#five first wins in a fourteen races season
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can you imagine how many riders wouldn’t have had their first win yet (or it would have been delayed) if Marc hadn’t gotten injured in 2020
#five first wins in a fourteen races season#we know that fabio was getting jerez 1 regardless of marc’s highside#but his influence on the rest of the season? forever unknown#I suppose franky could have kept at least one of his three wins#joan only got one#brad only ever got one other win (austria 2021)#miguel now has five so he’d still be a winner by now for sure
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young hot trouble // diggianini (ao3)
yesterday i saw the light. so today i wrote this
It started a long time ago, Enea supposes.
They were – what? Fourteen? Fifteen? - limbs too long, and Diggia’s teeth were still covered in scrap metal. He remembers the excitement, the blood running down to his dick at the thought of doing something forbidden. His heart beating in his ears when Diggia said he was sure he would last longer than him. And Enea was never one to back down from a challenge. “Let’s try, then.”
It was summer, and it was hot, and their naked thighs sticked together from the sweat on the little motorhome bed. Diggia had placed his phone on a pile of Enea’s school books that his father made him bring with him, but that he hadn’t opened for the whole weekend.
The video they chose showed a girl getting fucked from behind. They argued a good five minutes before settling on that one, discussing about fairness. For all Enea knew, Diggia could have chosen something he didn’t like on purpose, to win the bet.
As soon as the video started, Enea took himself out of his pants. He was already hard. He tried concentrating on the sounds the girl made, moving a hand up and down on his dick. She looked hot, and her tits were enormous, bouncing every time the man behind her fucked into her. Enea could feel Diggia moving, pressed against his shoulder, trembling. He started moving his hand faster. He couldn’t think.
At one point, Diggia threw his head back, hitting the wall behind. He started making small, little sounds, as if he was trying to gulp down his moans, and Enea felt the other boy’s breath in his ears, and their thighs and their shoulders and their arms pressing together, and he turned his head to look at Diggia, his throat and his open mouth and his chest. The head of his dick was red and wet, disappearing under the palm of his hand, following a desperate rhythm.
The sight made Enea feel hot inside, hot of shame and horniness and maybe something else also.
Enea came first, that time. The first time after that, it was Diggia who did.
It’s different, now. It’s been a long time since they have stopped pretending, stealing glances in the hope of seeing a fragment of the other’s body, of throat, of leg, of lips. But now that they are teammates again, after years and years, the air between them feels electric again, like it does before a storm, like it did in Enea’s motorhome, all those years ago.
Enea wins the first race of the season.
Diggia meets him in his motorhome, after the celebration, and Enea is still in his leathers, skin sticky with the prosecco he got sprayed with on the podium and still high on the win.
Diggia presses him against the wall, opens his leathers and licks a stripe on his abs, tongue flat against his skin. When they kiss Enea can taste himself, the prosecco and the sweat, on Diggia’s tongue. He can’t think anymore. He reaches down, clumsy, dragging down Diggia’s sweats, feeling the hot and familiar weight of his dick in his hand. Diggia moans, low, in his ear, like he always does, running his hands on Enea’s skin, taking his dick in his hand, stroking him.
Enea feels trapped, pressed against the wall like he is, but he likes it. Diggia keeps breathing hard in his ear, following the rhythm of the hand on his dick, an arm pressed against the wall near Enea’s head.
There’s no build up, when Enea is with Diggia. It’s just like – BAM, like an explosion. The blood pumps in his vein, fast, and he can feel it in his ears, he can feel his breaths in his brain, and nothing else, nothing else but Diggia and their bodies pressed together.
He lowers his head into the crook on Diggia’s neck, smelling him, his sweat, mouthing at the skin, sitcky-hot pleasure running up his spine. He keeps moving his hand, smearing Diggia’s precum on the head of his dick with his thumb, mouth full of his skin, and Diggia’s breath hitches, his throat spasming under Enea’s mouth. It’s just- it's-
Enea’s hips start moving, out of his control, and Diggia’s hands starts to lose rhythm, fast and desperate, while he moans. Enea feels stupid, stupid, and he reaches up to gulp down Diggia’s little whines, to eat him, breathing him in.
He can’t- he can’t-
Enea comes, breathing hard in Diggia’s mouth, collapsing against him, still moving his hand on Diggia’s dick. It doesn’t take long before he comes too, painting Enea’s abs and chest in white.
They stay like that for a bit, Enea pressed against the wall by Diggia’s weight, coming down from the orgasms, until Diggia takes his shirt off and cleans his hand on it, and then messily passes it on Enea’s chest, smearing the come around more than cleaning him.
The t-shirt gets thrown in some corner of the motorhome, without much care.
“Partita alla Play?” Diggia asks, eyes still half lidded from the orgasm, voice still limp, loose.
Enea nods, still trying to get his breathing under control.
“Partita alla Play.”
#this is cathered to me and me only apparently#BUT#i know i can convert you people#i know#diggianini#my fics#motogp
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pit stops & promises | jiara
Summary: Fresh out of university and unsure what to do with her life, Kiara takes the opportunity to find herself whilst travelling the world with her ‘rising Formula 1 star driver’ brother, Nate Carrera, on his first year signing with one of the biggest teams on the grid. She has a bucket list and she is determined to complete it by the end of the season. What she doesn’t expect is for a hot-headed, arrogant, drop-dead-gorgeous blond to be helping her along the way. And for said blond to be her brother’s rival...and new teammate.
Warnings: smut, language, angst, mention of blood, mention of injuries, mention of crashes, other things I can’t remember!!
Word Count: 124.3k (22/?)
A/N: HERE WE FUCKING GO LADS!!! The au is finally ready to be posted little by little but the first chapter is dedicated to my favourite f1 fanatic horse @kcarreras HAPPY BIRTHDAY JADE!!
also biggest shout out to @kiekiecarrera for making THE COOLEST FUCKING CHAPTER HEADERS EVER I’m genuinely obsessed I cannot stop staring
masterlist // playlist
CHAPTER ONE: LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!
CHAPTER TWO: GRUDGES GOING STRONG
CHAPTER THREE: HISTORY IS HEAVY ON THE HEART
CHAPTER FOUR: NEW FRIENDS AND OLD FOES
CHAPTER FIVE: THE PARENTS ARE IN TOWN!
CHAPTER SIX: DATES AND PROPOSALS
CHAPTER SEVEN: CHALLENGE ACCEPTED
CHAPTER EIGHT: TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF
CHAPTER NINE: WHEN IN MONACO
CHAPTER TEN: LATE NIGHT SWIMS
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PARDON MY FRENCH
CHAPTER TWELVE: DISTANCE MAKES THE HEART GROW WARY
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LATE NIGHT SHENANIGANS
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: STAYING WITH THE IN-LAWS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: NEW BEGINNINGS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: UNTOLD HISTORY
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: HOME RACE WINNING
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: WELCOME TO THE MILE HIGH CLUB
CHAPTER NINETEEN: CRASH AND BURN
CHAPTER TWENTY: BROKEN HOMES
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: AND SO SUMMER BEGINS
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: SHAKE AWAY THE SUMMER BLUES
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extra:
•chapter twenty bonus scene
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#jiara#outer banks#obx#jj maybank#kiara carrera#jj maybank x kiara carrera#jiara fic#jiara fanfic#jiara fanfiction#outer banks fic#outer banks fanfic#outer banks fanfiction#obx fic#obx fanfic#obx fanfiction#jj maybank smut#kiara carrera smut#jiara smut#my fic#f1 au
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That season finished with two more crashes in the last two races at Estoril, when ironically I took out the guy I would be replacing at Ducati, Sete Gibernau, and Valencia, taking my total number of crashes that season to fourteen. Apart from my fellow rookies Randy de Puniet (fourteen) and Dani Pedrosa (eight) no other rider had more than six crashes that season. Valentino Rossi had just three, the last of which came at Valencia and cost him the championship. When I saw it later on television, it looked strangely familiar.
The title had gone down to a final-race decider between Valentino and Nicky Hayden, with Valentino ahead by eight points. Basically Nicky needed the most unlikely possible scenario – a Rossi crash – to win a championship that he had led for most of the season until he was taken out by Dani at Estoril. Valentino was in great form that weekend and had qualified on pole by a couple of tenths of a second, with Nicky fifth on the grid, so it looked like it was Valentino’s race to lose.
But as soon as the lights went out Valentino was in trouble. I was one of six riders to pass him on the first lap and if you watch the footage you can see how much he is struggling to even keep up with us. His rear and front tyres were just not working together and on lap five the front inexplicably folded and he went down, right behind me. It is only my theory but I wonder if he was given a dud tyre. I don’t know why anyone would have done that. There are a lot of commercial interests in the sport and there could be a hundred reasons why it happened but I am convinced he was stitched up. I remember watching that race back in the motorhome that evening and thinking, Welcome to my world, mate.
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Milly`s trilogy sends Deepdale silly
A seven minute second half hat-trick lifted the gloom on a chilly Deepdale evening as Osmajic set the ground alight with three superb goals to give North End a 4-1 victory over Huddersfield Town. One down at half time and the season seemed over especially as Norwich were two up at Hillsborough. However, football is a funny old game and with North End`s excellent second half display added to a couple of goals from the Owls ninety miles away a ten point gap suddenly became a five point gap with Norwich the visitors to Deepdale on Saturday. It was a torrid first half for North End with the visitors playing the better football and deserving the lead but after the break North End quickly equalised but only really surged ahead with the introduction of Browne and Osmajic a quarter of an hour from the end.
Ryan Lowe made two changes to the team that started the disappointing draw at Watford on Saturday with Holmes and Frokjaer replacing Osmajic and Whatmough. The visitors started the better but around the twenty minute mark we had five corners on the bounce all which came to nothing. I thought Huddersfield looked the more likely to break the deadlock on the counter attack but both teams struggles to get in meaningful efforts on target in the first quarter of the game. Ten minutes from the break Brady fired a 30 yard effort just over the bar but seven minutes later it was the visitors who took the lead when North End had several attempts to clear the ball before Koroma fired across Freddie Woodman and gave the visitors the lead much to the delight of the 1,292 visiting fans who had made their way from West Yorkshire.
There were a few grumblings as North End left the pitch at the break but we came out with more purpose after the break and took the game to Huddersfield right from the first whistle. There were only seven minutes gone in the second half when Keane was brought down from behind in the box and the striker made no mistake in bringing North End level from the spot. Kean had another huge shout for a penalty but this time the referee waived play on. With fourteen minutes on the clock Ryan Lowe made the two changes that turned the game on its head. Brown and Osmajic were introduced and within seven minutes North End were in the lead. A great ball from Holmes on the right found the big striker and it was 2-1. We hadn't long to wait before Alan Browne put the big fella through and he made no mistake making it 3-1 and winning the points for North End. The Whites weren't done though and when a beautiful from Frokjaer found Osmajic again the striker claimed the match ball and a great North End comeback was complete.
So from a season ending half time position North End live to fight another day and are still just about in the play off race with five games to go. The Canaries visit Deepdale on Saturday for what is the biggest game of the season without doubt where a win could put us right back in the mix and a defeat would be the end of the road for this term. North End showed great fighting spirit in this game and for all the criticism aimed at Ryan Lowe this season you simply have to give credit for substitutions made when they have the impact that Browne and Osmajic did against Huddersfield. It is still odds against North End pulling it off but we have been handed a lifeline and we need to make Deepdale shake to it`s core on Saturday when Norwich City come to town in the big one.
