.”
“I’ll never understand why you boys can’t seem to get along.”
Bob’s cousin, Rhett Abbott. Related by their twin mothers, almost identical themselves. A skilled pilot and proud country boy, with a heart of gold. Not to mention, entirely tolerable. Unlike his buddy, Bradley. Hangman and Rodeo clap hands in a firm handshake, smiling at each other. “It’s not in my blood, cowboy.”
They say their final goodbyes and are about to split up when a tiny voice shouts, “DADDY!”
Usually, this wouldn’t be uncommon. They’re on a dock, where families had come from all over Texas to welcome their servicemen and women home from a long deployment. It’s an emotional affair, albeit happy, but emotional nevertheless. However, when a little blonde girl they don’t recognize (again, not uncommon, usually) gets closer and closer, set on a path in their direction, confusion is written all over their faces. That confusion only increases tenfold when Hangman breaks into the biggest, most genuine smile they’ve ever seen him wear, and takes long strides in her direction.
“DADDY!”
Hangman drops into a squat, holding his bag in place on his shoulder, and grabs the child with his other arm. “Hi, baby!” he exclaims and fervently kisses her cheek. “I missed you so much!”
He can’t remember the last time his heart felt so full. He understands now, why so many people have their families show up after every deployment or mission. Watching his daughter, who somehow managed to find him in the crowd, run up to him with so much excitement and love was entirely different than walking in the front door.
Although, it’s been a while since that’s happened.
He shakes the thought from his mind and scoops her up with his arm while he stands again. Her little arms go right around his neck, hugging him tight. He’s gently rubbing her leg when he asks her, “Where’s your mom?”
He’s fully aware of the absolute circus in the minds of his fellow pilots in the background. They haven’t spoken a word, silent, but he doesn’t have to look to know that they’re probably standing in the same spot. Unmoved, jaws on the floor. What Hangman does do is look around, keeping an eye out for–
“Mama!” the little girl yells, waving her hand frantically at the woman approaching.
“You found him! I’m so proud of you, Daise!”
Jake Seresin was an expert at keeping his personal and work lives separate; or he thought so, at least. Work often bled into personal, but never the other way around. Any piece or crumb the crew knew about his life outside of work, he had fed them willingly and with intention.
“Would you…want to come to port?”
“...What?”
“Only if you want. I know it’s a long drive for Daise–”
“No, no. We could fly. I’m just…surprised. You’ve never…”
“We’re docking in Corpus. The crew asked if I would show them around while we’re on leave. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to introduce you. And Daisy. Especially with…”
“That sounds nice. We’ll be there.”
“Great. I’ll send you the info.” Silence. “Thanks, Red. I mean it.”
“I know. Thank you for including us.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”
“You’re fixing it. That’s all that matters.”
He thought that he had mastered work-life balance, too.
Apparently, not.
You give him a short side hug, partially blocked by his familiar duffel. His hand lingers on your arm after you pull away.
“Hey. Thank you for coming.”
“Happy to. I wish you could’ve seen her face when I told her. Didn’t complain once the whole drive here.”
“Really? Isn’t that something?” He turns his attention back to Daisy. “Were you good for Mama?”
Jake listens intently to your daughter’s jumbled, excited retelling of your journey, and you occasionally butt in with light banter. He hadn’t been gone long, but from the speed and fervor at which Daisy was talking, you’d think she hadn’t seen him in months. This goes on for a bit until someone interrupts your daughter’s babbling. A male voice barks his callsign, and he peers over his shoulder in their direction.
He looks back over at Daisy with a gasp. “Daise, would you wanna meet Daddy’s coworkers?” he asks, his eyebrows quirked in faux shock.
“For real?!”
“Yeah, for real.”
“Yes!”
And that’s what you do. Jake nods in the group’s direction, and you follow his lead, sticking close to his side. He had obviously done an excellent job at keeping his family a secret; you can tell from a mile away that the band of pilots is trying to quietly deduce what the fuck is going on while you approach. Daisy is practically ready to launch out of his hold in excitement, giggling and wiggling like a little worm.
“Alright, don’t get yourselves in a tizzy.” He hikes Daisy up on his waist. “Daisy, this is Rodeo–”
“Like the rodeo at home?” she asks, in her curious, pitched voice.
“Just like that. Rodeo, this is Daisy Mae.”
