Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Felicity 'Flick' March (OC)
Absence makes the heart grow fonder; that's what Flick and Jake tell themselves as they prepare for their first deployment as a couple. But being apart only highlights what they need from each oth...
Warnings: 18+ no minors please. Swearing, smut, explicit sexual references, mentions of past mentally abusive relationships.
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Flick never expected to adjust to life in California so quickly. She'd arrived on American soil just under 9 months ago and had been fully prepared to feel like a top hat in a room full of Stetsons for at least a year and a half, so the fact that sunny San Diego already felt like home was a pleasant surprise.
She'd settled into a comfortable routine; having found new favourite places to shop and eat and drink at. Work was easier now too. She knew her students well and they shared a mutual respect, and she was able to laugh with them at her own faux pas (such as misusing American phrases) instead of flushing with embarrassment. She'd also found a group of colleagues with similar interests, and they jointly lamented about their students in the staff room or went for coffee/cocktails together after a long day of lectures.
Flick still missed England sometimes, but she countered the homesickness by having regular video calls with her friends from across the pond. Molly, Kat and Tess were even planning their own trip out stateside to see her, they just hadn't quite settled on a date that fit around kids and divorce proceedings and hospital shifts.
Yet there were still occasions when America's overwhelming Americanness became a little too much; the endlessly cheery customer service employees, the bamboozling tipping etiquette and the inconvenience of having to file her own taxes (never did Flick think she would yearn for HMRC). But she made things work. She figured out how to watch BBC iPlayer and all her favourite shows with a VPN and Jake had finally caved and told her about the shop that sold her favourite English tea and snack brands.
Most notably, she had joined the local women's amateur football team: the San Diego Dreamgirls. She saw them having a kickabout on the beach one evening and plucked up the courage to ask if she could play. At the end of the match, they invited her to come along every week (despite her point-blank refusing to call it "soccer", insisting her English grandfather would turn in his grave if she did).
Flick was on the beach with her team now, playing a five-a-side match under the hot sun. The score was tied at two all, and there was only a minute or so left to score the winner before the jingle of someone's phone alarm signalled the final whistle. Flick's teammate booted the ball from one end of the makeshift pitch to another, and by a miracle, it landed perfectly at Flick's feet. She spun around skilfully, dodging past the opposing defender, then looked towards the goal (two orange cones). She swung her leg back, channelled her inner Chloe Kelly and Alessia Russo, and launched the ball over the line. The goalie dived but fell into the sand empty-handed.
All her team members cheered and ran over to hug her, chattering excitedly about the last few seconds of play, but then a wolf whistle pierced through the laughter. Jenna, the team captain, spun to face the intruder.
"Excuse me Sir," she drawled, "but wolf whistles haven't been socially acceptable since about 2010, so if you would kindly move along." She waved her hands like she was shooing away a fly.