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PRESTON 4-1 HUDDERSFIELD TOWN
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WOODMAN 7
STOREY 7 LINDSAY 7 CUNNINGHAM 6
BRADY 8 McCANN 8 HOLMES 7 HUGHES 7
FROKJAER 7
RIIS 7 KEANE 7
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SUBS
BROWNE 8
OSMAJIC 9
STEWART 6
MAWENE 6
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MOTM: Milutin Osmajic
Attendance 14,698
Preston Fans 13,406 (91.21%).
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Michael Jeffrey Jordan (born February 17, 1963), known by his initials MJ, is a businessman and former basketball player. His biography on the official NBA website states: “By acclamation, Michael Jordan is the greatest basketball player of all time.” He was integral in popularizing the NBA around the world, becoming a global cultural icon in the process. He played 15 seasons, winning six championships with the Chicago Bulls. He is the principal owner and chairman of the Charlotte Hornets and of 23XI Racing in the NASCAR Cup Series.
He played college basketball for three seasons with the North Carolina Tar Heels. As a freshman, he was a member of the Tar Heels national championship team. He joined the Bulls in 1984 and quickly emerged as a league star. He retired from basketball before the 1993–94 NBA season to play Minor League Baseball but returned to the Bulls in March 1995 and led them to three more championships, as well as a then-record 72 regular season wins (1995–96) NBA season. He retired for the second time but returned for two more seasons with the Washington Wizards.
His accolades and accomplishments include six NBA Finals MVP Awards, ten scoring titles, five MVP Awards, ten All-NBA First Team designations, nine All-Defensive First Team honors, fourteen NBA All-Star Game selections, three All-Star Game MVP Awards, three steals titles, and the 1988 NBA Defensive Player of the Year Award. He holds the NBA records for career regular season scoring average (30.12 points per game) and career playoff scoring average (33.45 points per game). He was twice inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame, once in 2009 for his career and again in 2010 as part of the 1992 US Men’s Olympic basketball team (“The Dream Team”). He became a member of the FIBA Hall of Fame in 2015.
He is known for his product endorsements. He fueled the success of Nike’s Air Jordan sneakers. He starred as himself in Space Jam and is the central focus of the Emmy Award-winning documentary miniseries The Last Dance. He became the first billionaire player in NBA history. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #omegapsiphi
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Cleveland Indians-Minnesota Twins Series Preview
8.28.23-Xzavion Curry RHP (3-2) 3.51 ERA Vs. Kenta Maeda RHP (3-7) 4.22 ERA
8.29.23-Gavin Williams RHP (1-5) 3.52 ERA Vs. Pablo Lopez RHP (9-6) 3.69 ERA
8.30.23-Tanner Bibee RHP (10-3) 3.01 ERA Vs. Sonny Gray RHP (7-6) 3.06 ERA
The Indians At A Glance- The Indians have fallen off the map in August with an (8-15) record. They sit six games behind the Twins for first place in the American League Central and took two of three games from the Blue Jays in Toronto over the weekend. The offense broke out with eighteen runs against the Blue Jays. Gabriel Arias has four homers and ten RBI, but is only hitting .186 in August. Andres Gimenez has been one of their more consistent hitters with a .267 clip in August. Kole Calhoun has been a welcome addition to the ilneup with a pair of homers and nine RBI. The team even picked up Ramon Laureano to help bolster their outfield. The Indians sorta waived the white flag when they traded away Josh Bell, Aaron Civale, and Amed Rosatio at the trade deadline. Noah Syndergaard was designated for assignment on Sunday as well. The Indians starting rotation is trying to keep them in it with a 4.01 ERA, which is seventh-best in baseball. The bullpen owns a 3.53 ERA, which is fifth-best in MLB. Emmanuel Clase has been better with a 3.12 ERA in August. Enyel De Los Santos, Eli Morgan, and Trevor Stephan have become solid righty options out of the bullpen.
The Twins At A Glance- The Twins rebounded after a tough few days in Milwaukee with three wins over the Rangers. They sit six games over the Indians for first place and a series win or sweep would almost put this divisional race on ice. Donovan Solano is on fire with a .339 average in August. Ryan Jeffers has five homers and fourteen knocked in this month. Max Kepler has been hot with six homers and eleven RBI. The Twins are hitting .254 in the month of August. The team might be getting healthier. Byron Buxton will run the bases on Monday and take live at-bats in batting practice before deciding on a rehab assignment. Alex Kirilloff could begin a rehab assignment later this week. Jorge Alcala will throw a simulated game on Tuesday. Nick Gordon was shagging flyballs during batting practice on Friday. Pablo Lopez has been very good with a 1.80 ERA in four August starts. Sonny Gray has a 2.48 ERA this month. The bullpen has been shaky lately and did the job on Sunday.
What To Watch For- The Indians are (4-3) against the Twins in 2023. The Tribe won two of three in Cleveland in May then split a four-game series in early-June at Target Field. These six games are huge for the Indians with five weeks left in the season. Kenta Maeda is (3-1) with a 2.51 ERA in five starts against the Indians. Pablo Lopez is (1-0) with a 4.50 ERA in two stats versus Cleveland. Xzavion Curry has one career inning against the Twins, Gavin Williams has never faced the Twins, and Tanner Bibee allowed three runs over five innings on June 1st against the Twins. Sonny Gray is (6-5) with a 3.66 ERA in seventeen starts against the Indians. This next week of games could determine the American League Central. Unless, the Indians win both series then the Twins can take a stranglehold on the division.
-Chris Kreibich-
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F1 2020 results
#F1 2020 results drivers#
#F1 2020 results driver#
#F1 2020 results drivers#
It was the second time in four races that Ferrari have suffered a double retirement due to their drivers hitting one another. Vettel and Leclerc collided on the first lap of the race and both retired as a result.
#F1 2020 results driver#
It was the second time that the Monegasque driver has failed to reach Q3 at Ferrari, having previously been eliminated in Q1 at the 2019 Monaco Grand Prix.With Sebastian Vettel out in Q2 at the Austrian Grand Prix and Leclerc out in Q2 at the Styrian Grand Prix, this was the first time only one Ferrari driver has reached Q3 at consecutive races since the 2015 Canadian and Austrian Grands Prix. Styria: Charles Leclerc was eliminated in Q2 for the first time since the 2018 Japanese Grand Prix. While Ferrari’s lack of pace was immediately obvious, Charles Leclerc managed to finish as runner-up for a second consecutive season at the Austrian Grand Prix. Average Gap to Ultimate Pace: 1.85% ( 2019: 0.55%, 2018: 0.37%)Īustria: Sebastian Vettel became the first Ferrari driver to be eliminated in Q2 since Kimi Riakkonen at the 2016 Hungarian Grand Prix.Worst Qualifying Position: 17th (Vettel, Italy).2021 is likely to be another difficult year for the team. There’s change at the top too, as CEO Louis Camilleri recently announced his immediate retirement. Neither driver qualified in the top three this season, and the pair recorded only six top five qualifications and fourteen Q3 appearances.įerrari head into next season with a new driver line-up, as Sebastian Vettel departs and is replaced by Carlos Sainz. The team recorded no wins this year, and three somewhat unexpected podium finishes – two for Charles Leclerc, and one for Sebastian Vettel. Questions will be asked about Ferrari’s downturn in performance, not least given the FIA’s investigation of the team’s 2019 power unit, and their undisclosed resolution to findings over the engine’s legality. Having had arguably the fastest car in 2019, they slipped to sixth in the Constructors’ Championship in 2020 – their worst result since 1980. Here are the facts and statistics from Ferrari’s 2020 F1 season.Ģ020 was nothing short of a disaster for Ferrari. Ferrari recorded their 1,000th Grand Prix start in 2020, but it was not a year to remember for the Scuderia, who recorded their worst championship result in 40 years.
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𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗟𝗟 “𝗠𝗔𝗝𝗢𝗥” 𝗧𝗔𝗬𝗟𝗢𝗥 (1878-1932)
Marshall “Major” Taylor was a late 19th and early 20th century champion cyclist who became the first African American to win a world championship in sprint cycling. Between 1898 and 1899 he set numerous world records in cycling ranging from the quarter-mile to two-mile race.
Taylor was born on November 26, 1878 in Indianapolis, Indiana to Gilbert Taylor, a Civil War veteran and Saphronia Kelter Taylor. His parents migrated to Indianapolis from Louisville, Kentucky. His father worked as a carriage driver for a wealthy white family name the Southards in Indianapolis. Young Taylor accompanied father to work and became friends with the family son, Dan Southard.
In 1892, the Southards moved to Chicago, Illinois, leaving Taylor with a bicycle. Despite their move they soon recognized him as having a natural talent for riding a bicycle. By 1892 fourteen-year-old Taylor worked in an Indianapolis bicycle shop performing stunts for the customers He likely gained the nickname “Major” because he often wore a military uniform while doing his stunts.
Taylor won a number of races in Indianapolis and Chicago, Illinois by the time he was fifteen years old including his first significant cycling competition on June 30, 1895 when he became the only rider to finish a 75-mile road race near Indianapolis. On July 4, 1895 he won a ten-mile race in Indianapolis.
Because of the racism directed toward him in the Midwest, Taylor in 1895 moved to Worchester, Massachusetts, which was also the center of the U.S. bicycle industry. Taylor won amateur contests in Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut before turning professional in 1896 at the age of 18 and becoming an overnight sensation. His first professional race too place on December 5, 1896 in front of 5,000 spectators at New York City’s Madison Square Garden. Despite his success and growing fame, many local promoters refused to allow Taylor to compete because of his race.
In 1897 and 1898 because Taylor was not allowed to compete because of racial discrimination, he was prevented from winning the American sprint championships. However, in 1899, after setting a number of world records, Taylor won the World Sprint Championship in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. This achievement made him only the second black athlete to hold a title in any sport. (The first was bantamweight boxer George Dixon, who won the title fights in 1890-91).
In 1901, Taylor had an exceptional European tour, where he defeated every European champion who challenged him. He raced for five seasons in Paris, France and two seasons in Australia. Retiring from racing in 1910 and settling in Worcester, Massachusetts, Taylor was characterized as “the fastest bicycle rider in the world.”
Taylor was married to Daisy Victoria Morris in 1902. The couple had one daughter, Rita Sidney, before separating in 1930. Little is known about Taylor after the separation and his move to Chicago.
Marshall W. Taylor died on June 21, 1932 in Chicago, Illinois at Cook County Hospital. He was 53 at the time of his death, impoverished and was buried in an unmarked grave. In 1948, a group of pro bike racers with money donated by Frank Schwinn of the Schwinn Bicycle Co. had his remains exhumed and reburied at Mount Glenwood Cemetery in Glenwood, Illinois.
During the 1980s, Taylor was inducted into the United States Bicycling Hall of Fame. The city of Indianapolis also built the Major Taylor Velodrome name after him and he was awarded the Korbal Lifetime Achievement Award by USA Cycling. The city of Worcester, Massachusetts created a statue outside the city library.
#kemetic dreams#african#afrakan#fitness#afrakans#brownskin#africans#marshall major taylor#cyclist#bicycle#cycling#bike#cycle#bicycling
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Allurement- The Beginning
The Road Is Chosen
Warning: This is a dark romance and some parts might have disturbing or triggering content, readers' discretion is advised. The warnings would be provided in the parts themselves.