“Pleasure.” The man holds his hand out to her, and she takes it, bursting with giggles again. The sound is like music to your ears, and you just know that Jake is absolutely reveling in her joy. Rodeo has a charming smile and a warm personality. You’ve heard just about every complaint under the sun from Hangman (and he has plenty), but he’s bitched about Rodeo the least. Although, when he bitches, that usually means he cares.
And he complains about Rooster a lot. A lot.
Rodeo then moves on to you and offers the same gesture. “Rhett Abbott. Miss…?”
“Seresin. I’m his wife,” you say, shaking his hand while you tell him your first name and insist that he drop the formality. You can sense Jake, your husband, looking and smiling down at you like you’re his moon and stars. You make a feeble attempt to avoid meeting his gaze but it’s futile. You make eye contact, and you know you won’t live the admission down.
You’ll talk about it later.
“You have a hat like Daddy’s,” your daughter says, and reaches out to touch the brim.
“Do I, now?”
“Moving on.” He turns her a little, “And this is Rooster.”
Daisy’s button nose scrunches in distaste, and her brows furrow together, before “…Ew.”
The man with a mustache, Rooster, clicks his teeth. “Seriously, Seresin?” he exclaims, exasperated.
“You know it. Up top, pumpkin.” Daisy throws her whole body into the high-five. You laugh as they smack hands in the air, and Jake shakes it off as if it were the crispest he had ever received. “Ouch. You’re gonna have a nasty right hook one day. You know who else throws a good punch?” He turns them to the next person, the sole woman of the party. “This is Phoenix.”
The dark-haired woman smiles brightly. “Hello! Phoenix is my work name. You can call me Natasha,” she says as if they’re sharing a secret. She’s very pretty, you notice, and you already like her. You hope the two of you can keep in touch, maybe even become friends.
You thought you would be more nervous, meeting the people Jake spends most of his time with, but you feel at ease. Sure, there’s anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it’s minimal. You’re in his sanctuary, his church, for the first time ever, and the magnitude of that isn’t lost on you.
“N…Tasha.”
“Exactly. Tasha’s okay too.”
It almost feels like before. Before Jake, Hangman, blew right past the hard deck of your relationship and left a fiery pile of rubble, which he was now attempting to repair.
But this isn’t before.
Then
Altitude. Altitude.
Not being selected for the mission stung; but being put on standby (babysitting duty), twiddling his thumbs on deck in favor of Rooster, stung even more.
Hangman knew deep down what Rooster was capable of. He said so during their training exercise. He had all of the skills to complete the mission just fine if he would just buck the fuck up. He didn’t have the confidence, too cautious for his own good. He hoped Maverick was right, that Roos was ready to get the job done.
“We got two minutes to target.”
“Copy. We’re a few seconds behind, Rooster. We got to move.”
“Thirty seconds to tomahawk impact on enemy airstrip.”
“Dagger, Comanche. We’re picking up two bandits. Single group, two contacts.”
They would be fine. Nothing to worry about.
“Sir, Daggers two and four are behind schedule. Time to target, one minute-twenty.”
“Rooster, where are you?”
“Come on, Bradshaw, pick it up…”
“Come on, Rooster. Bandits inbound. We got to make up time now. Let’s turn and burn.
Good, Payback. Kick his ass into gear.
“Guys, we’re falling behind! We really gotta move!”
“If we don’t increase our speed right now, those bandits are gonna be waiting for us when we reach the target.”
Hit the gas, Rooster. Do it.
And he did. By the sound of it, Roos had blown his wingmen out of the water with the way he took off. He nearly left them in the dust, to Hangman’s surprise and pride. Maybe the other pilot had taken a page out of his book.
“Dagger one is hit! I repeat, Dagger one is hit! Maverick is down!”
He had considered at least one of the lieutenants not making it back. Whether it was Rooster for being too slow, or Payback and Fanboy going down with him for his hesitation. He was fairly certain Phoenix was safe, with the legendary captain as her wingman. But losing Maverick wasn’t anywhere close to his radar. He started adjusting in his seat, checking his buckles and legroom while holding his mouthpiece up. “Dagger spare, request permission to launch and fly air cover!”
There’s a beat, before Comanche’s response. “Negative, spare.”
And like a good soldier, Hangman listened. Begrudgingly, and with great frustration, he listened. Even as Rooster disobeyed orders. Even as he located a somehow living Pete Mitchell. Even as he crashed like their leader. By that point, they were sure to be dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
That is, until–
“Daggers two, four, and spare. Be advised, a supersonic F-14 has been detected with Rooster’s headset. Unconfirmed occupants. Do not engage.”