Season Two
One- Destiny
Two- First Sight
Three- Insight
Four- Coincidence
Five- Sweet Talk
Six- Illusion
Seven- Infatuation
Eight- Bond
Nine- Feign
Ten- Naivete
Eleven- Tumultuous
Twelve- Happiness
Thirteen- Anonymous
Fourteen- Brew
Fifteen- Closer
Sixteen- Return
Seventeen- Pearl In The Sea
Eighteen- The Art of Deception
Nineteen- Estrangement
Twenty- Swan Song*
Twenty One-The Five Stages of Grief (Denial)
Twenty-Two- The Five Stages of Grief (Anger)
Twenty Three- The Five Stages of Grief (Bargaining)
Twenty Four- The Five Stages of Grief (Depression)
Twenty-Five- The Five Stages of Grief (Acceptance)
Twenty-Six- Under The Microscope
Twenty Seven- Fear Wins The Race
Twenty-Eight- Chills and Creeps
Twenty Nine- The Conniving Man*
Thirty- Different
Thirty-One- For A While
Thirty-Two- Illusion of Peace
Thirty-Three- Deserved Proposal
#yandere bts#yandere namjoon x reader smut#yandere namjoon#yandere namjoon x reader#yandere rm#yandere ceo namjoon#yandere rm x reader#yandere ceo namjoon x reader#yandere dom namjoon#yandere dom namjoon x innocent reader#allurement#fatal attraction series
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One last set of answers (also @jackironsides @ruffboijuliaburnsides now I really want a Witcher Bond AU with Jaskier as the Bond Girl)
Where would three, seven, and fourteen be found in the next James Bond movie? Girl of the hour, sexy geek behind the scenes, getaway driver, something else? I was going to say Chris Pike is the Bond Girl but no, that’s Jaskier. Chris Pike is Moneypenny and Kaz is M.
One and eight are the top candidates for the same position. What is it, and which one gets the job? I am trying to imagine a world in which Aaron Hotchner and Daine are going for the same job. Actually they are possibly going for a training a therapy dog position. Daine gets the job because actually Hotch absolutely needs a therapy dog for himself.
Two suffers a mid-life crisis - what vehicle do they buy to cope? Thomas Cromwell bought a motorbike when he was young and wild and then tbh he was entirely sensible. I mean actually he was still pretty sensible as a young person. If in his actual time period substitute motorbike for ‘fast horse’
Who would get out of a hedge maze first: four, twelve, or thirteen? I feel like Anne and Anafiel are tied actually and Jesper is just like ‘fuck it I’m out’
Nine and six are a team on the latest season of The Amazing Race. How long do they last before they're eliminated, or do they manage to win? Jon & Rhysand are going to crush this tbh.
Five, ten, eleven and fifteen are classmates in a Wacky High School AU and have to work together to create a group presentation on the marine biology of the Caribbean for science class. Who's the presenter? Who does the majority of the research? Who puts together the powerpoint presentation? Who took charge and coordinated everything? And most important, what Wacky Hijinks took place when they were working on the project? Henry VIII, Sansa Stark, Yen and Elia Martell are in a group together. Sansa and Elia do the majority of the research and coordination but Yen does the powerpoint like a pro and Henry presents. There was an absolute saga because Henry flew the entire group to the Caribbean in luxury because that’s just normal for Henry.
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Bluegrass-Chapter 24
Much love to @Statell for making my stories flow.
Previous chapter on AO3
Chapter Twenty-Four
The shop owner bent over his worktable and pried the stones out of the gold setting. The ring was fourteen karat gold and would fetch a nice price. When the bell above the door tinkled, he looked up at a lady coming to the counter. She tossed a large ring on the counter.
“Sell or pawn?”
“Sell.”
He looked at her and reached for his loop. She looked like a street person so how did she come by this, he wondered. To his amazement the diamonds were real, and the gold tested to eighteen karat. His heart was ramming.
“Who’d you steal this from lady?”
“It’s mine, you ignorant asshole.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you. Try down the street.”
She grabbed the ring and looked at the man with her one good eye. “Fuck you.”
He watched her carry her bulk toward the door and waved his hand in the air to chase away her body odor.
The woman tried two more pawn shops and the third was owned by someone with fewer scruples. He bought the ring for one thousand dollars plus a gun. It was a lady Smith and Wesson five-shooter. She grabbed a box of shells on her way out, looking at the man defiantly. He ran to lock his door and start making calls. This ring would sell quickly for ten thousand. If it wasn’t hot, he could ask fifty thousand easily. He flipped open his phone book and started dialing.
The sweaty woman stumbled into Walmart and felt the cool air inside provide a little more energy for the last item she needed. Twenty minutes later she held her new phone to her ear and ordered a taxi to take her to the Motel 6. She paid the driver without a tip and heaved herself out of the car. There were working girls and ugly people all around the place. She would fit right in.
Walking up to the desk, she pulled her shirt down over the roll of fat that bulged from her tight waistband. The clothes she was arrested in were now three sizes too small. Prison food is created to keep hundreds of people full for a few hours. Not much thought went into the caloric intake or a balanced meal. Carbohydrates and fat were the main ingredients of her diet for eleven months and she tipped the scale at two-hundred and fifty pounds. The clothes she wore were donated by the prison and they were cutting her in half.
Pulling her coach wallet out of her bag she pulled her license and scooted it toward the clerk. Ten minutes later she was locking her door and scowling at the traffic noise right outside her window. It would have to do.
She was exhausted. It took all night to get processed out of jail and then shown the door to freedom at five o’clock in the morning. She would sleep a bit and then call her father. He will want her to come home because there was nothing for her in Kentucky. He would put her mother on the phone who would beg and cry for her daughter to come back to Scotland. That could wait as well, she decided.
For eleven months she has thought of little else then Jamie Fraser, the man who stole millions of dollars from her by denying her any rights to the business or his new horse. Word went around the prison that Midnight Runner won the Triple Crown and that meant an extraordinary life was now his to live while she was shipped back to Scotland like yesterday’s trash. God she hated him.
Isobel laid down on the bed but thinking about Jamie got her so riled up she couldn’t sleep. Maybe a hot shower would help. The rundown hotel had a small mirror in the bathroom, the first clear mirror in eleven months. She looked at her face and tears rolled down her fat cheeks. One of her eyelids opened only a slit after she was punched in the forehead during a prison fight. The nerve damage was permanent. She looked at her hair cut almost to her scalp. A going-away present from the bitches who hated her and kept her in solitary much of the time. She recalled being held on the ground while the meanest of them cut off her hair. It stuck out in all directions and she tried to smooth it down with water, but nothing helped. She was raging inside at what he did to her. This was all his fault.
Isobel’s father kept money on her books, the maximum allowable at the insistence of her mother. Isobel had nothing but disdain for other women making it quite impossible to make friends who could help her. She bargained her commissary for favors and finally found someone with a relative who would look up Chad’s whereabouts. He was in the Kentucky State Penitentiary in Eddyville and she wrote to him every day and couldn’t wait to hear back. Months went by with no word and she became hurt, and then mad. She sent another letter and on the outside of the envelope in small letters, she wrote “you little puke of a man why won’t you answer me?” She didn’t expect a response and when one came it was short and to the point.
‘Enduring your disgusting presence and vomit worthy sex was a means to an end. You self-absorbed cow. You never figured out I was gay because you were busy looking at yourself, with or without a mirror. It made it easy to manipulate you. Happy now?’
That was Jamie’s fault as well, she stormed in her head. He deserves to be skinned alive and forced to watch. She wouldn’t risk him getting the upper hand, so she had to settle for a bullet in his head.
She picked up her purse and left. There was a liquor store on the corner and she needed whisky, and a lot of it.
Claire woke up in an empty bed and noticed a note on her side table. She smiled as she read it.
“It is a perfect day to sit on the sundeck and read. There is nothin you need to do today, and I won’t be long with Michael.”
They had purchased a new double-wide ergonomic chase and had not tried it out yet. Maybe they could read the book together. While she waited for Jamie, she chose pages throughout the book to read and was very impressed with Michael’s writing. The theme running throughout the book was about kindness to the horse through various means, particularly the whip. He advocated the elimination of pain as a motivator. It would change horse racing completely because the competitors would be running because they wanted to win. The horse had to love running and it could be done, according to Michael, but training and reward had to change.
Claire wondered how this book would differ from Nosh’s. He was coming to Kentucky the following week and would spend the day with them. She was excited to fulfill her promise to finish her story, whether he believed her or not.
Jamie dropped Michael at his hotel just after noon. He would be joining them for dinner tonight and would UBER back around seven o’clock. Jamie looked forward to an afternoon lounging with his best girl.
For the rest of the day, Jamie and Claire took turns reading the book and powered through half of it before cuddling on the chase to nap a bit.
“Sassenach.” Jamie ran his hand down her arm until she opened her eyes. “Will ye come with me to bring the horses in?”
She smiled up at him and nodded yes before pulling her jeans and boots on. They walked to the barn and discussed the book, both commenting on how much they had forgotten about those crazy days. They brought fifteen horses in, two at a time, then went to bring in the mares and babies. Claire laughed at the antics of the foals, running ahead and then freezing with fear when they couldn’t see their mothers. When all were put away for the night, they made one more trip for Runner and Porcelain. When Jamie watched them running to the gate, he looked at Claire with a big smile.
“I’d like to bring Porcelain into season early and breed her in February.”
“To him?”
It was settled. Porcelain would be Runner’s first cover and Claire was thrilled. A touch of romance in an otherwise clinical setting of the breeding room. They would be each other’s first.
As they walked home, Jamie threw up his arms and announced he had finished the repairs on Runner’s stall, and they could move them back to their larger accommodations. Claire held his hand and told him tomorrow would be soon enough. She had a shower and cooking to do.
It was a delightful time to sit with their old friend, spoil him with steak, roasted vegetables, and copious amounts of whisky. Claire considered inviting others to dinner but decided she didn’t want to share Michael’s time. They ate at the table outside and simply moved to more comfortable seats to continue the discussion.
Jamie answered the doorbell and spoke to a neighbor before announcing he would be back in ten minutes. The neighbor needed a jump. Michael offered to come and help but Jamie told him to relax, he had this.
Michael had Claire in giggle overload reminding her of times they were on the road. Claire got up to grab the coffee pot and stopped in her tracks.
“Michael, do you smell something burning.”
He stood up and said he smelled it too. When Claire opened the front door, she screamed for Michael. It was definitely a fire and somewhere close. They started running and a quarter-mile never seemed so far. The closer they got; they were more convinced it was the barn on fire. Claire punched numbers into the keypad, and Michael opened the roll away doors as smoke poured out.
“Chase them all out, Michael!”
Claire ran down the aisle pulling stall doors open until she got to Runner and Porcelain and they were not moving. None of the horses were running outside. She slapped Porcelain hard on the rump knowing Runner would follow. The mare whinnied loudly and took off for the big doors.
Claire looked at the smoke filling the barn and coughed into her shirt. She saw horses running by but could not see Michael. She continued to work her way down the aisle smacking horses so they would run to safety. She looked up and saw babies running alongside their mothers and knew Michael had gone to the dams’ wing to set them free.
Jamie waved to the neighbor as he drove down their shared road. He caught the scent of burning wood and jumped into the bed of his truck to look for smoke. Finally, he saw the embers rising into the air on his own property! With a hammering heart, he drove through the gate and saw horses scattered all over. He knew someone was at the barn and drove as fast as possible, ever watchful for a horse running across the road.
Jamie ran to the barn. His heart rate was in the stroke zone and he started coughing the second he was inside. He called for Claire as he ran down the aisle looking for any stuck horses. The dams’ wing was empty, where the hell was Claire and Michael? Or whoever let the horses out. He turned the turbines on that pulled air from the interior. They were all over the roof so he ran as fast as he could flipping them on high.
He called the fire department as he ran for Runner’s wing. The door was open and something inside him told him to proceed with caution. He could hear Claire and Michael coughing. Why were they in there? When he heard Isobel’s voice his blood turned to ice. He forced himself not to cough and give away his presence. He searched frantically for a way to get the drop on her. He had to do something before Claire and Michael died from asphyxiation.
He ran to the back of the barn where the smoke was too thick to see. He ran his hand along the wall until he felt the switches for the turbines. Filling his lungs with air he ran into the equipment room and pulled out a ten-foot length of steel pipe, very relieved it wasn’t burning hot and ran back.
Claire wasn’t coughing any more and Jamie knew she passed out with death coming for her. Without another second to think he rammed the door open and kept running as Isobel’s startled face came into view. She raised the gun just as he rammed the pipe into her stomach, impaling her on the back wall. He threw Claire over his shoulder and helped Michael to his feet pulling them outside to safety.
The fire engines were coming in slowly with no siren because Jamie explained there were horses scattered all over the property. Michael was bent over coughing and Claire was silent, unconscious. Jamie lowered her to the ground feeling more terrified than he had been in his life.
“Claire! Claire!”
The EMT’s pulled him away to render lifesaving aid to his wife, his soulmate, his whole world. Fire hydrants were installed on the land according to zoning rules and the men soon had two flows of water directed at the fire. Jamie heard more sirens coming only to go silent as they negotiated the gate and keypad.
The ambulance EMT’s were given instructions to open the gate and wait for it to close to make sure no horses escaped. The driver knew there were critical injuries and it took all his training and willpower not to barrel ahead to the injured. Jamie was covered with soot and sweat as he gripped his wife’s hand.
“Please Claire, ye must fight yer way back to me or I will surely die with ye.”
He was pulled away as they wheeled the gurney into the ambulance, Michael was loaded into a second vehicle. Jamie sank to his knees as a great crash came from the barn and a plume of embers rose into the night sky. Jamie didn’t flinch. He couldn’t move as he was locked into his pleading prayers to God.
A great fireball exploded into the dark sky and men were yelling about a secondary fire. Jamie heard none of it and continued to pray.
The captain pulled Jamie up and brought him under the light spreading out a schematic of the barn interior.
“Is there anyone else in the building?”
Jamie pointed to Runner’s wing. The fire captain pulled him to the large engine and told him to sit down. The huge fire engines took up all the space available in front of the barn and police cruisers were lined up behind them. Officers were standing by a short distance away and the captain went to speak with them.
Jamie felt the tears fall off his face, he knew his business was in ruins, his prize horse chased into the darkness, but none of that mattered as much as Claire’s pale, soot-stained face. He looked up at the commanding voice above him and stared at the officer with blank eyes.
“You identified an area where someone was left inside. I am sorry to inform you that the roof caved in above that wing about five minutes ago. Did anyone go back inside to pull the person out?”
“No. I impaled her against the wall with a ten-foot length of steel pipe.”
Jamie stood up and walked toward his vehicle but never made it. It took five officers to hold him back and he was finally cuffed and dropped into a cruiser. He had no comprehension of what was happening, and he fought against the restraints until he felt a blinding pain as his wrist separated. He slumped forward choking through this added suffering.
“Mister Fraser! Stop struggling I have news of your wife. She is in intensive care, so is the other man, but they are expected to pull through. They are gonna be fine. You have confessed to a capital crime. You belong to the Lexington police force now so you might as well cooperate and sit still. You’re a big man and tasers hurt, so walk when you’re told, sit where you’re told and answer our questions. It’s the best advice I can give you.”
Jamie did as told and explained who Isobel was, how she tried to kill his horses before. He did not know she was released on parole. She had set fire to the barn and held Claire and Michael at gunpoint as they slowly choked to death in front of her. She wore an elaborate gas mask and just stood by as they struggled to breathe. She had raised her gun to Jamie’s head as he rammed the pipe into her stomach. He did not bother to go back in to save her because he was too busy with his wife and friend.
“I didn’t know if she was alive or dead. I didn’t care.”
Jamie was a pillar of the community and the officers made quick work of releasing him with the warning to not leave the state. There was an officer waiting to take him to the hospital. Jamie sat in the back seat holding his throbbing wrist. The officer decided to break the rules for the poor man and turned on his siren as he raced to the hospital.
Jamie piled out of the car and ran into the emergency department. He approached Claire slowly with tears streaking through the grime on his face. He was so overcome at the sight of her his whole body started to shake.
The nurse taking her blood pressure almost fainted at the sight of Jamie but recovered quickly as his face softened looking at his wife.
“She has been asking for you if your name is Jamie that is.” She had a warm smile and a concerned face.
“It is… my name is Jamie.”
The nurse ran for the chair that was shared among the visitors because it looked like he would fall any minute. She pushed Jamie into it and asked if he was alright.
“As soon as this lass opens her eyes, I will be fine.”
“She is doing really well physically. Her doctor may keep her tonight, not sure yet.”
Jamie looked down at Claire’s open eyes, looking at him. She seemed to look at everything she could see and then he watched her dissolve in tears. She was fighting to stop crying but she just couldn’t. She tried to speak to him, but no sound came out.
“Her voice will come back. Two or three days.”
Claire was asleep again and Jamie felt lost suddenly. She just closed her eyes to the pain that was making her cry, leaving Jamie alone. He picked up the phone and called Jason, then Angus. He knew he had to leave her and get back to what was left of their barn. He kissed her face and walked toward the entrance, there lingering at the doorway was the officer who drove him to the hospital.
“Mister Fraser, I waited to take you home, sir.”
Jamie looked battle-scarred and fatigued at the moment, so they headed for his home without further comment. The fire was out, and firemen continued to crawl through the haylofts and roof structure looking for live embers. They had done an excellent job limiting the damage. The fire marshal approached Jaime and shook his hand. His voice was commanding yet tempered with understanding that Jamie appreciated.
“Mister Fraser, it’s a tragedy to be sure, but we minimized the damage and found all the clues, I think. The fire was set on the north-facing side, right here.” He pointed to Runner’s wing on the barn schematic. Gasoline was used as an accelerant that was provided by your fuel tower. The perpetrator used your five-gallon buckets that were stacked at the hose in back, filled them with your fuel, and left the nozzle open to drain the fuel into the ground. When embers landed there it all went up in a fireball. You will have an ugly reminder for a while I’m afraid. It’s safe to bring the horses in except for this area. The roof caved in and it’s burned badly. It is where we found the body of a woman, but I hear you have given a statement to the police already and believe her to be responsible. The coroner has removed the body. I will be in touch as the investigation progresses. He walked toward his vehicle throwing his clipboard on the seat before getting in.
Jamie looked around feeling lost until he saw Rupert and Angus walk out of the barn with two leads each and lariats attached to their belt loops. They looked at Jamie’s haunted eyes and simply nodded as they made their way to the pastures. The horses were tied to a fence once caught so they could be identified and counted. Jason and Lulu pulled up looking shell shocked. Lulu was crying and asking about Claire. Jason ran to the barn for halters and leads and handed a lead to Lulu as they left to search for more horses.
Molly and her fiancé were next, followed by two of the vets that Claire had befriended. They would check the horses that were brought in and treat any issues. As word spread, neighbors and owners came in to join the search and by afternoon, all but two horses had been rounded up. The missing horses, Porcelain and Runner.
The horses were split up into groups and led to graze in the multiple pastures. They would stay outside for the day and let the barn air out. Jamie continued to call Claire, to say I love you and give progress reports. Jamie’s voice cracked when he said they had not found Runner or Porcelain and Claire sobbed for the lost horses but mostly for Jamie. Michael had fared better and was released to rest in his hotel room. Jamie wandered through the pastures calling for Runner until dark.
Jamie stayed with Claire overnight. She was moved out of critical care and there was a fat Lazyboy right next to the bed. He had full trust in his crew, so he stayed until she was released the next day. She mostly cried when she was awake, and Jamie couldn’t wait until he could hold her and give her comfort.
Driving into the compound was very hard on Claire as visions of Isobel taunting her, saying she would shoot Jamie in front of her and then let them die, came back to haunt her. Jamie explained that he had killed Isobel, but Claire expected her to jump out from every corner.
Claire couldn’t yell for Runner, but she insisted on walking the far pastures to help look for him. To no avail, the two of them were gone. Jamie held Claire through the night, waking up every few hours because she was crying and shaking. He eased her back to sleep much quicker than he was able to follow her. By the next day, he had deep circles under his eyes as he drove the property in search of his horses.
The other horses were returned to the barn, back in their original stalls because there was very little damage to anything but Runner’s wing. Jamie shivered to think he wanted to go back to the barn and move Runner and Porcelain back to their original stalls. He closed the wing off with plans to rebuild once the insurance was settled. Not one of the owners moved their horse to another barn. They knew Jamie was honest and ethical. This was not his fault and he had taken care of the problem.
Jamie sat down hard on his office chair in the early evening. The silence was such a relief after playing hero for the past two days. He wasn’t a hero. He was terrified about what could have happened and what will happen next. Could his business recover, could Claire feel safe again, could they find a new normal without Runner? Picking up his ringing phone he heard the deep voice of Dunsany, and he lost it.
“Jamie, it's going to be alright. You aren’t hurt, you will repair the damage and go on. Now listen to me son, get it out, and then get back to work. That’s a good lad, I’m here for ye, depend on that.”
Dunsany waited, speaking quietly to encourage Jamie, trying to infuse him with the will to start over. They talked for almost an hour and Dunsany told him arrangements had been made to bring Isobel’s body back to Scotland. She could never threaten them again. The older man worried deeply about Jamie pulling out of this nightmare and his anger at Isobel kept him secluded from his family for several days. It wasn’t right for a father to hate his own daughter and he would keep that to himself.
Jamie walked the pastures as the sun was coming up. He had a distinctive whistle that all the horses were used to. It always brought them in, no matter how far they had roamed. He heard a whinny and turned his head, heart beating like thunder in his chest he watched the pasture turning in all directions and finally saw her. Porcelain ran toward him crying out her fear in loud whinnies. She came to him and snorted while he slipped the halter on her and snapped a lead. He started walking back expecting Runner to run up on them any second. When he closed the door to Porcelain’s stall, he dropped his head in defeat.
“Where have ye gone laddie?”
Jason, Lulu, Rupert and Angus put the barn back together, ordered supplies, rented stalls, answered calls from worried owners, and assisted whoever and whatever was needed in the moment. Their fearless leader searched for Runner day and night and Claire was not often seen. She looked shattered and they didn’t know how to approach her, so they didn’t.