“What?” Jake’s head whipped around and his eyes darted to Phoenix in her cockpit. She was looking between Hangman and Dagger Four just as confused as he was. “Did they say–?”
Payback lifted his mouthpiece. “Comanche, repeat.”
“Rooster headset has been picked up in the air.”
Going after Roos and Mav was a split-second decision. He knew he shouldn’t have done it the second his wheels left the carrier.
Pull up. Pull up.
And by then, it was too late to turn back.
“Dagger spare, do not engage! You do not have clearance for take-off! Acknowledge!”
“With all due respect, Comanche, not acknowledged.”
A man’s voice, likely the vice admiral, suddenly cut in. “Hangman! Stay put! That is a direct order!”
If he was going to get written up, potentially court-martialed, for disobeying direct orders, he was going to make the most of it.
“Sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”
Hangman didn’t respond to the slew of orders and cursing. He engaged the jet canopy and sat in silence with his hand over his right breast pocket, where three small photos were safely tucked away. One of you, in your pajamas with your hair up and an ice cream spoon in your mouth, eyes crinkled as you grin at him. Another of him and Daisy, and a third of the three of you.
You’d better be worth it, Bradshaw.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your savior speaking.”
“Hey, Hangman. You look good.”
“I am good, Rooster. I’m very good.”
You were standing by the door, rifling through the pile of mail from the day, when you found an official-looking letter in the middle. “Jake, baby, there’s a letter for you.”
Altitude. Altitude.
“Does it say ‘confidential’?” he hollered from the kitchen.
You turned the thick envelope over, then back again. “No, it’s just addressed to you,” you said, shaking your head as if he could see you.
“Go ahead and open it.”
The paper and adhesive tore easily around your finger as you approached the kitchen. You pulled the single page out of its sleeve and quickly skimmed the letter to give a summary. But that cursory glance sent an icy chill up your spine, choking back the first line that you had meant to read aloud.
You stood between the living room and kitchen, letter in hand, frozen; a reprimand.
“What’s it say, babe?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, let alone move. Your eyes meticulously crawled through the slip, unblinking, tears pooling helplessly at your lashes. Eventually, your body couldn’t take the stillness and your lashes fluttered. The gathered drops raced down your cheeks and soiled the paper.
LETTER OF REPRIMAND FOR FAILURE TO FOLLOW ORDERS
MEMORANDUM FOR Lieutenant Jacob Austin Seresin
FROM: Vice Admiral Beau Simpson
You are being reprimanded for violating Article 92, Failure to Obey an Order or Regulation. During the [REDACTED] mission, you, Lt. Seresin, were ordered to remain grounded. You neglected to do so. As your commanding officer, the risks and outcomes of the mission were weighed carefully. You decided, on your admission and recognizance, to steal government property and engage in air-to-air combat with an enemy force that had already shot down two of your fellow airmen.
Said action could have resulted in your death, as well as the deaths of others. As a lieutenant and military member, you are expected to be a leader and obey all lawful orders. This behavior is unacceptable and will not be tolerated. Any future occurrences of failing to comply with Navy Standards will result in stronger disciplinary actions.
After reviewing the sequence of events, and given the outcome of your actions–
You didn’t need to read the rest; the course of action Jake’s command had decided upon wasn’t important. You’d had enough. Your face suddenly felt hot. And your insides, your insides, too. The wet streaks on your face and neck suddenly burned; or was it the heat under your skin turning them to vapor? Eventually, after Jake prompted you again, an echo in the ringing in your head, you managed a quiet, “Get out.”
“Can’t hear you. What?”
Through gritted teeth, you turn to stare at him, gaze like hot daggers, and growl, “Get. Out.”
He turned to find you, the epitome of feminine rage and nearly cowered back. In the years you had been together, he had never seen you so angry.
“W…hat do you–”
His confusion only made your fury worse. And so your rampage began. Your heavy footsteps cut him off and you all but ran to your shared bedroom, and slammed the letter on the kitchen island on your way past.
“Red–” The thought died in his throat when he scanned the mail.
Fuck.
A bag flying into the living space from the hall broke him out of his stupor. Jake quickly moved toward the source, and asked, “Red, what are you do–” When he crossed the threshold, a pressed uniform smacked him in the face.
“Get out! Get out, get out, get out, GET OUT!” you screeched, lobbing clothes and other small objects at him.
His pants, his socks, his fucking underwear–
Out. Get it all out. All of it. Fuck him, fuck his shit, fuck his job–
“Baby–!”