Michael came on the fourth day and took Claire to drive the property boundaries. Claire searched the pastures through field glasses as they continued to drive for two hours. He was just gone. He jumped a fence and just kept running she assumed. There were thousands of acres of forest that bordered their land and he was lost in that forest somewhere, starving to death. Claire’s sobbing broke Michael’s heart. He stopped the car and pulled her out to hold her to him. He promised her they would find him.
“We need to walk the land, Claire. He’s scared and hiding somewhere in the trees. Let him see us walking.” He pushed a lead in her hand, and they ducked between the white slats of the fence to walk the endless acres of Bluegrass.
Runner watched them from behind the trees. He watched her mostly and wanted to go to her. He could hear in her yell, something foreboding and fearful. If she would just get on his back, he could ride her to safety. He tried a couple of times to break out of the tree line, only to retreat in fear. They were getting closer to him. He was about to turn toward the forest and run but he saw images in his mind of Claire hugging him. It made him so happy. She was telling him she needed a hug. In the next second, he bolted toward the fence boundary and jumped it with ease running toward her, happier than he had ever been.
“Stop Claire. Turn around.”
Claire turned to see Runner galloping toward them. She started to giggle and then she held her arms out like she always did, for him to run into. He stopped ten feet from her and showed her images of being hugged. She kept her arms out and walked to him until she could wrap them around his neck. She put her hands on his cheeks and Michael could swear they were having a conversation as Runner would nicker at times and drop his head on her shoulder.
Are you hurt?
I do not hurt.
Where you afraid?
I was afraid.
She kissed his face a dozen times and asked him to walk back to the barn, assuring him the smoke was gone and he would be safe. She dug a handful of sugar cubes out of her pocket and he feasted on them.
Very hungry.
Let’s go home.
Michael called Jamie to tell him they were walking back, with Runner, and he started running to meet them. Runner nickered and lifted his head when he saw Jamie running toward them. Claire unsnapped the lead and Runner took off stopping right in front of Jamie’s beaming smile. They were still hugging when Claire and Michael caught up to them.
Porcelain whinnied loudly in the air and stomped all over her stall. Rupert looked at her and wondered what got into the lass when he saw the movement in his peripheral vision. He was almost in tears when he saw the three of them with a giant black horse behind them. Runner went to Porcelain for a make-out session and Claire could see images of Rupert pouring grain into his feeder. She laughed quietly to herself.
“Cheeky bastard.”
They said goodbye to Michael at the airport and made him promise to visit soon. Claire hugged him and cried while Michael complained she would surely melt with any more tears. Once on the road home, Claire leaned against Jamie and wrapped her arm around his middle. They had not made love since the fire and the feel of him was suddenly intoxicating. She kissed his neck until she was breathless and when she pulled his belt away and grabbed his zipper Jamie pulled onto a logging road into the forest where he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply.
They were frantic to join their hungry bodies after a long hiatus from passion. Jamie pulled her shirt over her head and reached around to unclasp her bra setting her breasts free to bounce with their efforts. When she finally pulled him into her body, they both moaned loudly before the rhythm of arousal took them to a new plane of existence.
Officer Josh Baker was heading back to the station while he daydreamed in heavy traffic. When he saw Jamie’s pickup truck veer off the road, he shook his head and blinked several times. It couldn’t be, he told himself. What are the odds of finding them in the same predicament as before? Some people never learn he thought. He pulled off onto the logging road to wait.
Traffic along the four lanes where Jamie took the detour slowed way down due to the cruiser parked along the side of the road, presumably for radar speed checking. The officer pointed his radar gun out the window and waited. When he heard Jamie’s engine start he pulled into traffic, and they were none the wiser about his protection.
Slowly, life at Highland Brothers returned to normal and Jason, the new custodian of Claire's truck, would pick her up for a day of medical treatments and do his best to remember any of the details when she asked him. On long rides she would describe the lab assays they would run to get him used to the terminology and procedure. From February to June, she would reduce her hours away to ten hours per week so she could take care of the breeding operation. She was anxious to be working with Jamie again.
Claire sat across from Nosh at the kitchen table and looked at the sheets of pictures. There had to be at least five-hundred pictures of her and runner. She answered Nosh’s questions thoughtfully and held nothing back. Nosh recovered quickly from the declaration that she can talk to animals. He always knew there was a major component of the story missing.
“I have wondered how an untrained jockey could ride that horse through all those races.”
“It was my yoga training. My balance was very good and if you hadn’t noticed, I didn’t move at all, once the race started, I just hung on to is mane for dear life. He told me what to do, when to do it, and I felt safe after a while.”
“How could he hear you during the race, there’s too much noise?”
“Are you saying you believe me?”
“You are an educated woman Claire, a veterinarian, and you won the Triple Crown as a novice jockey. I’ve been on the track all my adult life, so I knew there was a secret to your success. What I wouldn’t give for photo evidence of you racing him on foot.”
“Oh! I have photo evidence. Jamie took loads of pictures from the equipment barn where he hid for the first month. They are amateur at best, but I will be happy to show you..”
Nosh was on his feet in seconds, “please, yes I would love to see them.”
Claire settled Nosh in a chair close to the computer monitor and brought up the pictures. There was a perfect sequence of them at the starting line, Claire running full speed around the track, and Runner staying on the rail to pass her. Claire bent over panting and Runner circling her with his head and tail in the air. In the last picture, Claire is scowling at the horse with her hands in the air.
Nosh laughed so hard and sputtered “pure gold!” when he could catch a breath. “Good God, I haven’t laughed like that since I was a kid. Name your price, I’m sure the magazine will pay it.”
“Certainly not! You can have them with my thanks.”
This was the icing on the cake to Nosh. The book he had dreamed of for the last year would be better than he could have imagined.
Claire told Nosh everything from cutting Runner out of his dam to winning the Triple Crown and all the baiting and psychological tricks she used to keep him wanting to win. The story was told, and she sat back and took a deep breath.
“How would you like to spend some time with Runner?”
They walked out to the pasture and the two horses made a bee-line for them. Claire stood in front of Nosh and opened her arms for two frothy-mouthed horses to assault her with smells and snorts. She stepped aside pulling her phone out of her pocket and launching the camera app. Nosh seemed frozen as he watched Runner come toward him. Claire moved farther away and started snapping pictures. Nosh, nose to nose with Runner, the colt draping his head over Nosh’s shoulder from behind, stroking his neck, laughing at the assault on his pockets looking for treats. Claire kept snapping until she had sixty-five pictures of Nosh and Runner. She would transfer all the pictures of Runner including these to a thumb drive and send it to Nosh. It made her happy inside to give something back.
Claire walked the reporter out to his rental car and hugged him, thanking him for everything. Nosh saw no reason they might meet again so he made his words count.
“You feel like the daughter I never had. I am so proud of what you’ve done. If your actions with Runner are any indication of motherhood, I hope to live long enough to see your kids cure cancer and win the Nobel prize. Goodbye Claire, and thank you for the interview.”
Motherhood? What an odd thing to say, she decided and waved goodbye.
Claire walked back into the house feeling her mood turn dark when she looked at the ugly furniture she and Jamie had failed to replace. She wished for a happy feeling when she opened the door to their home and hated this furniture even more after the fire. A call to the Salvation Army to pick up a high-end living room set pushed her to the front of the line. They would pick it up this afternoon. When the living room was empty, she called Jamie and asked if he could finish early because there wasn’t a chair or couch to sit on anymore. They needed to visit the furniture stores in town.
Claire got dressed up with straight hair and makeup because it felt like a special trip, something to be remembered. They would finally take ownership of their space and rid the memory of the most heinous woman on earth. With only one week until Christmas, she was excited.
Jamie watched a beautiful, confident woman walk toward him when he came home. He looked at her long pretty hair, short dress, and high heels, feeling his stomach do flips.
“Yer beautiful Sassenach, and our living room is empty sure enough.”
“You have ten minutes James Fraser.”
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Michael Jeffrey Jordan (born February 17, 1963), known by his initials MJ, is a businessman and former basketball player. His biography on the official NBA website states: "By acclamation, Michael Jordan is the greatest basketball player of all time." He was integral in popularizing the NBA around the world, becoming a global cultural icon in the process. He played 15 seasons, winning six championships with the Chicago Bulls. He is the principal owner and chairman of the Charlotte Hornets and of 23XI Racing in the NASCAR Cup Series. He played college basketball for three seasons with the North Carolina Tar Heels. As a freshman, he was a member of the Tar Heels national championship team. He joined the Bulls in 1984 and quickly emerged as a league star. He retired from basketball before the 1993–94 NBA season to play Minor League Baseball but returned to the Bulls in March 1995 and led them to three more championships, as well as a then-record 72 regular season wins in the 1995–96 NBA season. He retired for the second time but returned for two more seasons with the Washington Wizards. His accolades and accomplishments include six NBA Finals MVP Awards, ten scoring titles, five MVP Awards, ten All-NBA First Team designations, nine All-Defensive First Team honors, fourteen NBA All-Star Game selections, three All-Star Game MVP Awards, three steals titles, and the 1988 NBA Defensive Player of the Year Award. He holds the NBA records for career regular season scoring average (30.12 points per game) and career playoff scoring average (33.45 points per game). He was twice inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame, once in 2009 for his career and again in 2010 as part of the 1992 US Men's Olympic basketball team ("The Dream Team"). He became a member of the FIBA Hall of Fame in 2015. He is known for his product endorsements. He fueled the success of Nike's Air Jordan sneakers. He starred as himself in Space Jam and is the central focus of the Emmy Award-winning documentary miniseries The Last Dance. He became the first billionaire player in NBA history. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #omegapsiphi https://www.instagram.com/p/Cow4BU9LBAP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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Rivals // AI
pairing: gryffindor!oc x slytherin!ashton
warnings: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers, smut
word count: 4.5k
notes: so basically kelley ( @sugarcoated-pain ) met ashton and luke on saturday night (i think??? i’m really bad at keeping track of dates lmao) and like the real mvp she is, she asked them what their hogwarts houses were. ash said slytherin and luke said gryffindor. thus spurred talks of a gryffindor (like kelley) falling in love with ashton (a slytherin) bc who doesn’t love a good enemies to lovers fic?? to give yall an idea of how neurotic i am,,, we literally had this conversation at 8 am sunday morning and thirteen hours later i somehow had an entire fic written about it. i hope yall enjoy!!
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“I just think that the seeker is a pointless position, is all. Like, why wasn’t the game timed or something? They have too much power and, unless the other team somehow gets a 150 point lead, which we both know is rare, it basically renders the other players useless.”
Calum had to duck as an errant bread roll came sailing through the air towards his head.
“What the fuck, Layla?” He yelled, indignant, as he gaped at the bread roll on the floor of the great hall.
His friend was sat across the table, looking unamused as she tore into another roll. She slathered jelly all over it as a means of satisfying her sweet tooth. “Fucking muggle-borns.” She grumbled before biting the bread.
“Hey!” Calum protested.
He got an eye roll in response. Muggle heritage or not, Calum felt he had a point. As much as he loved quidditch, the seeker position just didn’t make any sense. Before he could argue this, however, their housemate and resident peacemaker sauntered in.
“Hey, man.” Calum greeted Luke as he sat across the table next to Layla. “Layla tried to kill me with a bread roll a second ago.”
“Layla, why were you trying to kill Calum with a bread roll a second ago?” Luke parroted. The truth was Layla had a reputation of throwing things, especially when she was anxious, so this came as no surprise to Luke.
Layla rolled her eyes. “Cal is talking shit about seekers. He’s lucky I didn’t hex him into next week.”
“No riling up our seeker before a big game, Calum. You know the rules.”
In less than 24 hours, Gryffindor would be facing Slytherin in the last match of the season. A match that would decide who got this year’s Inter-House Quidditch Cup. As Calum had pointed out earlier, the game all but rested on Layla’s shoulders. And her opponent, the Slytherin seeker Michael Clifford, was talented. Probably the only one on the whole campus who could give Layla a run for her money.
Calum was a chaser, and Luke was a beater. Their friendship had blossomed when the three of them had been chosen to join the Gryffindor team in their first year. It was rare for the team to have one first-year member, much less three, but Gryffindor had been down some key players, and they were all very good.
Almost every year since then, Gryffindor has faced Slytherin for the championships, and every year it was a close game. Slytherin had won two consecutive championships in a row now, and no one at the table had been able to forget that. The Slytherins wouldn’t allow them to.
“Wood has the field reserved for five hours this afternoon, which should be illegal. I will not be playing quidditch for five hours, I’ll be sore as hell tomorrow.” Luke complained.
Layla shrugged. “I think he did that to prevent the Slytherins from getting it, actually.”
Neither of her friends had a chance to respond before a grating voice pulled her attention to two boys standing behind her.
“The fact that Wood has to resort to such petty shit means y’all are really worried about tomorrow, huh?”
Layla had to take a deep breath before turning around. Admittedly, she had an issue with her temper, and no one got a rise out of her like Ashton fucking Irwin.
He was standing there with a smirk on his face, his massive arms crossed in a position of dominance. The sleeveless shirt he wore put his toned muscles on full display. Layla could even see the Slytherin tattoo on his bicep. She hoped he missed the way her eyes raked over his body. Clearly, he had just come from the field, and fuck if Ashton Irwin in a sleeveless shirt and quidditch breeches wasn’t hot.
Too preoccupied with his allure, Layla almost missed the blonde standing behind him.
“Tell me, Clifford,” She said addressing the blonde, also in quidditch breeches and a t-shirt. “Does Irwin bring you with him everywhere he goes because he knows if he comes alone, I will kick his ass?”
Forgetting himself, Michael snorted. At that sound, Ashton’s glare deepened. “Kick my ass? Didn’t you almost fail Defense last year?”
Before anyone could blink, Layla was out of her seat about to launch at Ashton. Luke pulled her back at the last minute.
“Don’t say that shit unless you want a broken nose, mate.” Calum growled at the same time as Luke said, “You’ll get suspended from the team, Layla. Relax.”
Ashton smirked at the exchange, clearly pleased that he so easily got under her skin. “See you losers on the field tomorrow.” He said, and the taunt in his voice almost had Layla launching after him again.
--
“Alright,” Wood began. “It’s the last game of the season. Everyone knows my speech by heart already, so all I’m going to say is don’t fuck up, okay? We can’t let them win three years in a row.”
Layla’s pulse was skyrocketing at this point. It was late afternoon, and she was scorching in her quidditch robe. Once she got off the ground and into the air, she wouldn’t notice it anymore. For right now, however, focusing on Oliver Wood’s words felt almost impossible over the pounding of her own blood in her ear.
Minutes later all fourteen players were on the field with Madam Hooch between them.
“Mount your brooms, please.”
Layla climbed onto her Nimbus Twenty-Five Hundred. The teams rose to the skies, a couple of people, Ashton Irwin included, showing off by zooming around and nodding to their friends. Eventually, they settled into a semi-circle high above the crowds. Michael and Layla were higher than the rest. She looked over into his grey-green eyes and tried to summon all that courage Gryffindors were known for.
Then a movement below her caught her eye. Ashton. He had one hand on his broom and the other on the beater’s bat slung over his shoulder. When he winked up at her, her competitiveness kicked in full force.
They all watched as three balls zoomed into the air, the snitch flittered in her field of vision for a moment, then disappeared. Michael was watching it too.
Then, a loud blast came from Madam Hooch’s whistle, the Quaffle was released, and they were off.
“And Calum Hood of Gryffindor immediately takes the Quaffle. Hood is the best Chaser Gryffindor has had in years. And he’s got that tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him too – Oh! Flint is on his tail – Irwin sends a Bludger his way – Hood dodges – neat pass to Johnson – back to Hood – wait, the Slytherins have taken the quaffle – Pucey has moves, but his Cleansweep is no match for Hood’s Firebolt, and Hood is right on his tail – WHAM! Pucey gets hit by a Bludger, nice aim by Hemmings – Hood regains the Quaffle – and he’s off to the other end of the field – GRYFFINDOR SCORES!”
The Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers, drowning the boos from the Slytherins.
Layla ignored the commotion as much as she could. Her goal was to find the snitch and to stay away from stray Bludgers. To be honest, she was wholly unaware of the screams coming from the stands. Who was in the lead? If she focused on that, she would psych herself out.
Surfing above the crowd, she kept her attention split between Michael and searching the field. Once, she thought Clifford had seen something. He dived, fast and focused, moving towards the ground. Heart in her throat, Layla dove after him, but he pulled up at the last minute and started to laugh.
She didn’t rise to his taunts; instead, she stayed vigilant from a vantage point now below the game. A stray Bludger came sailing towards her head at full speed, and she rolled, going upside down on her broom before righting herself. Luke came chasing after it, hitting it towards Flint.
“Gryffindor in possession,” the commentator was saying. “Johnson ducks a bludger – passes – OUCH! Irwin’s Bludger hits Hood right in the chest; he’s going to need a minute to recover from that one – Slytherin takes the Quaffle – wait a minute – that’s the snitch!”
The crowd stilled for a moment as everyone, including Layla, searched for what the commentator had seen. Michael saw it at the same time she did, and they were off. He was above the game, and she was below, but their speed as they moved towards the snitch was evenly matched. Everyone stilled as players and spectators alike watched the two Seekers race neck and neck.
Grabbing the head of her broom, Layla pitched forward, increasing her speed, never taking her eyes off the snitch. Then – shit – it flew into the rafters, little wings taking it where Layla couldn’t follow.
“Fuck!” Michael exclaimed, and Layla felt inclined to repeat the sentiment.
It felt like forever before the snitch appeared again. That time, Layla was the first to notice it, but by the time she moved, Clifford was after her. It didn’t matter – she was faster and nimbler than him. She could get it. Inching closer and closer, her fingers were so close she could almost feel the cool surface of the ball. Clifford was so far behind her, it didn’t even feel like a competition at this point. Pitching forward, she gave herself just enough speed that she needed to –
SMACK! A Bludger hit Layla in the back, launching her forward, almost off of her broom, but she kept hold with one arm, even as she plummeted towards the ground. People were in an uproar around her. She heard Luke scream, “Foul!” and some other curse words were tossed around. Was that Calum yelling her name? At the last minute, she gained her wits about her and pulled up, but it wasn’t enough. She hit the ground with a nasty skid.
“Ugh,” she grunted. She felt almost woozy as she opened her eyes. It took a moment for everything to come into focus.
Madam Hooch was standing over her. “Are you okay, dear?”
Layla didn’t respond. She pushed past Hooch on slightly wobbly legs to where Ashton and Luke had dismounted their brooms and were fighting.
“You could have killed her, asshole!” Luke pushed him, and he stumbled back, a look of astonishment on his face.
“I didn’t mean –”
Layla interrupted Ashton, coming to stand between the two. “That’s okay, Luke.” Layla knew that the smirk on her face was wicked. “That Quaffle gave me the push I need to get this.”
In her open palm was the snitch. The entire crowd gasped, Gryffindor erupted in cheers, but Layla was wholly focused on Ashton.
A look crossed his face – a mixture of anger and something else.
“You –” He raised his hand towards her. Before he could touch her, however, Calum had his wand up.
He was yelling a binding spell, but something must have gone wrong because all of a sudden, Layla’s world went dark.
--
The last thing any student wanted to see when they opened their eyes was McGonagall standing over them, hands on her hips, glancing down disappointedly. Layla’s friends, Calum and Luke, were standing behind the headmistress looking sheepish. And her head – god, why did she feel hungover?
It wasn’t until she moved to sit up that she realized other people were in the room.
“Don’t try to move too quickly, dear,” came Pomfrey’s voice from somewhere to her left.
“Yeah. Hurts like hell.” That was one voice she didn’t want to hear. Glancing over, she noted Ashton, sitting up in his bed, as Pomfrey checked him over with her wand.
Defiantly, Layla sat up anyway, only to be met with a massive headrush and a dizzy spell strong enough to knock a troll over. But she was stubborn and refused to give Ashton the benefit of seeing her faint. Gritting her teeth, she waited until the dizzy spell passed. As it subsided, it was replaced by a heavy feeling in her chest.
It was uncomfortable but manageable enough for her to turn her focus outwardly to on to the occupants in the room.
“What happened?’
“You boyfriend doesn’t know how to cast a fucking binding spell – which, seriously? A first year can cast that spell.”
There were a lot of things Layla could have addressed in that comment, but for some reason, she chose to clarify, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Ashton smiled at that, and she didn’t want to think about what that meant, and why her stomach was doing flips at the sight. “Either way, he fucked up.”
“Mr. Irwin!” Poppy Pomfrey exclaimed. “Watch your mouth, young man.”
McGonagall, Layla noticed, was uncharacteristically quiet.
“Is it bad?” She asked, glancing between Pomfrey and McGonagall, hopeful. Maybe whatever had gone wrong with the spell she had managed to sleep off. If the way Calum looked was any indication, however, that would not be the case.
“Mr. Hood accidentally bound you to Mr. Irwin,” McGonagall explained.
Layla sputtered, but McGonagall wasn’t done. “For fighting on the field, I have deducted one hundred points from Mr. Hood and Mr. Hemmings each. But, seeing as you and Mr. Irwin will be bound to each other for the next twenty-four hours, I figured that would be punishment enough.”
“What? Bound to each other? What does that mean?”
Ashton obviously had already asked these questions because he didn’t look confused, just angry and downtrodden.
“It means,” Madam Pomfrey answered. “That Mr. Hood made a mistake with the motion of his wand, and instead of binding Mr. Irwin’s arms to himself, he bound him to you. From what I can gather, you two can’t be more than five feet from each other at all times. That heaviness in your chest? That’s a pull towards Mr. Irwin you’re feeling. Luckily, there’s quite a bit of animosity between the two of you, and a spell like this would only react to whatever attraction was already there.”
The moment from earlier when she drooled over Ashton’s frame in his Quidditch breeches flashed before her eyes. Nobody needed to know there was an attraction there, and, with it only being on her end, she hoped it wouldn’t affect the spell.
“Thankfully, the effects should dissipate on its own in. You will have to sleep in the hospital wing tonight, but, by this time tomorrow, everything will go back to normal.”
“You can’t leave her bound to this asshole!” Luke complained. “He tried to hit her.”
“I did not try to hit her!” Ashton exclaimed, indignant, at the same moment as Pomfrey said, “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, Mr. Hemmings.”
Luke chose to respond to Ashton. “I saw you raise your hand –”
“I wasn’t going to hit –”
“Oh yeah? Then what were you going –”
“There were leaves in her hair!”
Everyone in the room stopped, all eyes on Ashton whose cheeks were now the color of his hair.
Calum’s brow furrowed. “You expect us to believe that you were just, what, going to pick a leaf out of her hair?”