“Fuck you! Don’t call me that!”
“Red, baby, please! Stop!”
That finally sparked a coherent thought in your mind. You were sobbing, choking on your cries, but you managed ragged breaths to string together a sentence. “We just talked about this! You promised me! You promised that you would do better, and I believed you! MOTHERFUCKER!”
A phone charger smacked the wall where Jake’s head once was; he swatted at a pillow that came in his direction when he straightened back up. “I…Sweetheart,” he stuttered, desperate sounding. “I couldn’t–they would’ve died! I’m so–”
Hearing him about to say he was sorry made it so much fucking worse. You don’t know what else to do but just…scream. Like a banshee. That was when the heavy shit started–the remote, a picture frame, a vase, a lamp. During your blind frenzy, he managed to get close enough to grab your arms when you turned your back, searching for another projectile. He pulled you to his chest, practically crushing you against him, so you would stop fighting and trying to injure him. But you were vicious; screaming obscenities and insults, writhing in his iron grip. You managed to get your legs up and kick at the bed, which sent Jake stumbling back and forced him to plant his feet. If he were honest, he would admit that he struggled to keep you contained, even for a moment.
His body, his flesh touching yours was too much, and your sleep set didn’t offer you much relief. Your skin crawled like you might just burst at the thought of having to be in his proximity any longer. Amidst all the chaos, you’d almost forgotten about your toddler, sleeping soundly in another room.
“I can’t believe I trusted you! You’re fucking killing me! And you do it like it’s nothing! Like we’re nothing! I’m done! I’m fucking done!”
Pull up. Pull up.
You kicked again, and Jake let you go, instead holding your face to make you look at him. But you shoved him away before he could get the chance. “Red, you have to understand–!”
“I’m done understanding! I don’t care about them! I don’t care about the military! Why should I give half of a shit, when my husband would rather die for them than live for his fucking wife and child!”
Jake didn’t respond. He couldn’t. What could he have said? To apologize, to make it better, to prove that. He’d already groveled to get to where they were then, and he screwed it up so quickly.
The battlefield that was his mind wouldn’t cooperate. He was barely keeping his head above water lately, let alone while trying to mitigate the damage he had done to his wife. Damage that he didn’t—couldn’t—see, and still didn’t quite understand. You brought up your feelings, over and over again, and he did his best to keep his promises.
He did his best. Why wasn’t that good enough?
“You don’t get it! And I don’t know how to make you understand. I’ve begged, I’ve made threats, and it’s not working. So I’m telling you again. GET. OUT!”
“Red!”
The neighbors called the police. They heard your fight from next door, through the hum of their TV while their family ate dinner. How your daughter slept through it, even with taking after her father with his heavy sleeping, you’d never know. Jake sat on their doorstep shell-shocked, a cop around his dad’s age hovering over him with a sad look.
“I just want him gone. I need to be left alone,” you choked through tears, wiping your sleeve across your face. “I’m always alone.”
How did we get here?
Daisy’s faint cries flooded through the doorway from her bedroom. Your husband instinctually went to get up and tend to her, but was met with a firm hand on his shoulder. The man shook his head, and Jake slowly sank back down. If he could’ve sunk into the concrete, he would’ve. What kind of man was he, if he couldn’t even tend to his daughter?
The officers told each of you separately that charges weren’t necessary for a case like yours, which you were grateful for. Jake would never hit you, and you told them as much; you’d just reached your breaking point and needed space. The older man followed the pilot through the house as he went to fetch some clothes to last him a few days. It took everything in his being to ignore Daisy’s cries for him from behind her closed door; it was enough of a challenge that the officer had to nudge him past when he paused at the painted entryway, adorned with her namesake.
With instructions to restrict contact to Daisy’s needs for the next few days, to give you both time to cool off, your husband left peacefully. You didn’t watch as he tossed his bag into the backseat of his truck, or when he pulled out of your driveway. You simply thanked the officers and closed the door, leaned back against it, and sobbed into your palm. You don’t have long, your daughter having gotten louder with each passing minute she was left unattended. You let her cry for just a bit longer to get it out of your system before fetching her.
Even though you had just kicked your husband, the love of your life, out of your family home, you still managed to be incredibly gentle with your toddler. It felt like your soul was torn to pieces, one of them on his way to a motel or parking lot, no doubt.
You shushed her quietly as you scooped her into your arms and smoothed her hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Mama’s here. It’s okay.”