Ashton didn’t respond, but for some crazy reason, Layla believed him.
“Regardless of what Mr. Irwin’s reasons were, there is nothing we can do about it now. I expect you all to be on your best behavior for the next twenty-four hours. Don’t make me get involved.” With a flurry of robes, McGonagall rushed out the room.
--
The more the feeling in her chest grew, the more Layla tried to ignore it. Calum and Luke stayed with them most of the night, and Michael came to visit Ashton as well. At just past ten p.m., however, Pomfrey left, and took the visitors with her, leaving Ashton and Layla to lay awake, silent, awkwardly keeping to themselves.
It was hard to believe that just a couple hours before Layla had caught the snitch, breaking Slytherin’s victory streak. The celebration had been postponed to the following night, and Layla felt gipped. She was supposed to be getting acquainted with the bottle of Firewhiskey stashed underneath her bed right about now, but instead, she was laying quietly on her cot, trying to ignore the fact that it was getting hard to breathe.
Closing her eyes, she wished for sleep. At least then she wouldn’t be tormented by the palpable silence in the room and the ever-growing tightness in her chest.
Sleep never came. Instead, both the silence and the tightness grew almost unmanageable. Eventually, Ashton spoke up.
“Can you feel that?” He gasped out. Of course, she knew what he was talking about, but she was nothing if not stubborn. A part of her wanted to lie, to say no, to pretend that she wasn’t affected by whatever was going on between them.
Honesty won out in the end. “Yes.”
“Pomfrey said,” She swore her senses was so heightened to him, she could hear him gulp all the way over in his cot. “Pomfrey said that if it got bad, we might have to get closer together.”
Before responding, Layla assessed her options. If she let Ashton into her bed, the pain in her chest might subside, allowing her to get some rest. Or she could be tormented by his very presence, especially since just being in the same room as him had the tendency to get her skin tingling. Then again, the alternative was braving the pain, which she feared meant spending the night tossing, finding no relief.
“Fine,” she gritted out. “But don’t touch me.”
Rolling from her back to her side, Layla curled in on her self, shivering when Ashton lifted the thin infirmary sheet and slid in. Something inside her still wanted to get closer. This magnetism, this hold Ashton had over her, even before the spell, it was pulsating full force. She ignored it for as long as she could, but Gryffindors weren’t known for their ability to delay gratification. She rolled over, pointedly not looking him in the eyes, and tucked her face into his chest.
“Don’t say anything.”
And he didn’t. But his body spoke for him as his arms wound their way around her frame and a leg pushed between hers, effectively tangling them together.
The next moment, they could both breathe again. Had this been anyone else, the conversation would have been over and Layla could drift off to sleep. But this was Ashton. Overthinking and over talking was kind of his M.O.
“I really wasn’t going to hit you.” She could feel the deep rumble of his voice as it vibrated his chest.
It was silent for a moment, as she contemplated how to respond.
“I know.”
“Why do we. . .”
When Ashton trailed off, his hand started tracing patterns down her spine. She could almost imagine the look of focus and sincerity in his eyes. But, instead of looking up at him, she kept her face buried in his chest.
“Why do we hate each other?”
Layla sucked in a breath, suddenly aware that the air was thick with. . . something. Could it be she was wrong? Was the attraction between them mutual?
After a brief search through her mind for the origin of their contention, she shrugged. “You’re a Slytherin, I’m a Gryffindor. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Plus, we’re rival athletes. That’s not exactly grounds for friendship.”
Ashton contemplated that for a minute. “You know I still remember the first time that I saw you?”
“At the sorting hat ceremony?”
Layla felt him shake his head. “Diagon Alley, the summer before first year. My family had just moved to England, and I didn’t know anybody. While I was shopping for a cauldron, you and Hemmings walked into the shop, arm in arm, chatting about how excited you were to go to Hogwarts, and what houses you thought you’d be sorted into, all that.”
The memory washed over her, leaving her feeling warm and content. Luke had been her friend since they were in diapers; of course, their families shopped for yearly supplies together.
“I wanted to say hi,” Ashton continued. “But I was too nervous to. I suppose, as always, what I’m lacking is that signature Gryffindor courage.”
“You’re plenty courageous,” Layla protested. “Being a beater? Getting up on that broom each game? That takes courage.”
Ashton scoffed. It was a derisive sound, but Layla felt it was more geared towards himself than her. “If I’m so brave, why can’t I tell the girl I’ve been in love with since first year that I don’t want to fight with her anymore.”
Layla’s heart was pounding harder than it had been on the quidditch field earlier that day. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt dry. Pushing back from Ashton a bit, she met his eyes.
“Who –?”
“I think you know who.”
And Laya thought so too, but she needed to hear him say it.
“Uh uh. You have to tell me.”
A large, calloused hand brushed a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
“It’s you,” He said, using every bit of courage he had. “ It’s always been you.”
Surging up, Layla kissed him. It was tender and sweet as he worked his lips against hers, one hand curling at her nape, sending pinpricks of electricity down her spine. A shiver ran through her as she was possessed with want. Emboldened by desire, she sucked on his plump bottom lip and tugged on the front of his shirt, trying to pull him over her. He came easily, his body dwarfing hers as he rested on his knees above her, lips still connected to hers.
When she tried to lick into his mouth, he pulled away. A strangled whine rose from the back of her throat as she strained to get him back onto to her. Instead, he ran a thumb over her lip and tsked.
“So eager.”
“Yeah,” She breathed, “Come on.” Her next pull was also met with resistance.
“I’ve waited so long to do this,” He told her, honesty shining in his eyes. “I wanna take my time taking you apart.”
Her mouth was woefully neglected as he kissed up and down her neck, lapping up the salt of her skin. For every one of her movements driven by desire, she was met with a languid response. When she ground up against him, seeking friction, he held her hips down. He ignored the tugs on his hair and her breathless pleas. Rather than give her what she craved, he took his time, exploring every bit of naked skin he came upon.
Want inundated her body when he stripped off her shirt off and began playing with her heaving chest.
“Please.” Layla tried to sneak a hand between them, but Ashton pushed that away.
“I’ll give you what you want, baby. Just be patient.”
And Ashton was nothing if not a man of his word. By the time her shorts were slipping down her legs, however, she was consumed by her arousal. Her stomach would be a landscape of teeth marks and bruises the next morning. Not one inch of her torso was left unexplored.
Relief washed over her as his mouth attached to her clit the first time. The insistent motions of his tongue and sinusoidal dip of his finger in and out of her brought about her first orgasm. He kept tasting her long after she came. Overstimulated and needy, she begged for him to fuck her, but he didn’t pull away until she came again. The second time, she came with her legs wrapped around his head, pushing him forcefully against her. He didn’t complain, just patiently licked her through her aftershocks.
They were both breathing hard when he came up for air, lips wet and glistening from where he had been drowning in her.
“You know the problem with Gryffindors?” He asked as he crawled back up her body.
She shook her head, a little bit peeved that he was capable of coherent thought when all she could think about was the lust burning through her like a roaring flame. “You guys are always too rushed. You need a Slytherin to teach you how to slow down, how to savor something sweet.”
“You’re too chatty for your own damn good, Irwin.” She complained. “What, are you afraid to fuck me properly?”
A genuine, full body laugh erupted from him in response to her taunts. “Trust me when I say I have no issues in that department.”
“Then fuck me.”
“Patience, princess.”
Then, his mouth was on hers again, and she could taste herself on him. They spent a moment getting reacquainted with the taste of each other, after which Ashton finally muttered a protection spell over them. She was grateful at that moment for sex spells; not to mention the talented wizard above her who could cast them wandlessly with no problem.
Ashton eased into her, satisfying a craving that had been buried deep for years now. Gasping, she clawed his back hard, leaving her own angry red marks on porcelain skin. With every slow plunge inside, she dug her nails deeper and shuddered with desire. His movements might have been slow, but they were deliberate and overwhelming, heating up her inside with every snap of his hips. Having come twice before, she was so sensitive, feeling everything tenfold. Stars blurred in her vision, and tears streaked her cheeks.
Not that she would ever admit it, but Ashton taking his time opened up a new level of sensitivity for her. She had never been overstimulated like that before, and it was no surprise to her when she came a third time, with Ashton’s teeth stinging the skin of her neck. Soon after, he was coming inside her, fingers digging into her side, no doubt leaving more bruises for her to find the next day.
A moment later, as they were lying in post-coital bliss, wrapped around each other, Ashton asked, “That wasn’t just the bond right?”
He suddenly sounded small, unsure of himself.
She shook her head. “I’ve wanted to do that for years now.”
“Good.” He said, clearly pleased.
In an act of possessiveness, his thumb pressed against one the marks he had left on her neck, and if she hadn’t just orgasmed three times in a row, her pussy would have throbbed at the sensation.
--
The next morning, Luke glared and sputtered, while Calum announced, “We still hate you.”
To which Ashton responded, ”Feeling’s mutual.”
--
end notes: i hope yall like this!! let me know what harry potter houses you think calum & mikey are in lol. i choose gryff & slytherin bc it was easiest for the story. love yall!!
tag list: @5sosnsfw / @bloodmoonashton / @lukescaboose / @5sex-of-summa / @deviantnines / @halcyonnhood / @gh0st-0f-y0u-95 / @aspiringwildfire / @cal-pal-cuddles/ @sweetcherrymike / @hereforlukescruff / @softforcal / @ohhmuke / @fratcalum / @calumamongmen / @ashtonandcalslefthand / @asht0ns-world / @colorful-queen-of-the-roses / @heavenlydrarry / @slowlyelectronictragedy / @myemptywallets / @pagesuponstpages / @fallfrxmgrace / @thefireisgone / @michaelorwhat / @dammitbands / @sugarcoated-pain / @sublimehood / @cal-puddies / @singt0mecalum / @irwinkitten / @myloverboyash / @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles
#ashton irwin#ashton irwin fic#ashton irwin blurb#ashton irwin imagine#5sos#5 seconds of summer#5 seconds of summer fic#5sos blurb#5sos imagine#ashton 5sos#ashton irwin au#harry potter au#ashton irwin smut#ashton irwin angst#enemy to lovers#5sos smut#5sos angst#5sos au#calum hood#michael clifford#luke hemmings#fics#jay writes#god i'm so tired i wanna die
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Minnesota Twins-Kansas City Royals Series Preview
9.20.22-Dylan Bundy RHP (8-7) 4.68 ERA Vs. Zack Greinke RHP (4-9) 4.10 ERA
9.21.22-Bailey Ober RHP (1-2) 3.49 ERA Vs. Daniel Lynch LHP (4-11) 5.15 ERA
9.22.22-TBA Vs. Jonathan Heasley RHP (3-8) 5.09 ERA
The Twins At A Glance- The Twins playoff hopes basically ended this weekend when the Indians took four of five games from them. The Twins are now seven games out of first place and a once promising season will be over in a couple of weeks. Sonny Gray left his start on Monday with a hamstring injury that he’s been dealing with lately. Jorge Polanco left his rehab game on Friday earlier than anticipated and I doubt he’s back given the team’s playoff chances. There still is no word if Byron Buxton will be back this season. Trevor Megill has covid and is out. Sany Leon left Monday’s game with a sore knee. Ryan Jeffers and Trevor Larnach are rehabbing with the Saints. Jeffers hasn’t caught a game yet though, so I’m not sure if he’ll be behind the plate if activated. Luis Arraez is hitting .317, which is one point ahead of Xander Bogaerts for first in the American League batting race. Joe Ryan has a 1.93 ERA in 18 2/3 September innings, but he won’t pitch in this series. It’s time to watch the youngsters pitch in guys like Louie Varland, Ronnie Henriquez, and Josh Winder. Drew Strotman was claimed off waivers by the Rangers and Jharel Cotton was picked up by the Giants.
The Royals At A Glance- The Royals lost two out of three games in Boston this weekend after getting swept by the Twins last week. They return home for the last homestand of the season this week. The Royals need to win five of their last fifteen games to avoid a 100-loss season. Edward Olivares is back and hit 3-for-8 with two doubles in the Red Sox series. Nate Eaton is hitting .357 in the month of September. Salvador Perez is hitting .304 with three homers and driven in eight runs this month. Jose Cuas hasn’t allowed a run over his last 7 1/3 innings pitched with eleven strikeouts. Brady Singer has been dynamite with a 1.42 ERA over nineteen innings in September and the Twins will miss him again. You have to wonder how much longer Dayton Moore will be in charge of this team. He had success with the pennant winning teams in 2014 and 2015, but winning has been tough to come by since Eric Hosmer, Mike Moustakas, Alex Gordon, and Danny Duffy have left. He was promoted to president of baseball operations, so maybe that buys him a few more years, but the team has taken a step back this season.
What To Watch For- The Twins are (12-4) against the Royals in 2022. The Royals won the first two of the season series and the Twins have won twelve of the last fourteen meetings. Minnesota has won seven straight games, but all those were at Target Field. Dylan Bundy is (2-2) with a 4.11 ERA in ten games against the Royals. Salvador Perez has two career homers off Bundy. Zack Greinke is (5-13) with a 4.65 ERA in twenty-nine games against the Twins. Carlos Correa is only 4-for-23 in his career against Greinke. Bailey Ober has a 4.41 ERA in four games versus the Royals. Daniel Lynch is (1-3) with a 4.65 ERA in six games facing the Twins. Jonathan Heasley went 5 1/3 innings and allowed four runs in his only start against the Twins. The Twins only have six games against contending teams with the two series against the White Sox. The Indians can really put the division away this week with a series against the Sox.
-Chris Kreibich-
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Photo
MEET MARGO,
FULL NAME › Margo Colby
AGE › twenty one
GENDER › Cis female (She/Her/Hers)
FROM › Ironton, Missouri
RESIDENCE › Miracle Mine Mobile Home Park (Outskirts)
OCCUPATION › Lifeguard at the Boot Hill Public Pool, Waitress at The Onion Ring
NOW PLAYING › California Dreamin’ by The Mamas & The Papas
BIOGRAPHY,
trigger/content warnings: traumatic birth, disappearance
ii. honey girl.
You left the womb with the umbilical chord wrapped like a scarf around your throat. That was the first time you learned how to fight, lungs the size of two acorns struggling to keep you alive. Father made his money in honey, decked out like an astronaut in his beekeeper’s suit. At three years old you had your first sting. The next time you made sure you ran faster. By five you could sprint up the length of two staircases and back thrice before the kettle had boiled. Fastest in your year at the egg and spoon race. Unbeatable at duck, duck, goose. At eight you met Emily.
Your Achilles heel came in red hair and green eyes, a smile like butter wouldn’t melt, just moved from Minnesota ( the fall out of a broken home ) and willing to snatch your crown without so much as a blink of her pretty green eyes. Perhaps she was not so much your undoing as she was a thickening of your skin, a toughening of your bones, the fire in the pit of your stomach that made you want to push yourself harder. Spindly bones and wrists that would snap like sunflower stems soon gave way to corded muscle.
You learned to ring your girlhood out like wet washing, see yourself as not a girl but rather a machine that could move, jump, sprint, flip, arch itself like the stance of a cat into something more than human. You were no longer sure if you wanted to beat Emily or be her, a freckled face overspilling into every thought when your feet beat the earth and your soles bled crimson. Three years later, you finally won, the resulting medal like a crown of laurel leaves on your dark head of hair, sweat dripping from your brow. Afterwards, she had pressed her lips to yours, hard and salty, her hands in your hair. You’ve been searching for that quicken of you breath ever since. That was the last time you saw her.
Your mom skipped town when you were still in hand-me-down hockey shorts thieved from lost property, your heart too fickle for your father to decide if the investment in a sports kit was worth it. Settling had never been in her blood. She should have known that your restlessness wasn’t inherited from your father. At thirteen you try-out for the under-sixteens county tennis team. At fourteen, you rank first in your age group for women’s singles, a serve as powerful as your father’s voice and rallies that earn you small-town notoriety. By sixteen, your routine is airtight; wake, run, eat, swim, school, endurance training, tennis, field hockey. You fall into bed and wake feeling like you haven’t even slept, but this is what it takes to be a champion.
It pays off. Your shelves are lined with trophies, though it’s never been the material winnings that grab you. It’s the words of affirmation, the pats on the back, the feeling of being hoisted into the air and heartily kissed in the communal showers. Gestures of affection that don’t mean much, but you’ll cling onto them with ever spark of your being. At seventeen, you start looking at colleges with outstanding sports programs. Money’s tight, with your dads income scarcely enough to keep up the rent on your Missouri trailer home, but the following summer honey prices soar after a European crisis renders more than half it’s imported honey impure, mixed with cheaper gelling agents. Though it sparks debate about your father’s company, work picks up, and financial aid helps. You’re accepted to college with a partially-funded sports scholarship. You follow a course in criminal justice out of little more than boredom, a thirst to know things. It looks better on a resume than sport science, at any rate, though sport consumes your time completely, studies half-arsed in the breaks between practise, textbooks poured over into the small hours of night.
Being good has never been enough for you. You have to be the best, the fastest, the wittiest, and though people have often assumed you’re merely another pretty face in a crowd you’re determined to prove them wrong.
iii. the dream you chased.
You can still remember the first time you saw her, choppy black hair and a laugh like a chiming bell. There was something magnetic in the way she seemed to cast her eyes over everyone with disinterest but lock for a heart-stopping moment on you, like she saw every dimple of your face, knew your secrets like the silk that draped her skin. You can still recall the way her eyes fell briefly to your jersey wet with sweat, football socks clotted to your shinbones with the blood of a grazed knee, and smiled before her stare skipped away like a skimmed stone, sinking into somewhere unreachable. Never in your life had you felt so utterly consumed, so completely seen by a single look, except with Emily, the memory of that last kiss still ripe on your mouth like the stain of pomegranate seed. Boys had come and gone to little effect but it was Emily who stayed in the ache of your womb, in the flicker of your eyelids and parted lips between linen sheets at night.
It felt like you’d been chasing Emily for years, smoke you tried to catch in your hands, and now in a single smile you felt read again, your ribs cracked open and spilling with flowers before a girl who’s name you didn’t even know. You later learned to know her as Violet, a name that seemed too frail and reductive for a girl with such a wildness in her eyes. You grew used to seeing her at the side of the pitch, a tennis skirt and flared pom-poms, gemstones in bright lines along her cheekbones as you watched her leap, bend, break in a series of pyramid tosses, fingers arched around each others ankles with a grace you’d always fallen short of. Your body was a more feral kind of girlhood, a predator, an animal that came alive in anger-riddled instinct. Hers was the kind of grace the gods sung of.
You remember the first time she used your given name, Margaret, each syllable fresh on her tongue and you wondered why you’d ever shortened it. It nestled itself there on her tongue and you never corrected her — you let that name become hers alone. For a while, perhaps, she considered the two of you friends, locking glances over fries at the waffle-house post practise, the cheerleaders in a glitter-gritted gaggle, you with mud on your knees and sweat on your cheeks wishing you were one of them but somehow feeling you were better ; the main event, not just a panty-hitching sideshow. Still, each game when half-time fell she was the one who draw your eyes, the only one you saw, tossed high above the others with her long legs and dark eyes. You wanted to eat her up.
It wasn’t until the snow fell on the ground that you ever asked her for something more than half-hearted conversations about lectures and games, locker room abandoned by all except two. She said she’d seen the way you looked at her ( a pleasant glint in her smirk like it gave her a kick ) and that people talk. You’d said you didn’t care. She’d like that boldness in you. Three weeks later, you plucked up the courage to ask her for a kiss, not so much with words but with the way your hands raked through her hair after she trailed a finger along your collarbones, marking them hers. Her kiss was the only kiss, eclipsing all previous to it. You lost yourself in the curve of her mouth, hot like honey, and the fervour of the passion that grew in your stomach was enough to shock you. More. Your lips on her neck, hands bunching in her shirt. When she touched you, you cried like a wolf. The next time you tried to kiss her she laughed.
That was when anger took the place of hope, shame overcast eagerness. Love turned into something brittle and in the place of want came obsession like the games she’d played with you, a fly in her web, only made you more desperate to catch her approval. She never gave it, though her stares continued, catching your eye from the top of a pyramid toss before you could look away, knowing your eyes would be on her. They always were. Soccer season ended and tennis took its place. The opportunities to see her grew thinner, eyes scanning the crowd in search of her, missing a serve, a pleated skirt thick with sweat before you’d even started running. You’d let her get under your skin, trapped inside like a tapeworm you couldn’t pull out. A poison that wept its way from your heart to your liver, finally infecting your brain.
You’d drive past her house, watch the outline of her move in the window, pass it off as looking for a neighbouring address as you cruised by in the beaten-up hatchback your father had sold his buick to buy you. Said you needed it more. You lingered in hallways knowing her schedule better than your own, seethed with jealousy for the girls accompanying her to seminars, learned their names, their likes, their dislikes, and wonder why she’d chosen them over you. The morning of the day she went missing, Violet confronted you, hushed whispers, your faces close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes when they flickered to your lips, close enough to kiss. Though she didn’t. Merely told you she’d seen you slinking about in the shadows like you thought you were invisible. That the others had seen it, too, and that despite your acclaim, talk would travel, talk could undo a person, you should grow up.
That wasn’t the last time you saw her, though you leave that out of your statement, claim you were grabbing a burger king at the time of her disappearance though you’ve not touched them since you turned sixteen, believing them bad for your stamina. The trial drags on, your life on pause, so one night ( your father passed out on the settee after one too many beers ) you take the keys to the truck and drive until your eyes fall shut. Trucker parks. Service stations. Somehow, no matter how far you drive, the gas never seems to run out. It isn’t until you reach Boot Hill that you consider the notion of staying more than one night at all, but the name feels familiar, like a weathered page in a journal.
Convenience. That’s what you tell yourself when you take a part-time job at the gas station to cover the motel rent. It’s a town so far off the beaten track that no one would even think to holler your name or ask about a girl who’s scarf you keep under your pillow. You still think about her at night when her face comes in flashes, laugh like a dropped coin, eyes that see more than they tell. Every few months, you use the library computer to read the papers back home. They still don’t know where she went. You’ve stopped torturing yourself trying to find the answer.
❝ if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. ❞
CENSUS,
FACECLAIM › Diana Silvers
AUTHOR › Nora
#diana silvers#rp#rpg#oc rp#lsrpg#town rp#{ all. }#{ local. }#{ over twenty. }#{ f. }#{ nora. }#traumatic birth tw#disappearance tw
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